'Bred Crumbs

You Can't Say "Blog" Without "Blah"

Inevitably, the blogger hits a dry patch, has nothing to write or no energy to write it. Also inevitably, no matter how much he wanted to resist it, he writes about having nothing to write about.

Welcome to here. Enjoy a snack cracker.

The December Blahs are hitting harder than I can ever remember (then again, maybe I think that every December). Makes no sense, really: home life is wonderful, new job's going generally well excepting the occasional rough patch that always comes with new. But it's gray, and chilly, and Xmas, and ... ecchh. I rise, I work, I chill, I sleep, I rinse, I repeat, and enthusiasm never returns my calls.

So that's why I haven't been writing. Here's what I haven't been writing:

— Reshoots were delayed a long while by colliding actor schedules, but we finally finished shooting everything for the work in progress, The Point of Boxes. Robbie's in editing-land with it now. I'm full of conflicted tortured-writer opinions about it that are best not shared.

— I finally got on board the Scissor Sisters bandwagon – two weeks before their SNL appearance, thank you very much.* Dewayne's been singing (ha!) their praises awhile now, and I finally got pulled in when I heard a clip from their infamous "Comfortably Numb" cover. But there's more to them than that. You've got to love a band that makes songs that hinge on chorus lines like "This will be the last time I ever do your hair" and "there ain't no t*ts on the radio." My current favorites from the album are, oddly enough, the two girl-name songs, "Laura" and "Mary."

— Then there was every news story that sparked an ember of outrage: the populist winner of the San Diego mayoral election whose victory was voided because of ridiculous technicalities and bad UI; Governor Beefhead's effort to rob workers of lunch, while his pointy wife sticks up for poor defenseless "arthritis cream" abusers; and a maker of overpriced cables who is suing everyone in the world who happens to use the word "monster," in lieu of making money by producing something that's useful to anyone. And that's without even grazing the high-level atrocities that The Daily Show covers so much better than I could anyway. But each time, the outrage was snuffed by ennui, descending like December clouds.

And yes, as a matter of fact, I do read just one newspaper.

This entry should end better, but who's gonna make the effort? Not me. Not now.

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I started a review of the album, but could never get past the first sentence. It went: No matter how good we have tried to be, no matter how kind we are to other people, every few years we are threatened with a revival of glam rock.

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