To whomever may find this during one of those long periods in the night where you scan the internet, desperately searching for anecdotal reassurance that yes, in fact, there is someone out there whose life worse than yours,
My life isn't as good as yours. All of my trials and mistakes, however, have yielded some pretty sage advice, which I would like to relate to you now, but someone else put it much better than I ever could, and that someone is Mr. Groucho Marx, who said "I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member." Now, for some reason I remember that joke going "I wouldn't be with any woman who would have have a person like me," or something to the extent, but I guess I got it wrong. Anyway, that's the advice I'd like to offer now. Don't date anyone who expresses an interest in dating you, as surly there is some ulterior motive, and it'll never work out. This, however, presents a paradox, as if this is true, then it's true also that any woman should never date a man who expresses an interest in dating her, either. Thus concludes my argument for why people should not have relationships. Life's a lot better without them.

I'm kidding, I'm just pissed off. I got an email from my ex-girlfriend a little while ago, and I'm just venting. She's fucko-bazoo, though, I mean really crazy. Seriously.

Groucho really did put it better than I would in a million years when he said "I was married by a judge. I should've asked for a jury." Or how about this one: "Marriage is a wonderful institution; but who wants to live in an institution?" Yes, I believe tonight I've made a friend in Mr. Marx. Not Karl, he and I made our peace a long time ago.

Nevermind.

Goodbye.

Don't read this.

Between Cursive and Damien Jurado there is a song that makes me cry. Over the past week or so, I've been slowly learning the truth of that old adage, that "it takes a village to raise a child," though I won't say anything more about that. See, I suppose that's what good writers do, they write cryptic phrases that the reader must then sort-out. Well, that's what I just did there.

Anyway, I guess I don't know why I'm writing this stupid blog. This thing started out on my stupid myspace page, but I decided to move it to my stupid blogspot page, because if you blog too much on myspace, people start to think that you're, I don't know, needy, or self-absorbed.

The truth is I'm just lonely. and I've been quiet for the past year, I've been alone for the past year. I might eventually try to turn these words into lyrics for a song I'll never sing to anyone but my cat. I don't have a cat anymore. I'm happy about that.

I think at this point it would be appropriate for you to ask yourself the question of why you're reading this. But you know what, the funny thing is, I wrote that just there, obviously, with the expectation that someone would eventually read this, and then, hopefully at least, ask themselves that very question. It occurs to me now, however, that no one is ever going to read that, and that question will remain unasked, and unanswered.

I think I'm done. Oh, the song, by the way, is "Surprise, AZ" as sung by Cynthia G. Mason.