Okay, ramblers. I have blown yet another opportunity to do something kind and wonderful. Yep, a forwarded e-mail, again telling me what a selfish prick I am. What the fuck, over? So from here on out. . . Why, I want to know, do I even read these? I know the answer to life is not contained therein. I know the powerball lottery numbers are not, either. I know that the only thing that will come of it is a) super-duper bad luck, which I deserve, because 2) I'm a thoughtless, selfish person. I know I'm beating the dead horse, here, and I promise to stop, really. I just needed an ear, and a forum within which to gently remind you: please, pretty please with sugar on top, don't send me forwarded fucking e-mails. Wash off your hate!!!
The good news is, I think I've finally gotten over Chuck Klosterman. People who do art are never who you think they are. Case in point: getting smashed with David Cross, only to discover that he's not that fun or even that nice, really, just smart and funny, which aren't the same things at all. I think, with Klosterman, that the North Dakota connection really struck a chord with me; when you're pretty smart and insane and from ND, you end up with a sort of identity crisis. It soothed me to know he was out there. I don't know why I insisted on getting so jealous. (?) I'd have been the big loser if he had never written 'Fargo Rock City,' because that goddamn book kept me alive when nothing else could. I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed, at a time in my life when nothing was funny. At all. Except 'Fargo Rock City.' Chuck, sorry for dissing you. I won't ever do it again. Keep writing.