Well here we are again, blog. Stupid blog. Stupid blog that I bought a domain for so I could tell people that it's a "website" and not a "blog." Who are we kidding? You're a blog. Through and through, you're a collection of thoughts, interests and crap. I haven't written anything on you in awhile because I was...I don't know. Distracted? Or maybe I just didn't feel like writing. That's probably it. I was probably laid up doing nothing when I could have been writing about this, that or the other.

I read an interesting post over on McSweeney's today about being a writer. It sort of kicked my stupid ass. I think a lot of the time people who claim to be "writers" are really just pretentious assholes who at one point or another had someone tell them they are good at writing. But there's more to being good at writing than knowing how to put a sentence together or having a grasp of syntax. Writing isn't just something that happens when it pleases you. If you're a real writer, you're writing daily. You're writing whether it's shit or Pulitzer material.

I'm done being a "writer." It's time to be a writer again.

For now, definitely check out the link to McSweeney's. A refreshing glimpse of honesty.

This is the first time I've felt homesick for Los Angeles since leaving in 2006. Awesome video. Best viewed in HD and full screen.

So I'm packing for my trip to Miami this weekend. One of my best friends is getting married and this is his bachelor party. I've realized a few things:

• I own approximately ZERO outfits that could qualify as what a cursory Google search identifies as "clubbing" clothes. I don't go to clubs, I go to dive bars. When I was a suit, I'd go to a dive bar after work, in my suit. Since I've been unemployed, I go to dive bars in various models and makes of sweatpant/jean combinations. 

I don't even remotely know how to start to look like this.

• Who the Christ buys a shiny ass shirt? Or even worse, those shirts with like a crazy ass dragon all up and down one side of it with just the claw arching over the back or whatever. Ugh.
• I never understood the concept of just going up and being like "I'm grinding on you." I guess I'm too old fashioned. I prefer a lengthy courtship with letters hand-written with a quill pin and lots of pining in an orchard. And I hate that about myself.

Wouldst thou care to dance to this most distinguished Lady Gaga remix?

• My physical fitness is missing.
• My favorite pair of flip flops broke today.
• I am broke today.
• Did I mention I have like, no money? 
• We're going to a casino one night, and I'm in charge of finding an idiot savant to come along with us. I have completely failed in this regard.

If I end up being Zack Galifinakis in this movie just because I have a beard, I'll be pissed.

• I'm dicking around writing a blog post when I need to be finishing packing. 

See you in Miami, bitches!