Tuesday, April 06, 2010

Kicking, Screaming, Etc.

First, I'm alive. My limbs are still attached, my obituary is still a half-finished Word document1 and I'm still here, subsisting largely on the kind of cellophane-wrapped mistakes that can only be purchased in the shittiest of Exxon stations.

So why haven't I been writing? That's the thing: I've been doing nothing but writing since I somehow managed to score a couple of ongoing projects, both locally and nationally.2 If my hands had been on any of my exes as long as they've hovered over my Mac's home keys, I'd probably need to own more than one pillow case.

But because I'm made entirely of distrac--BANANA IS MY FAVORITE COLOR! I WONDER WHAT A COELACANTH SMELLS LIKE? MY BRAIN ITCHES!--tions it's been admittedly difficult for me to focus even three Timex ticks past my deadlines. And lately my life hasn't been made of much other than typing, editing, conducting the occasional interview and hoping I won't ever develop Ellen Degeneres-style neck skin. I did take a break this morning to liberally baste myself with alpha-hydroxy products, because I never want to use the folds of my face as a change purse.

"So is it all about the Benjamins, baby?" you may be asking, because in my head you all talk like Puff Daddy. That's part of my enduring frustration; despite the increased time spent rearranging san-serif formatted sentences, it doesn't seem to be helping my financial status. When I checked my balance earlier today, my account was largely composed of dust, bits of string, and the canned laughter of the BB& T staff when I asked whether I could use a complete set of 1987 Topps cards to pay back my credit line.3

Finally, despite my near overdose on personal issues and annoyances, I sincerely thank everyone for their concern, for the emails and Facebook messages that asked where the hell I'd been hiding and whether or not I was still on the right side of the earth's crust. I owe it to you guys--the ones who have been reading this site for the past five years, three jobs and four former boyfriends--to keep this up.

But wait! There's more! Here are the last few things I've done for NBC Sports - Out of Bounds. Since February, I've covered why I didn't sleep with Wilt Chamberlain; what the NCAA tournament has in common with Cher; why the WNBA is dangerously close to becoming a state fair sideshow; how Lionel Ritchie wrecked my NCAA bracket (though I didn't know it at the time); why ESPN broadcaster Tony Kornheiser is a Douche Lord; and--just last week--the fact that it is possible to strike out at tee-ball.

And finally, let's talk about Robyn Hitchcock. Most of you know that I'm a lyric-spewing, tattered t-shirt wearing, double-decade fan of his music and that last summer, my life was pretty much made when I had the chance to interview him.

It got better.

Last month, I re-interviewed him for his website--at his request. Read that sentence again and ask yourself whether my shrieks of delight were audible from outside our own galaxy.4 We largely focused on his just-released album, Propellor Time, but also talked about everything from love to death to why the universe may turn out to be a jelly-filled donut. The entire process was well past stellar and--as always--he couldn't have been more engaging or more insightful with his answers. You can read the entire interview here.

So, yeah. I'm back. Thanks again, you guys. High fives and prolonged eye contact all around.

1 In the event of my demise--probably in some Cakesters-related mishap--I want Monty Python's "Dead Parrot" sketch to serve as my memorial, obviously replacing any references to the Norwegian Blue with my first and middle name.
2 And by "nationally", I mean that I'm invoicing someone who lives far enough away that we don't bump into each other in the ant trap aisle at Target.
3 I don't like to brag, but I made a solid four-figure salary last year. Things were so insanely awful in '09 that my accountant called over the weekend just to verify that I'd actually worked for all twelve months.
4 Yes. They were.