balding angrily

Last weekend I was in Phoenix to visit family.  (Sorry, Marty, there was no time for non-family time.)  It turned out to be more stressful than I anticipated, and my stress-level has remained higher than normal this week.  Since family members read the blog, I can’t go into too much detail.  Let it be enough to say that alcohol and politics should never mix.  In fact, politics should never be discussed amongst family.  It would be so nice if family-time was happy and joyful and butterflies and lollipops and jewel-toned chocolate sprinkles, but alas.  It is a tightness that lodges itself in the shoulder muscles that support the neck.  It is a caffeine-induced headache.  It is throat host to a steady drip of sour phlegm.  It is the cat howling at three o’clock in the morning.

These are the things that keep me up at night:

• “Tom Sawyer,” why do you taunt me so? There are insideous brain worms, and there are insideous brain worms. Rush’s “Tom Sawyer” has been working through my rattled grey matter since 3:00 this morning. It’s either Geddy Lee’s not-quite falsetto or the drum/synth splashes produced to recall a 80s Disney sci-fi romp - The Black Hole, say - that torment me. I lie on my side, my back, my face, my back again, my side again…my three-quarter profile…as “Tom Sawyer” kills me softly with its song.
• Yesterday I met with a group of bloggers that will be writing for The Advocate, a local monthly. Hyper local, in the editor’s words. The Advocate concerns itself with areas of Dallas that I visit often but don’t live in. Because it’s a hyper local blog, I’ve been agitating ideas through the butter churn in my head trying to form possible blog posts. It’s a more professional publication than Balding Angrily, which celebrates its scattered ramblings. It’s tough to come up with things that are very specific to an area and don’t involve poop.
• Crumpet’s been celebrating her dog in the absense of her dearly departed Henry, and I’ve been having moments with my cat. As I lay on the couch screaming “the space he invades gets high on you” in my head, she has been laying on my shoulder with one arm lazily draped in front of her like a drowsy lioness spread on an outcropping of rock overlooking African Savannah high-grasses. She’s been peering at me with half-closed eyes as if to say, “Yes. Go to sleep. Ignore me. The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner I can start eating your face.”

I met with the editor of a local newspaper on Wednesday, and she gave me an assignment. I have an assignment! Just like a real life writer that gets paid! Let me whip out my pocket notebook with the metal spiral at the top. Let me me lick the tip of my pencil and flip the pages of that notebook and jot a few notes. Let me shove a bulbous microphone in the face of an avoiding politician. Let me step into this telephone booth and save Lois Lane from a helicopter perched perilously on the rim of the top of the tallest skyscraper.

Seriously, I’m looking forward to it. She said I might also get involved in the paper’s volunteer blog. When I do, I’ll link to my posts here. That is if I still have any readers here.

Look! J-pop! (Not J-rock.)

Yesteday I read this article on Gawker about the death of viral videos. Maybe death is too strong of a word, but according to them, viral is definitely in its decline. I probably agree; I’ve stopped featuring my favorite ‘tubes on Balding Angrily because I don’t want to bog down this site with stuff you can get anywhere. Instead I’ve been dumping those small bits of retardedness onto my friends or showing them to my nieces.

When I lobbed “The Renewed Mind is the Key” over to Mr. T, I thought the comedy came from “Ohmygaw. They’re Christian. They think they’re good, and they’re so not.” If I were to have posted it, it would have come off as mocking Christians.

So, here’s a new video. (via gigglesugar)

This somewhat alleviates my fear that I was laughing at Christians in that other video. I say somewhat because it could be true that I’m mocking Europeans instead of Christians. It may be true that I’ve substituted one other for a different other. (Sorry Magnus. The blog and I are U.S.-centric.)

However, it could also be true that I’m just laughing at bad dancing in both videos. Which is sad. Because little 14 year-old Alex would have loved the dancing. Little 14 year-old Alex used to sit in bleachers in the gym with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees, and with stars in his eyes he would rapturously watch the dance troop do their routines at half-time. And little 14 year-old Alex would think to himself, “I don’t want boobs or a vagina, but I really want to dance like that. That is soooooo cool.”