I haven't blogged much lately...

mostly because I'm just sick of myself. And I'm a little sick of this whole self-promotional machine that I built or at least piloted for the book. I'm sick of thinking worse of myself when my Amazon ranking goes down and I'm sick of thinking better of myself when it goes back up again.

I'm sick of some blogger making me feel like crap (calling me a "disembodied voice", no god damn it I am a human being with a body and a voice, thanks) and making me forget about the legit book reviewers who said good things about the book and the cool MySpace comments from random teenagers who latched on to the book.

I'm sick of people leaving comments on this, my more or less personal blog, ripping into me about the method in which I chose to write a damn book. I delete those comments, and that might be against the code of blogging or whatever but screw it, I don't care, I'll do whatever I please, but honestly, what possesses people to say nasty things about someone while commenting on their blog? I mean, have we fallen so far that we simply cannot be civil?

I'm sick of the acrimony of politics and people who feel like I should be a receptacle of that acrimony just because I wrote a book about my own experiences. At this thing I did the other night, I was supposed to be "playing the part" of a conservative at this completely liberal-packed event and the guy I was supposed to be arguing against got to be himself and just say really mean horrible things. That was the schtick, I understand that, but geez, I was the Guy Fawkes statue at their post-election celebration.

I'll try to update this thing as events warrant or when my kids say weird crap. But Christ, even though I don't have a scrap of the writing chops of Thomas Pynchon, I understand why he's just said Screw it, all you people. I understand why Douglas Brinkley doesn't own a computer or why Daniel Schorr types on a typewriter.

There were some other fairly intense things going down at the same time as the book launched as alert readers know and maybe now I'm just decompressing but I almost feel like I got a case of the bends. Not to worry, I'll be back to relentlessly publicizing myself soon I'm sure. I mean, boo-hoo, right? The poor guy gets to write a book and tour the country supporting it and we're supposed to feel sorry for him? No, you're not. But it feels like living on a stage. A stage I walked on to willingly.

I'll probably delete this post later.