Woah...

Woah...I just realized I have to find a job. It hit me like a wave of nausea that spins into a vortex of fear trying to shoot out my hind parts. Yikes. I just got the shivers saying "yikes."

The Cramer Krasselt Halloween Party is about to begin and no matter how much I want to see the assortment of Balloon Boy costumes that I know are about to drift by, I somehow just don't care. I feel deflated (a pun). I want to curl up under my desk and pull a couple office chairs up and a roller file cabinet to block the entrance so I fell safe and hidden. Sigh. I just choked on that "sigh."

I'm a copywriter. I love to write. I love to come up with fun ideas. When I was a kid, I used to sit on the toilet in the bathroom for hours and pitch faux commercials to an audience of towels and toothbrushes. I'd explain how when you combined our product, symbolized by handsoap, with a square of toilet paper, magical things could happen. Stains would disappear, unsightly scars and moles would vanish and that little spot of emptiness in your soul would be filled with overflowing joy.

But those days have escaped me. I play games on my phone or iPod Touch on the toilet now. Hand soap and toilet paper are used only for their prescribed purposes. My stains, scars and moles remain and that little patch of empty inside of me is not overflowing. In fact, that little patch of empty feels rather vacuous right about now. It's consuming me slowly.

"Buckle down, put your nose to the grindstone, get to it and just do it" are phrases I throw at myself, hoping they'll stick like bologne slices to a white board. Bologne to a white board they are not though. They hit and slide down, falling to the floor to be forgotten until garbage day. I have Lou Gehrig's of the soul.

I'll Show You

Hey look! It's me Logan and I'm blogging before lunch. Awesome. Today must be a good day. You wanna know how I start my day about, oh, 75% of the week? I watch this video to get me jazzed up:

I watch that in the morning and it makes me realize what life could be like if only I could get my act together and become a hispanic pro skater or an epically famous black rapper. Even more so, this ad speaks to the perfection that is southern California. Idillic. Relaxed. Fun. Paul Rodriguez could have been shot by Ice Cube for a blunder like that, but because it was in the peacful hoods of So Cali, everything was alright; it was a good day.

So when I leave my apartment here in Chicago, deadbolt the door, walk down four flights of stairs, brush past the crazy person on the sidewalk, step over his pool of cold urine and high step all the Dunkin Donuts cups in the stairwell down to the L train where I'll wait to pack myself in next to a suit and slut on my ride downtown, I just remember that I need to move to California, buy a skateboard and get marginally famous for something that I might be good at.
But what am I good at?
I'm still trying to figure that out.

Lame Duck

"*sigh* 11 days without an update..."   --Anonymous

This is what I've reduced my friends, family and distant acquaintances to, annonymous postings on my blog, bemoaning my complete and utter inability to follow through on loosely worded promises.

Because really, that's how I operate. I always am sure to pen in a qualifier as my safety net. Not one for solid commitements made to self or fellow man, I can only succeed to impress by setting my standards low and by framing in a literary back door for me to back out of, tail between the legs, if necessary.

So here we are Anonymous, staring each other in the face; Me refusing to admit guilt because I'm too prideful for that, and you, stony faced and cocksure because...we'll, because you've got me pinned on this one. Not even the most ambiguously worded escape route could write me out of the sheer fact that yes, I cannot seem to get my blog on.

There has got to be a pill for this. Something to pop every day to get me writing and feeling inspired. Some would argue that I should see a physician if the affects lasted more than four hours, but imagine all the blogging and tweeting I could potentially whip up in 4+ hours! A blessing indeed.

So, let's get one thing perfectly clear: I'm probably going to try to put some effort into blogging on a fairly regular basis from this day forth. At least more than once a month most likely. I give you my solemn word that I won't let you down as soon as I have time to start writing regularly. Starting today, and from here on out, I will open up my computer everyday, create a new post, and do everything in my power to get it posted as soon as something comes to my head and I can get it posted up. I promise on my great grandmother's grave.

Do you trust me now? Was that unequivical enough? I mean those were some pretty explicit promises I made there. How could I possibly fall through on what basically amounts to a legally binding pact of unambiguous clarity?

A Slow And Painful Death

Have you ever neglected to check your crops for a long period of time in Farmville on facebook, only to return later and find that everything has withered and died? Or have you ever forgotten to go in and check the status of your crime racquet's in Mafia Wars and when you do finally return, they've all been busted by the cops? Well the same principle applies to blogging and from the looks of things, I've let this blog wither and die.

The picture you see above is a visual representation of visits to my blog since late September. It spans to yesterday. As you can see, in less than a month, my bloggless waste of space here on the internet saw a massive drop in readership. You see that Everest-esque peak on the left of the graphic? That represents seventy-six visits in one single day. Now follow the line to the right. See the low point? One. One visit. That's 75 less people from that spike less than a month ago. It's funny because I can totally envision visitors in my head: they check the blog a couple times on the first day, then again the second day. After three or four days, they only check once a day. After a week they finally give up, assuming I've died or floated off across rural Colorado in a silver helium balloon shaped like a UFO. I must no longer be on earth, they figure.

Well as you can imagine, I'm ashamed; tormented even as I lay in bed thinking about what really matters in life: readership. So, let's see if we can't give this blog a shot of adrenaline and get some content back up on this baby. The struggle for me the writer is coming up with original content. I could easily cover something else, copy/paste or just throw up pictures of my time here in Chicago. But who wants to see that? So I'll dig a little deep and stay up a little longer soze we might get us some more excitement up in here.

(p.s. if you want to see pictures and video of my sightseeing in Chicago, hit me up, because that I do have plenty of. I might let you peep it.)


sincerely,
Logan