Instead of drafting five-year plans, I prefer to subject myself to occasional audits, frank self-appraisals wherein I determine which items in my career toolkit need the most work. The commute–or rather my tolerance for commutes–is what’s under the spotlight at the moment, and no matter how many ways I try to slice it, I don’t think there are easy answers here.
I’ve yet to top 12 minutes after nine years on the clock. This used to be a badge of honor, but when the chips are down, I don’t think it’s sustainable. My effective radius is stunted, after all, and bragging rights suddenly seem inconsequential and ridiculous. In an attempt to fix this and increase my capacity for sitting in traffic, I’ve been hitting the roads during rush hour recently. And when the convoy of misery grinds to a halt, I’ve been trying to savor the gridlock.
I realize this is slightly twisted. The traditional remedies simply aren’t appealing, though. Take audiobooks, for instance. I want complete focus when I’m driving, for one thing, and since I seldom read with my eyes, I sure as heck ain’t reading with my ears. Part of me finds comfort in viewing the commute as a cost of modernity, sad as that may be. There was a time when our ancestors would wake up and take down, like, a fuckin’ woolly mammoth and a few raptors. But those instincts are gone nowadays. We no longer hunt. We queue, and all of nature shall tremble for it.
Behold! 55 movie reviews remastered here for your consumption. Just click on the handy link in the right rail to access.
Vowels and consonants were most assuredly harmed during this process.
Blogging during a thunderstorm is what I like to call a “writer’s circuit.” The phrase may evoke images of book signings and tours, but there’s nothing of the sort involved. Instead, it’s a tip of the hat to electricity, which drives my modern printing press and spurs the writing itself with each errant lightning bolt. After a couple rounds of flickering lights, I started to type much more quickly, until power disappeared completely and took all my work with it. Now, I’m approaching it in the old way, with pen and paper.
One reason for why we’ve been discussing movies so much recently is because of a domain name renewal. FlickFool would’ve celebrated its fourth anniversary this year, had we not put the “fun” firmly in “defunct” about a year into its lifecycle. We were never under any delusion that it would last. When the Cat and I were fleshing out the site, we had discussed–out loud–how the market wasn’t exactly crying out for another movie review site.
But we launched it anyway, had a good, if short, run, and now, years later, I still feel compelled to beam $9 to GoDaddy at regular intervals. I’m glad I’ve been doing so, too, because a few nights ago, I dug up my old FlickFool reviews–55 in total, unbelievably–and it was, like, “Man, who even wrote these?” They had a snarky flair I want back in my toolkit. I just wish that could happen without any effort on my part.