VACUUM WRITING

My writing has been quite inconsistent of late. I'm not even sure if there is anybody reading this anymore but I ask myself: is this blog (the word itself still irritates me) a form of expression or is it an activity in egocentricity? I'd like to think that it's a release of sorts, a therapeutic means of articulating. So that being the case, I am ok with writing in a vacuum. As long as it is not too dusty because I may be allergic to dust. This is a self-diagnosis. This alleged allergy has not been confirmed as of yet.

I am trying to figure out where to start. Sometimes, reacquainting is so daunting that we avoid it altogether. I have a large list of old friends I no longer call because catching up is so exhausting. Where to begin, we wonder? And when we finally do talk, we feel better but yet we still worry that their images of nostalgia differ from our current persona. We worry that we will disappoint them if we are indeed different from the person that they were enchanted with in the first place. We can't help but think about their reactions to our new life.

But...first off, I should ask you if you have any questions. No, seriously, ask away.

Are you still there? I hope so.

I'm truly sorry for abandoning you.

THE UNCOOLEST ALBUMS OF ALL TIME; Part One

Sting – Soul Cages (A&M, 1991)

There are infinite amounts of ways to make fun of Sting. It’s almost too easy. The ex-Police man says he can have sex for nine hours straight. With each release, his albums progressively become sillier and sillier and their desperate attempt to win over the Oprah-crowd is demeaning to the human ear. He’s always babbling about the rain forests and their impending demise. Dude, how about you take up a worthy cause like my insane rent?

But that being said, there was a time when Sting’s schmaltz was 100% potent. After having just lost his dad, the man who was born as Gordon Sumner went into the studio and recorded nine tracks of philosophical pontifications and emotional outpourings. "Mad About You" may have been nicked its title from the day’s most popular TV show but moreover, it captured the essence of a relationship (specifically that of David and Batsheba) better than Paul Reiser and Helen Hunt’s dysfunctional pairing ever could. "All This Time" confronted Sting’s dilemma with religion in the time of mourning ("father, if Jesus exists/then how come he never lives here?) and the heart wrenching "Why Should I Cry For You?" touches that inner-bank of tears you’ve been suppressing all along.

In this day and age, Sting may have become a parody of himself—a middle aged car salesman flipping through the World Music section of his local record store—but back in 1991, he was killing them softly.