Wrapping up my work trip home this week. I’ve had a great time but looking forward to getting back to not writing overly sentimental posts about where my childhood went.

In the meantime, check out my post over at CultureMap about how to become a successful blogger without taking off your clothing.


I love reading internet self-help lists. Lists that tell you how to balance your life, lists that tell you how to follow your dreams, lists that tell you how to be better at your job/art/money management/McRib tolerance, lists that tell you the best way to prevent yourself from becoming Howard Hughes and developing atrophy due to sitting inside and reading internet lists all day long. Lists are easy, short and to the point. They work easily with my newly developed squirrel-like attention span caused by social media.

Occasionally I like writing lists. I really don’t know what I’m talking about most of the time, but once you’ve been doing something long enough your brain liquefies into a substance that resembles that of Ecto-Cooler you realize you know a thing or two. I’ve been blogging for a couple of years now. My blog thinks she owns me and, even though I tie a piece of concrete to her and throw her off of the Congress Bridge almost daily, she just won’t LEAVE ME BE. My blog think she’s own me, but YOU DON’T, BLOG! I OWN MYSELF. DO YOU HEAR ME, BLOG?!


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