january 14 oic
I've never had a bucket list. I think I used to be the kind of person who would think about writing a bucket list, but nothing more. And back then next thought would be about returning a DVD to the automated rental place that used to be on the SW corner of Pins and Ste. Dominique or some shit.
I think not being a bucket lister ended up being a good thing for me. Having a few things you want to do, places you want to see, or crimes you want to commit (regicide!) before you bite the dust is a good thing, sometimes people come up with goals/dreams before they know who they are and then, later on, they feel tethered to those goals/dreams even when they don't fit anymore. #sunkcostfallacy
That said, I've always wanted to write a book. I did, actually. In 2011 I got a deal to write a book about the Weakerthans. It didn't work out. I didn't like my editor and my editor didn't like me and the publisher had a schedule and I wasn't keeping to it for reasons including severe crushing depression and, also, the fact that my blood was 40% bourbon. The publisher and I went our separate ways, and did so amicably, but for years I felt like a failure for not getting a book in a bookstore. I don't feel like a failure about that anymore. Other things, sure. But not that.
Losing the book deal was the third or fourth bad/bad luck thing to happen over a couple of months in late 2011 and early 2012. If memory serves, it was: got laid off, got dumped, lost a book deal, and... something else, not sure what. Eventually I ended up in the hospital because I went like, three days without sleeping and was seeing spots and hearing, uh, spots. I cannot tell you much more about that experience because I don't remember much more than who drove me there: a manic pixie dream girl friend of mine who was also rich.
Manic pixie dream girls are always rich. That's where the mania comes from.
A few months later I was in Montreal working on the first-ever C2 Montreal conference as a founding member of its editorial team. It was a blast from beginning to end. I did good work, met a person who would end up being my close friend and frequent collaborator (Amber Mac), drank scotch with Rex Jung and his wife, and, when I wasn't doing those things, I ate and drank and smoked and caroused as a boulevardier generally does.
I don't know why I told you all that, but it's all true.
🌲 gonna
🌼 go
🌱 touch watch the Knicks
🌳 grass get humiliated
🌷 now
Be good to yourself.
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