Prozac is Expensive, Blogs Are Free
A reader asks: “Why can’t your blog be funny, like your humor column?”
Well, let me see if I can’t put this as plainly as possible. The Cheshire’s Grin (my weekly humor column) is only one side of me, while my blog is quite a different side. If I’ve disappointed my readers in some way, I only ask that you look to yourselves to find the answers to questions such as these. Thankfully, I can still laugh at the world around me, but there are times (and these times are becoming more and more frequent with the way the world seems to be turning out) when I just cannot ignore the political and social upheaval around us all. Being that I am what I am, I feel compelled to write about whatever it is that happens to be plaguing my mind on any particular day, whether that happens to be something funny that has happened to me, or the fact that George Bush is still a goddamned idiot. Sometimes it’s hard for me to differentiate the two, but then I realize that, in the case of W, it’s just a scary fucking world. My blog is my way of dealing with the same fear that most of you feel out there. The Cheshire’s Grin is my way of dealing with the silly and stupid stuff that seems to continually happen in my life.
On the other hand, perhaps I’m just your typical paranoid schizophrenic. I suppose I wouldn’t be the first writer in history to suffer from such an affliction. Writers – as well as all artists, I think – have the uncanny ability to put that which they are feeling on display. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that we feel more deeply than other people, but we do have a sense of obligation to share these feelings with the world. Hence the existence of the critic; he tells us if our thoughts and feelings are good or bad according to modern social standards. Any artist worth his salt won’t give two shits about what critics think about our feelings, but that’s neither here nor there.
I guess my point is this: Prozac’s expensive, blogs are free.