Lightbulb, meet Edison; Edison, meet Lightbulb

Oh, whatever, it sounded like a good title at the time.

I've had a notion. The a-ha! lightbulb moment. I have been labouring for some time now, and when I say "some time," I really mean weeks, if not months, on how it is exactly that I can in it's-the-oughts-now, so-make-it-snappy fast-food mentality of today that I can digestibly introduce podcast listeners to who it is I am. Make them like me and want to know me, that is.

I assure you, when depressed, that is a tall fucking order. I have been daunted six ways to Sunday by that very conundrum for almost as long as I have known this podcast was a reality. Even when it was a notion.

How does one succinctly manage to do an introduction, a Self 101, in essence, to an unknown audience of conflicting demographics?

Yeah, I don't got a fucking clue either.

But I got a plan.

And a plan beats the shit a-la-trump out of a clue anyhow. Hooyah.

I think I have an idea, a five or ten-minute intro, that will nutshell me and even set a tone. I don't know. It comes down to execution and editing. If I can do what I have envisioned, it'll be pretty damned clear to my audience, I would think, who my influences are... if they're hip to them. They're stratosphere mainstream, the C- (but really an A+ -- they just don't know any better) crowd of anti-hero comics and stuff. I'll probably sound like Little Miss Mary Sunshine next to them, but we'll see.

I'm renting some DVDs, or buying some, to get me thinking. Fuck, man, I may have lost my mojo, but I took drama from grade eight to ten, man, and I even did the Norma Rae unionize monologue. Yeah. I can do Sally Field. So, you know, it's in the bag.

[COUGH]

Or so I'll keep telling myself. I mean, hey, let's win just one for the Gipper, eh?

But, FUCK! FINALLY! AN IDEA. I don't even give a shit if it comes off great, or good. I just want it to come off. That's all. I gots to have it go. Now I just got to get to that right pitch in my voice. I'm lacking the energy. I think I'm gonna have to go old school and bring out the heavy artillery.

Caffeine.

And if the situation is dire enough, we can intensify. And we will.

Sugar.

Yes. We have a plan. Soon, we shall have victory.

Or so I'll keep telling myself. I got a good poker face. [Wink]

[Ed. note: I wrote a pretty sombre posting over on the other blog and I think, somehow, it was pretty cathartic. I'm feeling a little lighter. Just saying the fight isn't being won was enough to remember just what a crappy couple of months I've had, and how this all sort of makes sense. I mean, nothing's really settled yet for me professionally. I'm not confident enough that I'm having the kind of impact that I thought I would be having. The game is just starting, though, and I think I'm sharpening up. Anyhow, point is, Admiting I feel like my ass is being kicked was kind of a revitalizing thing to write about. Sometimes the really sad and vulnerable shit really gives you a new lease.]

Image is this guy's.