Faking the Funk Since 2002

I'm killing this journal.

Why am I killing this journal?

Because I'm not sure why I do it. When I started, over three years ago, I figured it'd be a nice place to vent, keep track of my thoughts, my proclivities toward the melodramatic that, with some retrospect, I'd be able to adjust and correct. I thought, in other words, it'd help build a better Andy.

But that soon turned into me doing a cyber-vaudeville routine. It became me trying to entertain first, inform later, reflect last. I've used this journal to publicly disembowel my "enemies." I've used it to propogate indefensible opinions, often for the sake of agitation or personal enjoyment. LiveJournal has fueled my cynicism and turned me into a contrarian. I've used this blog to embarrass ex-girlfriends and attempt to swoon new ones. I've used it to pre-empt criticism I KNOW is coming.

What I haven't used it for, however, is to build a better Andy.

I almost never return to past entries. I can't remember the last time I used my blog to chart my "personal growth" or whatever. And if I had a nickel for every time, in a state of either extreme boredom or extreme emotional anxiousness, I made a meaningless, cryptic, and often passively aggressive post, I'd have a shit ton of nickels. And what good are nickels in this, The Age of the Quarter?

So I'm not DELETING the journal, as I'd like it to be here for me to return to in time. And I'll certainly continue to read and comment to YOUR journals. And heck, I'll probably create a new blog in time, one with a more clearly defined mission. But for now, ELPH8 bids you all a fond adieu.

Adieu.

Tonight Ragan Fox is reading "poetry" at the "poetry slam." Apparently, he's a very good "writer" and "performer." Even though it's all his fault that we got dropped in Duo Quarters at AFA in '99. Come to Ego's around 8ish.

Because also: There's a limerick head-to-head. It shall be deadly. To whet my limerick whistle, I cranked a few out this morning. You can tell by how low-quality they are just how well my mind is suited to limerick-writing.

( Rick's Limes )

Dear out there-ers,

Tomorrow hundreds of nonprofit staffers, board members, and staffers will decend on Austin for my company's annual conference, Crossroads. So I should be far too busy to update, shouldn't I?

Signed,
Chicken Sans Head

I doubt that "George Bush doesn't care about black people."

If I suddenly wasn't around anymore, what shit of mine would you pillage at the estate sale?

What does it mean when someone says, "I'm a conservative"?

Being devastated has its priviliges.

Namely, discounts on alcohol and prolonged conversations with cute waitresses.

My Three Fugees rolled into Austin last night. I gave them a mini-tour of south Austin before we hit Opal's for some divine cheese fries, a handful of $2 Shiners, and nostalgia. We ended up sitting next to another NOLA fugee whose house WAS flooded. But her giant stack of french fries, her endless stream of beers, and her tattoos seemed to keep her company.

Tonight, I'm introducing My Three Fugees to the slam. It's the NEW SHIT SLAM, y'all, which means I may not read, having blown a majority of my "new shit" in the last couple of weeks. That's right: I blew my new shit. Tot gross.

I wish I'd thought of this line for a poem, which I heard on an episode of Nip/Tuck: "If Anne Frank had been living in your attic, she never would've made it past 'Dear Diary...'"

I'll be Nina Simone:
defecating on your microphone.

Today, I'm taking in three refugees. Of course, there's a mini-uproar about that nomenclature: the refugees saying that they don't want to be called refugees. But they are seeking refuge, which is sorta the definition. So I'm taking in refugees, damnit.

Three girls, all from NOLA. They got out before the storm hit but now they're out of jobs and wandering TX in a daze of What Do We Do Now? I know one of them--my first girlfriend from the 5th grade--but the other two are strangers. Lesbian strangers at that!

Do you get good karma points for housing refugees who you already knew? Or do they have to be poor and/or of a minority group to count?

To those of you who suck,

See this mind? Henceforth, I shant be paying you ANY of it. Shame, too, 'cause it's a good mind.

In Christ's Name,
Andy B. Bukake

p.s. Ahhhh, my friends list seems so much less self-righteous now. Calgon, take me away.