Political threesome

Mysterious attack ads placed around the internets surrounding a potential Metz in ’16 campaign (I deny any knowledge of an impending campaign nor any validation of the comments herein):

G--- Metz cut his teeth in the liberal SF political machine, advocating free gay sex for methamphetamine. Is this what we want running America?

G--- Metz has wined and dined known terrorists, associating with Nancy Pelosi and Barbara Boxer. Just say No to METZ.

G--- Metz was born in San Francisco to a Mexican mother, meaning he was born on foreign soil to a illegal parents. G--- METZ: He's not even eligible.

Suck it, Rush Limbaugh. Suck it, Glenn Beck.

(Ed. note, whoever can find the mysterious poster of said statements, I would like to interview him or her for my campaign manager. If I needed a campaign manager.)

pissing in the corner (again)

I have, before, been on record that I can't stand Yelp out here. As some of you may know, in SF, while it's not golden, it's a pretty good indicator of quality, experience, etc., for most places one might want to check out. Also, SF has a nasty tendency to bring out the closet pontificator in everyone.

However, with the general vastness of the city in the state that is doubly named -- New York, it seems that Yelp is pretty much, while not useless, a little bit of a trainwreck of democratic process. Too many voices, nobody filtering them. Ironic, since it's New York, not California (sorry, that will be my last dig on that fair, arid state by the most inaptly named ocean in maybe forever -- it's getting frankly like old shtick. Or old socks).

So I'm going to claim it. Or reclaim it. Or not do a damned thing. But I'm writing on it again, which, while seemingly inconsequential for the spurring of such a blog post, is mainly a reason for me to try, try as I might to get my writing chops in gear.

Ah, now the truth. I have always figured myself to be grossly, chronically overextended. I write this, I watch this, I play guitar and attempt to be social and attempt to find and hide and otherwise be a general man-of-all-seasons. And I like it and then I forget to get writing and I don't. It's a vicious, viperous self-defeating cycle.

But, I think I've also forgotten just how much of a sounding board it could be when I'm upset or not writing or otherwise moot and tongue-tied and completely unordered. And prone to run-ons. Oh well. I wrote some blah on there the other day. Now I feel rejuvenated. Somewhat.

So shame on me. My writing problem is not inspiration. It's the actual writing.