home

This entry occurs during time spent away from the city. I am here in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York, where the stars are dazzling on a clear night and the air seems cleaner and more abundant. It takes a moment for my urban senses to adjust to these wide open spaces, even though this is where I grew up. It's where I went to school, attended my first college, worked, played, learned... and eventually departed. I know this idyll rural span of upstate. I know the woods and the streams and the back roads. I know the shortcuts and the names of the people who live in many of the houses I pass. I know this world as well as I have come to know the various cities I've also called home.

I left here for good shortly after graduation from college in Buffalo. No more summers at home. The semesters were gone. But I returned to Buffalo, and that beleaguered and wrongfully maligned city forever holds a tender spot in my heart. It is where this card-carrying member of "Generation X" grew into adulthood. It is where I determined what I ultimately wanted from my life. It's where I made friends that will last my lifetime. It's where I first fell in love. And it is where I have had real chicken wings (Buffalo wings, that is), and no place else where I've dabbled in wings has compared to Buffalo's own main claim to fame (er, besides the Bills). When I left Buffalo, it was with a sense of stealth, as if afraid to confront the city face-to-face in daylight to say farewell. An Amtrak train pulled into the Depew station stop at around 4:00 a.m. Friends gave their bittersweet goodbyes, and the train swept an old life for the new away into the night.

San Francisco came next. The first time I saw this lustrous city in person was from a distance. I was in an Amtrak shuttle van, crossing the Bay Bridge from Oakland into San Francisco. It was night, just after 9:00. And there it was - the array of new possibilities lit up like every window of its beckoning skyline. I felt trepidation and excitement - eager to learn about my new home. I lived there for just over three years, from May of '94 until early August of 1997. It was an adventure. That's how I look back on it now. No, not every single day was a thrill-ride. There was routine - work and rent and school. But the overall sense of being there - so far away from all I knew - and surviving to make a living and achieve a modicum of personal success was entirely fulfilling. Plus, my time there provided plenty of stories with which to regale (or bore) present-day friends. Yes, from the unemployment of summer '94 to living and working at a residential hotel in the Tenderloin, to life in a beautiful flat (with washer and dryer and a working fireplace!) on Post and Lyon, to hotel work at the wharf, all while attending film school, juggling relationships, suffering heartache but finding new corridors and possibilities, as well as enjoying a level of satisfaction and success, San Francisco became unforgettable. I miss it to this day, and I anticipate my inevitable return visit to the gem by the Bay. When I bade farewell to San Francisco, it was with regret, but I knew my destiny lay elsewhere. It just felt... over. Even though I was in the beginning stages of a relationship, my time with the city had ended, and I had to go. My core group of friends had moved on and moved apart. Film school was kaput and my short film was in the can. I had some money saved. I reluctantly packed up my boxes to mail to New York, sold my furniture, and hopped on a plane one evening and headed across the flyover states to begin again, this time in New York.

And that brings me to the city where I now reside. Though I thrive off the energy in New York, it often becomes draining. It is truly a place that does not sleep. Some place is always open - there is always something to do. It is a city guarding millions of stories and a just as many secrets and a offers an equal amount of possibilities. What you want can be found - it is just a matter of motivation, attainment, and achievement. New York moves. It hums. The background rhythm is a steady white noise. The subway system is one huge artery diverging to a thousand different pockets of life. The people are its heart. And it is close to my childhood home. It is a simple five to six hour trip from New York City to where I am now, upstate.

Last week before the rain came, the wind howled - a persistent and almost mesmerizing organic vaccuum sounding through the trees and fields, whipping around the houses and down the roads and highways. I knew the sound well.

It snowed earlier tonight. We received more than a dusting but less than an inch. I glanced out through the front windows of the house a few minutes ago. Trees with branches and arms empty standing stark against the moonlight glow, I gazed across pristine snowfall at the three visible houses across this dead-end road. They were all dark and slumbering - shrouded in shadow and cold outside but knowing there was the warmth of life within. It was a glimpse of natural beauty, as if staring up at Sea of Tranquility on the moon, or like the camera's eye of an entrancing Bergman movie capturing this unique moment in a slow motion sequence of breathtaking film frames.

The snow, the rain, the high winds, the expanses of woodlands and fields, that one car every ten minutes on the two lane main highway during the lonesome small hours, and even the great stretches of nighttime silence - these are the sights and sounds of comfort. The sights and sounds of home.

festivus

"It's Festivus for the rest of us!" howled Frank Costanza in a classic episode of Seinfeld. For those who have become jaded on the season, with any vestige of merriment trickling away like money, Frank's proclamation might strike a chord. Erect a plain metal pole and vent your disappointments. Okay, Frank may not have had the best idea with Festivus, but it provided laughs that have endured.

Frank had his strange ideas, and for the rest of us, 'tis the season to withstand the mass-marketing of consumer product. In the living room, I just heard the commercial featuring Let My Love Open the Door by Pete Townsend (from his 1980 LP Empty Glass, in case ya' didn't know). It's the time of the year when the retailers put their prime jingles and premium pitches forward in the battle for the all-important dollar and the almighty fecund bottom-line. Electronic goods, compact discs, DVDs, sure, these types of gifts are understandable - who wouldn't like a digital camera or their favorite music or a good movie? But cars... so many car commercials (I just use the term "car" as a generalization - most of these ads are for some crazy mutation of the SUV, anyway). How many people actually purchase a vehicle for their loved one(s)? That is, besides the super-wealthy? Okay, there's a chance that a new auto is desperately needed by someone in a lower-income tax bracket, and the gift-giving of the holiday season is perfect timing for tying a big ribbon around the vehicle chassis. But, that's one pricey gift...

Anyway, brushing that perimetric thought aside, I learned a few years ago that online shopping is the way to go. Okay, I'm sure there are some people out there who have their concerns about online commerce, such as the security of their credit card and the reliability of the company. I will refrain from calling them Luddites, but I've had almost no problems buying through the Internet. On the infrequent occasion I did, I found the issue easily resolved. Hell, it was (and is) preferable to returning the gift to the store where I might have otherwise bought it - much less aggravating and time-consuming. I am not going to plug the online retail outlets I have patronized, as this is not intended as an advertisement (just flip on the television or computer for that - ads, ads everywhere without a moment to think).

My shopping is finished. Well, I do need to buy some cards, but the gifts are bought and delivered. There was a DVD player for the folks, as well as some DVD's for family and friends. Also, these Fisher-Price "Geo Trax" for my wee nephew (I can't wait to play with 'em, too), a couple of New York City Harley Davidson t-shirts, and a few other items. Oh yeah, does the fifth of Jim Beam for my friend's Christmas party the other night in Brooklyn count? That party - egg nog heavy on the boubon, mulled wine, beer, and a couple of Jim and colas. Yeah, the festivities were well-lubricated as we rolled into the small hours. Surprisingly, I was halfway cognizant the next day.

I digress. It appears this post has little purpose except to provide a personal stream-of-conciousness overview on my feelings regarding the season. Sure, Christmas and "the holidays" have been compromised and commercialized to the breaking point, but the most meaningful facet is one that endures - spending time with the people you care about. Despite rampant consumerism and the "Mercantile War of All Retailers Big or Small, Online or at the Mall," people still gather to give and get, and not just presents. In a world that is more and more difficult to understand day-by-day, this is eminent.

Hmm, those who know me might remark that I seem to be getting soft. Where is the spite? Where's the misanthropy? The animosity? Well, it's still there, it lingers, bobs and weaves, surfaces and briefly vanishes. But when it rises like the the Kraken, it is pointed directly at those who are unworthy and those who would want to damage the lives of others. It's aimed like the cannons of their wars. The focus of that bile of the mind are the backbiting politicians, the self-righteous Evangelicals, the programmed Puritans. The acrimony targets those who would maim and murder in the name of corporate profiteering, those who would curtail freedom of speech and expression, those who would want to oppress me with their feckless jargon and skewed beliefs. It's also pointed at those who don't see that there is hope in the world as long as someone still gives a damn.

So, anyone who needs my address for the delivery of the brand spankin' new 2005 Toyota 4Runner, just jot off an e-mail and I'll provide the details. I know I could make a decent profit after I sell it on eBay Motors...

Enjoy the season, let the nog flow freely, and many wishes for an acrimonious Festivus for the rest of ya'.

beneficence

Last week I gave to charity. Is that such a big deal? Well, not really, I suppose. Yeah, I toss a buck in those red Salvation Army pots from time-to-time - that ceaselessly ringing bell has an ephemeral way of inducing a modicum of guilt. But I've never written a check specifically for a particular organization. However, charity is a facet of the spirit of the season, right?

Of course people should give to legitimate charity whenever possible, as long as funds and feeling allow. If I was a wealthy man, I would give much and give often. Alas, I am not wealthy. But I figured, here I am, able to afford to live in New York City with a comfortable existence. No, I do not live exorbitantly nor beyond my occasionally meager means (at least I really, really try not to). However, I do well enough to pay my bills and spend excessive money at a bar, club, or pool hall on those recurrent nights out on the town. I also eat pretty well and I never wont for food. I am pretty much able to buy a CD or DVD whenever I'd like, usually without a second thought (unless it's one of those way damn expensive out-of-print Criterion DVD's). I have cable television, a cellular phone, a halfway decent wardrobe (hey - I like it!), a computer, and an iPod... There are a lot of people out there who can't even afford a television, let alone digital cable or a DVD player, and iPod isn't even in their vocabulary.

So, there I am at the office, leafing drowsily through the Metro (the free newspaper handed out at the subway stops), and an ad in the back asks for donations to the Bowery Mission. Apparently, $15.90 could feed ten people, $31.80 could feed twenty people, and so on. And the idea just came to me - "Why not?" So I clipped the ad, and at home later that night I made out a check in the amount of $31.80 and sent it in the next morning.

Charity feeds the soul. My money feeds someone I'll never know, even if it was only a mere $31.80. No, I did not go around bragging about it, though I admittedly felt proud of my wee measure of altruism. I am only posting about it here because I felt the need to express my feelings on giving a little something to the world in these dark days of strife, war, and intolerance. There is good in the world, even if it's a little obfuscated at times. A person who lives with a moderate amount of material possessions and creature comforts can facilitate compassion and kindness with a simple humanitarian gesture (whether it involves money or not - though money usually helps).

And every gesture of benevolence helps to make this disjointed, topsy-turvy world a better place in which to live, even if it only seems to be by the most miniscule degree.

sideways

""Sideways," a quirky comedy about two friends on a road tripthrough California's wine country, was picked as 2004's best film bythe Los Angeles Film Critics Association..."

"The movie won four other awards: best director for Alexander Payne;best supporting actor for Thomas Haden Church; best supportingactress for Virginia Madsen; and best screenplay..."

http://tinyurl.com/3txxu

It is exhilarating see the initial honors bestowed upon Sideways by reputable critics, and in all likelihood these merited accolades will not be the last. Of all the movies I saw this year, both in the theaters or rented, Sideways was indisputably the best. Paul Giamatti again proved himself as one of our finest actors - he's come a long way since his uproarious turn as "Pig Vomit" in Private Parts. His performance as Miles Raymond was simultaneously poignant and grandiloquent - a moving portrayal of an ungrudging, unselfish man trampled by life and love, but still clasping at his dreams and the frayed ends of optimism. Thomas Haden Church came back in a big way in his role as Jack, Miles' best friend, a grandstanding, self-absorbed minor-league actor, who endlessly annoys, amuses, and (in his own misguided manner) comforts and supports the downtrodden Miles.

And in another "comeback," a radiant Virginia Madsen excels in her supporting role as Maya, a Wine Country waitress and recent divorcée... and a potential love interest for Miles. There is a scene set on a porch - it's a blamy Northern California night - and Maya and Miles are discussing the elements of a good wine. Their words soon take on the nuance of allegory - delicate fine wine as fragile, burgeoning romance. The moment intensifies, and Madsen captures the chemistry of the moment perfectly (as Giamatti in his discomfiting reaction). From mediocre TV movies and direct-to-DVD film work, it is always invigorating to see an actor given the chance to prove his or her chops with a quality script and director (much like Charlize Theron in Monster - before that she was basically eye candy). Here Madsen shines.

Miles and Jack and their journey through wine country is a coming-of-age story for two men already ensconced in adulthood (more so Miles than the often callow Jack) but rightfully afraid to leave youth and dreams behind. It shows that life can be a tricky path to maneuver, and that the past is consequential upon the future, but not contingent. Sideways is an uplifting slice-of-life that adheres to the truths of human nature and personality. And it is the finest film of 2004, and unequivocally a contender for the best picture of perhaps the last ten years.

transmission

Not to date myself too severely, but back in my youth of the late '80s and early '90s, I was a D.J. A disc jockey. A broadcast professional. The seed of my brief career in broadcasting began when I volunteered at WEOS 89.7/90.3 FM, the public radio station at Hobart and William Smith Colleges in Geneva, NY (http://www.weos.org). The current jockey of this Saturday night rock/metal show was shortly departing to hit the road with some minor league bands to do their concert lighting. So, I made myself available, came in, and took over. And what a blast it was...

Starting in February of 1987, from 9:00 p.m. until 1:00 a.m. (but often later), I would plant my teenage self behind the control panel and microphone at WEOS. When I started in radio, we were still using turntables. For any young 'uns out there, back then turntables were used for much more than scratching and samples in rap and house music - they were integral to the industry. It was only the dawn of the compact disc age, and that new-fangled form of digital technology had not yet saturated the marketplace or radio profession. By mid-1988, however, it had, and the studio was soon equipped with a bulky CD player.

Every Saturday night I would sign on and spin my favorite music. As I stated, it was volunteer, so I was not paid, but I did get free records, compact discs, and promotional merchandise. A whole gigantic slew of records, compact discs, and promotional merchandise. After a couple years, I owned a dozen crates filled with record albums. As we trudged toward the end of the decade, my CD collection inflated and multiplied enormously, as well. No one else at the station was interested in "my" music. So, anything ranging from the Cro-Mags and Slayer to Jane's Addiction and Skinny Puppy came my way without question. No, I was not paid with money, but I rarely had to buy any music whatsoever, unless it was an import. In that case, there would be a New York State Thruway trek to Lakeshore Records in Rochester to pick up that particular release... to play on the show.

I was creative with the show's content, playing a hybrid of tunes that ranged the underground music gamut - New York Hardcore like the aforementioned 'Mags, avant-garde metal (Celtic Frost and Voivod), crossover post-punk (Corrosion of Conformity, D.R.I.), alternative rock (a relatively new term back in the '80s) like Jane's Addiction, Faith No More, and Ministry, the early days of grunge (Mother Love Bone, Soundgarden, Green River), punk (Dead Kennedys, The Exploited, Agnostic Front), and aggressive, dead-ahead metal (Metallica, Anacrusis, Hirax) . The whole time I would intersperse the songs with movie quotes I recorded from VHS tapes, like Heathers, Taxi Driver and The Evil Dead II. I'd even toss in intermittent absurdist humor bits from various Monty Python albums. I liked to consider my show innovative and experimental, even if it was just some kid's local college radio show with fourteen listeners and broadcasting from some dinky college dorm basement. Hell, you can pick up WEOS on the Internet, now...

While attending college, through one of my broadcasting classes, I secured a mandatory internship at the Adult Contemporary radio station WSFW 99.3 FM/1110 AM in Seneca Falls, NY. The internship quickly evolved into paid part-time employment. Okay, the pay wasn't great, but hey, it was my first professional job. At the time it seemed more respectable than my other job as a stockboy at the village supermarket.

Now, about "Adult Contemporary" - it's a far cry from what I was pounding out on Saturday nights at WEOS. At WSFW, I had to adhere to their professional broadcasting guidelines - regular breaks, preparing and reading newscasts, producing commercials and Public Service Announcements, weather reports (the weather is big in upstate New York), and playing music that was antipodean of my tastes. Yes, at WSFW I would play Phil Collins, Gloria Estefan, James Ingram, Will to Power, England Dan and John Ford Coley ("I'd Really Love to See You Tonight"), Dan Fogelberg, Mariah Carey (the early years), Whitney Houston, and on and on... Thankfully the music was pre-recorded on huge reel-to-reel tapes, and I never really had to make a decision on what to play - I just had to make sure it was being played.

No complaints, though - the job at WSFW proved a valuable experience, and it was also relatively simple work. After all, I was a trained professional in a small market of the broadcast industry, and if I might say so, damned good at my job.

Eventually, it all came to an end. I applied to another school and was accepted. Except Buffalo was not quite convenient to home - I was not keen on a two hour drive to the Finger Lakes every Saturday to do a radio show, and then endure the same trek back to Buffalo on Sunday. So in January of '90 I handed the reins over to my pal Joe, who had attended school with me (for broadcasting, as well). Joe took over and kept the show alive, and it continues to this day, believe it or not. My old show has developed into something of an ensemble cast of personalities and lots and lots of heavy metal, and has switched time-slots (from Saturday at 9:00 to Friday at 9:00).

So there I was at Buffalo State College and - get this - their campus station, WBNY, would not give me a radio show time-slot without passing a 24 hour training session. This was 24 hours over the course of a week or two (whenever my schedule allowed). I had to scoff at this. I mean, come on - I had been in both college and professional radio for three years and these people wanted me to prove my aptitude? I felt I should have been the exception ( and I still do). Blame it on youthful braggadocio, but I smirked, sneered, gibed - and took a gig reading the news instead. That required no preposterous 24 hour indoctrination period.

Miles and years from WEOS and Buffalo now, I still look back at those buoyant days and nights of youth with a great amount of fondness. And yes, I miss that little radio show at WEOS that still means so much to me - it was unbridled creativity - and I like to think that much of that creativity has transposed itself into my present-day writing and film endeavors.

So on a chilly, dank Friday night here in New York City, roughly fifteen years down the line, and Joe's show tuned in via the Internet, I tip my cap (collecting dust in the hallway closet) to WEOS and college radio everywhere.

digital

The Criterion Collection.

http://www.criterionco.com/asp/

Friday I watched Luis Bunuel's final picture, That Obscure Object of Desire, and today I was viewing (pun sort of intended) Eyes Without a Face, a twisted 1960 horror film from French director Georges Franju. Two classics of very different styles, and both available on Criterion.

No, this blog entry is not intended as an advertisement for Criterion. I am simply expressing my gratitude that the company exists, and that they hold themselves to such rigid standards.

Criterion is the premier DVD production company, bar non. Okay, Kino Video runs a close second because they, too, release a multitude of renowned classics, from silent to foreign to contemporary, but in terms of quality output, Criterion is nonpareil. For a filmmaker, having a film released on Criterion is considered a high honor, and rightfully so.

Criterion transfers of sound and video are generally impeccable - their discs are a joy to behold both visually and aurally. The packaging features engaging cover art that usually succeeds in conveying the "feel" of the film, and the insert booklet often consists of pages and pages of essays and information about the director, the transfer, and the film itself (of course). And as for their catalog titles, they are films of substance and significance, though their endorsement of Armageddon will always baffle me.

Okay, I am not a highly materialistic person. I need my iPod, and I need to expand my DVD collection. Yeah, I love music too, but I am not averse to just borrowing a CD from a friend and loading it onto my iPod. But with DVD's, it's a different story. At the heart of the matter, it's because I am a veritable film geek. I attended film school. I can discuss film for hours, any time and anywhere. I read about film (my sacred writ is A History of Narrative Film by David A. Cook). When I watch particular films, I study them. I absorb myself in the cinematography, the use of lighting, the score and incidental music, the performances, the flow of dialogue, editing, etc. Criterion is a film geek's dream, because many of the pictures they release are some of the most important films in cinematic history. From Godard and Truffaut to Hitchcock and Cassavetes, from Kurosawa and Ozu to Eisenstein and Tarkovsky, they span genre and country with meticulous detail paid to each release.

Because of their extraordinary quality, Criterion discs tend to be a bit pricey. Even though they're worth every cent, I try to buy slightly cheaper on half.com and eBay (just picked up Kurosawa's Rashomon for $15.00). I now own over 200 DVD's (about three dozen are from Criterion), and there are no signs of stopping. Yes, I have watched most of my collection more than once. I relish them all and they're worth multiple viewings. With the DVD box sets of television shows, it's a joy to be able to throw in an episode and watch it unexpurgated sans commercial interruption and syndication edits (The Simpsons, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Freaks and Geeks, The Ben Stiller Show, et. al.).

I was recently asked, of all the DVD's I own, if any of them "sucked." I answered this with an emphatic "no." You see, I don't buy DVD's that I feel are no better than compost. Why waste money, anyway? I am proud of my taste in film, though I am not a snob - well, I'm somewhat a snob, but not entirely. There are umpteen movies at which I contemptuously scoff, though I do enjoy a well-crafted formulaic Hollywood flick from time-to-time, be it horror, romance, action, etc. In some ways I feel as if I am one of a rare breed that has an exhaustive knowledge of film theory and history, and I try to pass this on to anyone I meet who might care or be willing to listen to me prattle.

As for prattling, I am done for now. Go check out the Criterion Collection, and support independent and foreign cinema.

quarantine

A night out with friends. How many countless hours and dollars have I spent at any random watering hole wherever I've lived in my adult life, drinking into a state of tipsiness or beyond? Last night, Friday night, was no exception. Sure, it was low key - only a couple of friends out - but as usual, a good time was had as we lingered and cavorted into the small hours on the Lower East Side.

Going out on the town with friends is usually an entertaining and enjoyable nocturnal excursion, and it also does much to alleviate my recurrent feelings of solitude. I am not complaining about that - self-imposed isolation part of who I am. And I don't mind being alone; as a matter of fact, I often enjoy it. You see, I am not the type of person who needs to be constantly surrounded by people, or perpetually be in a relationship, or to seemingly always be in pursuit of someone - anyone - to secure a deceptive sense of personal totality. No, my time with myself is something I generally appreciate.I can write, putting in time on a novel, or a review for the website, or edit and rewrite the television pilot/series Small World... or put an entry into This Side of the City. I might laze on the couch watching a DVD or one of the few worthy television programs I like (Daily Show, Ebert & Roeper, South Park - I'm looking at you). Or I might be found reading. Just simply indulging some time into a book or magazine.

Sure, isolation can amplify and feel close to overwhelming, but that's when the decision is made to get out of the house and see some friends. Or, hell, just take a walk outside and absorb the sights and sounds of the world beyond my little domain. There is always the workday, too. Rising early, surrounded by commuters and coworkers, the mechanical hum of the office environment, performing the job, and coming home tired. Yes, work and the ensuing fatigue certainly allows solitude to be mitigated.

So here I sit on a chilly Saturday evening in New York City. Some talk show that follows Ebert & Roeper on Channel 55 is droning out in the living room. I received my Criterion Collection DVD of Akira Kurosawa's Rashomon in the mail today (got it cheap, too). Could pop that in later, but right now I must have some dinner...

inception

My blog. The Urban Outlaw blog. This Side of the City. What city? Well, not just where I am currently residing (New York), but where I've been, be it Buffalo, San Francisco, or even the non-city regions of upstate New York. This Side of the City - my side - can also be construed as a state of personal expression from my place in the world.

No, I have never done the "blog" thing. There are so many of 'em, and they're seemingly inescapable on the Internet. Adding my own to the glut seemed... insignificant or irrelevant. But the blog is not inconsequential to the writer, no matter who is (or who is not) reading it. And here on the Internet, anyone can be a writer, right? No - the ability to construct a sentence and convey an expression or thought does not necessarily make one a "writer."

If you have never been paid for anything you've ever written, be it ten dollars or ten thousand dollars, then writing is simply a hobby.

Fortunately, I've been paid over the years for my freelance work - reviewing theater, film and DVD, and writing feature articles. By my definition, this would make me a "real" writer, but I hold myself to such exacting standards that I won't truly feel like a full-fledged (or, "professional") writer until I have my first novel published. And that is a two-ton boulder of a project I've been chiseling at for a couple of years now...

So, why the blog? After all, I have two novels (the first completed and the second in rewrites) with a third at the outline stages, a television pilot and subsequent episodes going out to various contests and competitions, a website with multitudinous reviews and editorials, two Yahoo! Groups, a personal journal, and a handful of screenplays. Well, none of those sources express my voice on a personal, visceral level - I am constrained by the dictates of fiction writing, editor's guidelines, freelance professionalism, screenplay and scriptwriting paradigms, and my journal is rudimentary, basically detailing my activities and not always my thoughts and ideology (or, "weltanschauung" - my word of the day). Plus, that personal journal is, well... bromidic and even a little tedious.

Not to say that this blog - no matter how long it lasts or how often I post - won't become monotonous, repetitious, or trite.

But here it is - open to the public-at-large, for anyone anywhere at anytime to peruse. Basically, I'll post whatever is on my mind. I've had a surfeit of recent thoughts regarding the world and my life, reflecting on the past as I look toward the future. The past haunts, inspires, and assuages. It instills nostalgia and joy and bittersweet memory. The future is a hazy area, unseen around the sharp twists and bends in the pathway - a pathway I traverse with caution, optimism, and a dollop of self-deprecation, even as I glance back.

So, from the humorous, to the melancholy, to the incisive, to the acerbic, here we go with another blog paddling bravely into the sargasso sea of online opinion and revelation...