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Hello? Is this thing on? What button do I push? Okay… I think… The light is flashing… Can you hear me?

Sorry, just getting the kinks worked out.

I think I just started a blog. Yeah, I know everyone has one these days. But cut me some slack. What else is the technologically savvy adult supposed to turn to when he’s searching for his place in the world? (Lord, it’s getting heavy already. Feels kind of Wonder Years-y.) I mean handwritten diaries are so 20th century and if I leave the thoughts to marinate in my head I’d probably need a candy jar filled to the brim with Xanax.

Okay so I’ve actually wanted to start one of these for a while. I’ve just been lazy. But I’ve been motivated recently by my two lovely cousins Katie and Jourdan who both have very funny, insightful, and appetizing blogs. Way to go, girls.

So what’s my deal? I have no idea. Here’s what I know: I’m thirty-two and I don’t do anything. Here’s what else I know: I’m supposed to be a grown-up. Here’s what I also know: Grown-ups do things. Grown-ups run errands. They buy Scotch Guard and get things framed. They meet people for happy hour and tapas. They use words like “tapas.” Grown-ups shave regularly, they send e-mails from Town Cars and have conference calls. Grown-ups have IRA’s and 401K’s. Grown-ups watch 60 Minutes. They shop for 1000 thread count sheets. Because they do these things, grown-ups are legitimate. They accomplished, recognized.

Here’s what I do: I wake up an hour to two hours after my alarm first starts going off. I get up and make kissing sounds at my beloved cat David Letterman. I eat a bowl of chocolate Cheerios. (They’re new. Get some.) I write for a couple of hours. I write a bunch of crazy stuff that comes from who-knows-where. This has included many short stories, several screenplays, a novel and a series of conversations between myself and David Letterman (the cat). After that I usually go for a run, then I come home and stare at the ceiling for a good thirty minutes. I roll over and look at the carpet. I think about vacuuming it, but usually don’t. I think about all the people who are doing legitimate things at that moment (see above). I eat more. I shower and–maybe–shave. I do something important like laundry or some minor car maintenance or cleaning, but only for an hour or so. This gets me to about 3:30 pm when I leave for a job, waiting tables, that could be performed by a trained animal. I’m not yet convinced that I am legitimate, or that I am something other than an aimless underachiever. It is, needless to say, not a good feeling. (Did I mention that I’m thirty-two?)

Sure, I won’t deny that I’m mature. I have a great relationship with my lovely wife and I pay my bills on time. I am usually responsible. But maturity is not the same as being a grown-up. So when do I get to the point where I’m willing to be a grown-up in order to be legitimate? Cause right now I have no desire. I don’t want an office. I don’t want to be an Excel expert. I don’t want to own a PDA. I don’t want to own a house. In fact, I want to do anti-grown-up things. I mean, my dream occupation is rapper. Let me say it again… I want to be a rapper. (I’m thirty-two.) I write poorly conceived raps. They’re terrible. Ridiculous. Silly. Me, MC J Light. Such admissions should not be posted all over the Internet. And this pipe dream certainly doesn’t make me feel any more legitimate. But I can’t just drop it or any other of my “nothings.”

So while I badly want to feel legit, I’m not so ready to be a grown-up. What next?

Start a blog.

I intend for this little project to be a hilarious/heartwarming/life-changing chronicle of all the nothing I do and all the nothing I think about. This is an effort to make something out of nothing. This is me trying to find legitimacy as a rapper, not a grown-up. (But there will probably be a bunch of random stuff thrown in, too.) I hope you enjoy reading.




  1. Love it. Keep it going.

  2. Brilliantly written as I suspected! Glad you started it… Earlier in the day, Jack had read a quote to me that he liked: “Achievement is today’s alcohol.” Been thinkin alot about what we’re supposed to be doing too. Loved your blog.

  3. You’re the reason why I have random memorabilia that random people send me. Like a poster titled “7 Reasons to Keep Your Tyrannosaur Off Crack Cocaine”, from a Mr. Sutton of Las Vegas, NV, which I love and inspired the rest of my comment.

    7 Reasons Tyrannosaurs Deserve to be Rapped About.
    1. When a Tyrannosaur feels unloved, it can crush your freaking head with it’s toe.
    2. They have many fine qualities and should be easy to rap about.
    3. A meat eater is the best kind of eater.
    4. Tyrannosaurs look awesome when they raise the roof.
    5. They also kill on the dance floor.
    6. Short arms are the best kind of arms.
    7. There’s that whole crush your head with it’s toe thing again.

    Love, T-Rex

  4. Imagine being 60 and having similar feelings. I’m glad to hear I’m not alone.

  5. Cool cool. I’m followin’ ya man!

  6. This is great Josh! Good for you 😉

  7. This is the best. I absolutely cannot wait to keep reading. Thanks for the link love, too. WELCOME TO BLOG WORLD…it’s addicting. 🙂

    Also, I heard you had to put David Letterman on a diet. I have an obese cat and should probably do the same. Is it working?

  8. Josh — Hey this is good stuff. You have a keen sense of humor which I really enjoy. About becoming a “grown-up” — fuggitaboutit. It will come too soon anyway, so enjoy your youth while you can.

  9. I wish to contest your assumptions. There aren’t any grown-up Excel experts.

  10. Everyone has one these days? Guess what? So do I. I have one I started months ago and then lost my steam. I think I was breaking up with someone – seems like I’m always doing that. But seriously folks, I’ve decided to write an entry – masturbatory as it sounds – and thank you for reminding me that I do like to write for fun, occasionally.

    Also, we’ve talked about this…as long as I’m doing some version of what I set out to do when I said “fuck law school” to myself and my parents, I can live with myself. As trite as it sounds, that’s what it’s all about, right? Being able to live with yourself so that the times in between making out with your favorite rad person (or rad wife) and yoga class and whatever gets us through are punctuated by a decent job we can show up to, do, return home from and sit down to write more (figuratively masturbatory) run-on sentences on our blog that our friends (or mere acquaintances) giggle at – even though we may or may not have ended said run-on sentences in a preposition at.

    Anyway, this is making less and less sense as I continue to write. Maybe I shouldn’t give up my dream of being a writer after all. God bless your heart. I feel much better now.

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