Sunday morning samokritika
On the porch. Sunday New York Times read (and you must, must read Dowd). Lala asleep. Dogs mauling each other.
Sleep was elusive, so I got up and a thought occurred (they do, infrequently): I have these years where I get more “creative.” It’s true. (“Creative” is in flying quotes because I lack another word.)
The year done, I lapse back into somnolence.
So, 2005 saw the first SFH record and Fury’s Hour.
In 2007, the second SFH waxing, Wheel of Wow, and The War Room.
In 2011-2, the third SFH record, WDYHM (now purged of sexism on iTunes, long story) came out, and so did Fight the Right.
And, this annum, the fourth (and indisputably best) SFH long-play, SFH KINDA SUCK, and the newest door-stopper (that’s what Pete Donolo called my books, once, and I am sometimes reminded of that when scanning bookstore shelves for Pete’s own contributions), Recipe for Hate.
Could be a coincidence, but I am starting to wonder. Could something else be at work here, amateur shrinks out there in the dark?
Anyway. Going to keep going. Each day like it’s your last, etc.
The year the tenth book comes out, however, I will drop dead. You can take that to the bank.
Punk rock will be played at the wake. You’re invited.
