So what the hell is this all about, anyway? I really wish I had a more compelling answer.

What you’re stuck with, however, is the closest approximation to a salient conclusion that I can proffer up: fifteen years ago I was sold a bill of goods—an insidious fraud predicated on the notion that somehow, through some wholly imagined qualifier, collecting was cool. Just to clarify: I’m not referring to casual collecting and/or blind amassment (neither of which has ever interested me much)—I’m talking equal parts otaku / hikikomori, “don’t mind me as I rifle through your garbage at 2 a.m.”-type bullshit. Collecting would gradually assume the role of a crass surrogate for the ‘life experience’ and ‘personal growth’ I’d prudently opt to ignore.

The most profound inculcators of this pathology were twofold: Eightball and Buzzkill. At age 16, these two periodicals had the power to reduce my malleable, young brain into a twitching heap of mush. Celebrated grotesqueries and hyperbolic glorifications of musical anti-art were too easily digestible and intoxicating—I never stood a chance.

Lo this longtime later, I’m feeling so existential, basking in ennui and pondering the unfathomable. Friendships have faded, relationships have dwindled into acrimonious nubs and somehow I duped myself into believing that everything would be ok as long as I eventually got that VP’s EP. Well, that day has come (thanks, RR!) and gone and I don’t necessarily feel all the better for it.

It should be pretty obvious by now that I’m a sad motherfucker. I’d like to pretend that this blog is an exorcism of accumulated detritus and effluvium, but the title alone, an obvious misnomer, betrays its true purpose: to feed my perverse amusement. If just one person cites some esoteric minutia as having been gleaned from Cool Dude Quarterly it’ll all be worth it.

99% less pathos: I’d like to thank all of the usual suspects for their contributions over the years. Special thanks to my pal, DOE, for technical support + sympathy.

AA