Blurtonia.

And here sans spell-check and only with the freshness a first draft can bring, I find myself in the early A.M. tap tap tapping away again. For your amusement. And. I suppose. Mine.

Later.

Right now all I want is truth. Basics. Where are you going with this Tankboy?

I don’t know. As usual.

Maybe that‘s it. That's what I'm going for. The realization that I really don't know for the most part. I'm fumbling along just like you and you and you. Right now I'm offered an opportunity though. Photogal is out of town for the next few days so I can either a) fall flat on my face, repeatedly, in a way that mimics the court jesters of yore or b) I can just be me, stand tall and flip out the most important of all middle digits to those who would hope/think/wish me otherwise or (and most probably) c) stand tall and combine jester with malcontent and gentleman and (basically) stay out of trouble while remaining as interesting as possible..

It's Thursday but it feels like Friday and I wish it was Saturday. Does that make me lazy? Or human? Or just, what? WHAT?

I dunno.

None of this makes any sense (or, actually, in fact (and so far – trust me – ) is this awkward (yes)) but it is grammatically correct. So I'm not completely unbalanced. Just a bit off, on the port side, and for that I feel guilty. Are you amused? I hope so. But just in case you're not, here's a tune. I wish I could say it encapsulates, in some lame generic worldview sort of way, my current state of mind…but it does not. Instead, it merely commits the (honorable (honourable (?))) crime of totally fucking rocking. So enjoy.

Download The Riverboat Gamblers "The Biz Loves Sluts" and then look for my preview, of their show right here in Chicago, tomorrow on Chicagoist.com.