My degree is in English, not journalism. Also, not everyone who studies journalism goes into the field. My former mentor is still at ASU, toiling in the college library archives. I'd ask him why he never went on to one of the big papers, but he's never forgiven me for what happened back then. Sure, I miss the perks of the journalism lifestyle, but things have changed. I'm not sure I'd fit in, even if I rewrote all my Clinton jokes for 2016.
It turns up on the first page when I Google
Belch Dimension Comics. Anyone can see it. And it's lazy and sloppy. I mean, I'm not even worth the same effort at a a writeup as
Questionable Content or
The Office Bitch? Odd as it sounds, I'm insulted about
not being good enough to insult.
Funny, that's the impression
I got. Every time I talk about something about college I'd like to recreate on the outside, someone comes along and tells me:
The time for that might have been when I was actually
in that world, not two decades after the fact. That's why I want to help this new generation of kids along. I think many of them could be stopped from making mistakes they will regret in years to come. I had no one to help me along when I was starting out. I want to be in their corner.
It was never allowed before. My brother was so paranoid about me calling the police on him that he forbade me from having one, and if he'd found one I'd hidden somewhere, he would have had a meltdown and hurt me severely. However, I'm happy to say he is getting help to get off drugs, turn his life around, and learn to control his anger, so maybe someday. Who knows, I may even eventually learn to use that i-Pad thing I've heard so much about.
Change isn't progressive, it's cyclical. In 1997, I had (what I believed to be) a great job and the perfect girl. In 2002 I had a moderately good job (even if my boss was a drooling imbecile) and a nice girl. In 2008 I had a pretty decent job (in
a great location, with an apartment included), though no girl. Now, I have a sour economy, no job, and no one. I can't go back to school because even if I had the money I'd still run into people's
sneering elitist and
ageist attitudes. My brothers' problems worked against me as well. I'm still not allowed a bank account or credit cards, which means I can't enter
writing contests or pursue
work-at-home opportunities like I used to.
I take a
few liberties with reality in the comic, you know. And it isn't for lack of trying on their part. Left-wing talk show hosts simply don't make it in the market. Ask Al Franken. Ask Alec Baldwin. Ask...you, see, I'm sorry, I can't think of a third. Hence my point. It made more sense for the structure of the story to have it a talk radio guy instead of, say, some nut on a message board. But really, my character isn't much better. He turns into the same sort of self-righteous blowhard, acts rude, insults callers, and drives poor broken-headed "
Charles Edwin Cranston" intro a murderous rage. It's based loosely on how I was back in my newspaperman days (even down to the flipover shades I wore then).
I don't know where you get that "Marxist" garbage, Holly. I'd just like my ex's dad to explain his reasons for lying to me. Maybe if he has admitted his daughter was the town whore and he was just trying to protect me, I'd feel less insulted. In fact, if a
lot of people had been honest with me early on and not gone behind my back, we'd get along
ever so much better. If anything, the school paper was a little Marxist. They threw me out for being too ambitious, submitting too much, and because
I got more reader mail and gifts than anyone else on staff. It was pure jealousy.
I apologize for the length of this post, but I wanted to be fair with everyone.
Icy, I'm going to do a special blog on you. You're going to be my featured attraction.
