Tired

Corey Pein recommended me to write Land of the Blind when he left for the gloomier, but arguably greener pastures of Portland, Oregon. And when he did, man was I flattered. I mean, Corey's the man...before he's done he'll have a Pulitzer or two in his backpack (cause I'm pretty sure they don't have mantels at whatever youth hostels he's staying at). Now, I'm starting to think he either doesn't like me very much or is just kind of a sick bastard that finds some pleasure in inflicting misery on his friends.

Because this column is becoming a burden of Atlasian proportions.

OK, it's not that bad, but I'm in a hyperbolic mood today, so humor me. I should have seen the signs, though. Before he left, when he was still writing the column, he told me more than once that he hated it. I thought he was kidding, because, c'mon...a forum where you get to screw with the media establishment, and weekly at that?

Well, it sounded pretty awesome.

Corey never elaborated on why he hated writing it, and I never asked him. Mainly because I was afraid he was serious. I told myself that he was just overburdened, and needed to have some of the weight lifted. Nine months later, I know he hated it. Here's the thing. It was pretty cool, at least at first. Especially for an ordinary person with bare minimum qualifications (i knew that journalism minor would pay off some day). It was fun, taking the best of the worst Augusta Chronicle columns and shredding them to pieces. What no one told me was there was this reputation that went along with it. And while Joan Jett may not care about her bad reputation, turns out I kind of care about mine.

Lately, I've taken a whipping at the hands of the folks all over town. I've been called "sanctimonious" and "negative" by people who've never met me. And, normally, that wouldn't bother me a lick. Get to know me, and I might change your mind. But what does get me is when people who *do* know me tell me that what I write doesn't reflect the person I am. That may be a subtle distinction, but man. It hurts a little; it tells me I'm not being true to who I really am.

I mean, I know I've got this sarcastic streak, but I swear I try to use it in a good-natured way. In print, though, it's hard to pull off sarcasm in a good-natured way. You can't see the upturn of my mouth into a half-smile. You can't see my eyebrows raise as I try to get a rise out of you. You can't hear me laugh a little. If we're having a beer together, you get to take my words in context with my tone, inflection and gestures. You don't get those luxuries when reading my words.

I've heard that tone is set by the writer, but I believe that's only a half-truth. Yes, you can try, and probably better writers than me can pull it off successfully. But, ultimately, unless you're having discourse, tone is set by the reader. You make of the writer's words what you will. You bias them with your experiences or expectations. If you didn't, there wouldn't be classes in school where you try to get at the writer's true meaning. There wouldn't be debates about what Melville's whale really symbolized. Not that I'm putting myself in that category, but if the true meanings put forth by good writers are constantly in question, why would it be expected that I would do any better?

So, Like Atlas and Ahab, I have this burden.