Childhood addictions, and a muse needed.

It just hit me that, for the past ten years, I've been completely uninvested in two of the largest movements of popular culture in our era: Harry Potter and the Sopranos. I suppose this is the counterpoint to the Salon article I saw here. My point is this: While my peers and colleagues have been gluing themselves to their books, TV and movie screens, I've been doing...what, exactly? I couldn't really tell you. The past ten years of my life, I've dedicated to numerous things. I have a closeted adoration of anime, something that I keep secret from most people. After all, if you tell people you're really into tales about a boy wizard who travels between this world and a world where riding around broom sticks is an acceptable sport, nobody so much as bats an eye. But mention that you're really into teenagers piloting robots loosely based on human shapes that transform and people look at you like you're some kind of psychopath. Go figure.

Also, my taste in music has grown. I've evolved from immature punk in the likes of the Ramones (legendary, still) to AC/DC to britpop and all forms of power pop (lame). I've read two separate series of books that are similar, yet completely unrelated to Harry Potter. A child wizard is cool, but dragons and sandworms are weird? Double standards are tiresome and upsetting.


In a convenient topic change, I'm convinced my productivity and creativity would sky rocket if I had a muse. A charming, beautiful lass whose eyes and scent and gossamer hair would inspire sonnets in her name, songs to woo her, plays to make her mine.

That, and lots of hot, hot sex.