Before Tumblr ruined everything, Twitter did. I distinctly recall having a conversation with my friend Emil Nassar (aka Philly producer/DJ Emynd) about this, in a club, circa winter 2008. He shouted into the din, Why haven’t you been blogging and I shouted back Twitter and we both felt very hyper-conscious about the ridiculosity of it all because Twitter was newish and seemed indulgent and gossipy at the time. (His twitter handle is Emynd and “crackheads” have, apparently, stolen his license plate.) But now I’m blogging on my original blog, begun eons ago in 2004 and chronicling events that I barely like to think about anymore, along with many that I do, making excuses for not writing here because of the instantaneous and conversational response factor of social media. (Here is my Tumblr, follow my face). Everything has really gotten kind of stupid, in a theater of the absurd sense, no?

There’s something else, too. I always feel pressure to keep the writing on here more elevated than on my Twitter (a real cursefest, although feel free to stab me if I ever churn out an emoticon) or on my Tumblr, which often feels like the garbage receptacle of the capital letters-and-caffeine concoction that is my stream of consciousness brainpiece. If we have ever met you know I tend to speak in this way as well, in paroxysmal loudmouth mode, the linguistic inclinations of a 16-year-old sailor from the Valley. OH MY FUCKING GOD, AMIRITE? I like CnP to be a quieter space, except when I don’t.

More importantly, I’ve set this seven-year precedent (I AM SO OLD) of writing in the first person here and frankly, I no longer feel the compulsive desire to write about my personal life in public, per se, for several reasons. There’s tweets for that, and a whole media culture revolving around first-person narrative that is far more often self-indulgent than it is thought-provoking, and do I really need to contribute? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about documenting women’s real experiences, but if I told you everything here, what would I have left for my memoirs. I might change my mind on this, later. Whatever. Maybe I’m full of shit.

The other thing. I am super busy! Writing on Alternet and on Thirteen (NYC PBS) and freelancing for Billboard and VIBE and HIVE and Cluster Mag and various other exciting places that you and your family will enjoy.

WHICH IS TO SAY, I’m going to make a dedicated effort to write here more. Particularly I’m starting a new music dealmabob that I don’t want to reveal too much about before I’ve got the first three installments in the can, but suffice to say it will involve interviews and it will BLOW YR FACE OFF ITS AXIS. Until then you should read my 2008 piece about New York’s ball scene, bka VOGUEING, which the people at the Fader magazine recently posted on the internet. The photo below, by Krisanne Johnson, is gazongas. (The tall drink of water in the sun goddess pose is the gorgeous Lola Balenciaga) And as I noted before… I did not use the term “trannies” derogatorily, I was really just unaware about the debate around it at the time.

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