Assistant/Atlas Season One Cliffhanger: 1.50
Well, there you have it-- fifty episodes of the hottest new blog to hit Tinseltown since. . .um, Defamer?
Let me apologize for the accidental spoiler in May 27th's post "Hail Alias". For Alias fans who hadn't seen the finale before they read that, I am sorry to ruin the surprise for you. In the future, I'll try to warn you before posting any such material. But for the record, the post contains few 'spoilers' other than that admitted-biggie. It's mostly about what Alias is gonna do now that Jennifer Garner is pregnant.
-Tech upgrades: Thanks to recent assistance from Jungle Computer, I now know how to do hyperlinks, add pictures and stuff. So hopefully the blog'll get prettier and more useful. Not anything too fancy, mind you, but better.
-Guest bloggers: There's still time to vote for your preferred new blogger- right now, Trailer Maker, Acronym Girl, Assistant Unemployed, Geeky Roommate and Jungle Computer look to be the likely additions to the site. But there's still time for a dark horse victory on the part of any of the others. Also, look for Totally Unauthorized's Peggy to have a guest spot.
-A Poop on Ryan Seacrest's Star Winner? I'm still waiting for one, and still doing interviews regarding the contest. I've got interviews scheduled for radio stations in Syracuse, NY, Birmingham, AL, and Champaign, IL, plus Sirius Satellite Radio. Beat that, Perez. What? Your traffic is eighty times mine? Oh.
And finally, today's post:
Oh Mary, Jesus, and Joseph, I feel like I'm in a tempest. I think that's what this job can do a lot of times-- that and this life. Look, to the anonymous person who 'clearly' feels some scorn for me, I don't know what to say. I don't want to be hated. I didn't start this blog for that.
From here, though, the reason I'm blogging is less clear than when I started. I have a lot of your little eyeballs, and oh my dear, dear readers, I do appreciate that fact. I do. I really, really do. I've always thought of myself, first and foremost, before I was ever an 'assistant', as a writer. To have literally thousands and thousands of people check out my stuff humbles me beyond written words. Verbally, that'd be light choking and coughing.
But I've realized that if I want to keep you reading this blog, I've got to become more--as a blogger, as a writer, and indeed, as an assistant [grin].
So, I wonder why it is you're reading this? Do you like me just for my pretty, well-publicized contest about poop? Or do you give a sh*t about what I'm writing?
"If I'm gonna go down, I'm gonna do it with style."
I need to stop blogging to Ani DiFranco, she's turning me into a lesbian. A very enraged lesbian. But maybe that's okay. I could very well be a lesbian trapped in a guy's body. Atlas' shoulders drop. He wonders if there will be a new round of occasionally-withering insults. He can handle the sexuality ones. Having gay family you love helps you feel a lot more secure with that stuff. It's the ones that question my motives, my underlying truth. These sting because they're the same questions I'm asking myself more and more--Why? Why are you doing this? Justify everything you've ever done up until right this second. And please, single-spaced.
This blog started as a defense mechanism/outlet for a creatively-starved artist. By a young writer reaching for a dream that seems increasingly remote even as I get closer. I came to this town because I know I can write. It's a tough place, certainly, but hey, it's nice here by the beach.
"So F*CK You and your untouchable face."
In cyberland, I can't reach out to slap you if you slight me. That's probably for the best. We'll just continue this slinging of electronic barbs. I'm thick-skinned, as they call it in all the ads, I can take it. . .most of the time.
If you want real honesty, I feel closer to my dreams than I ever have. And sometimes, not very often, but very occasionally, I cry before I sleep. They ain't happy tears.
Because I may have it good, better than most who have come before me in the human race, but IT, the world, 'things', IT is still not fair. It's not even close to just out there. And I should know, shouldn't I? I've 'had it good'. Is it that good feels empty? Or is that this good is, in fact, mostly empty promises.
So I sing my little song and I write my little blog and I shoulder the world and I don't tell anyone, really. Oh, here and there, I guess. Then I write out the pain that will be written away, and work through, or ignore, the rest as best I can.
If I seem brisk and blustery and full of young hubris, it's because I'm doing a great job hiding the burning resentment I harbor for the sometimes-unreasonable expectations placed on me. It's not the expectations per se, but the fact that everyone else seems to have no trouble sloughing them off when they become a burden.
When Sydney Bristow worked for Sloane, she was quiet and meek, but inside she burned with a most righteous anger. But she could handle it because she knew that when she was free of him, she could go back to being herself again. While working at SD-6, she believed that her life would be truly hers once more. Some day. But she'd have to push these anger-provoking thoughts out of her mind, not allowing herself the questions-- "Is doing this changing me? Is this process of subterfuge dismantling the me I've so carefully nourished? What have I become?" And she'd go about her work of bringing him down and making the world--and herself--free from the terror he imposes.
It's not for nothing I named him Sloane.
So what will become of Assistant Atlas? Will he decide to say 'screw it' to the world or just put his shoulder to the Andes mountains and push? I dunno, it's a character-driven cliffhanger, people.