I've been slacking on the writing, I know. Sorry. But I haven't had all that much to say. Or, rather, I've had a tonne of things to say and just haven't felt like saying any of it in such a public forum. We're all celebrities in the information age, in that just about anything we do can be found out about. Some of this is to do with putting ourselves out there-- as I do with my blog, and twitter, and facebook, and deviantart, and match.com, and amazon.com wishlists, and so on and so forth. I'm sure with all the information out there about me, about any of us, online, you can know almost every thing there is to know about someone.

Maybe that's why we're also the 'celebrity age.' It's especially noticeable living in Las Vegas; every celebrity ends up here at some point or other. But I have to admit I feel like I've been a little left behind. I feel like I just spent a week knapping the flint tool to end all flint tools, I've come out of my cave, and people all of a sudden have this shiny brown stuff they call bronze. Who are these celebrities? Where did they all come from? I think a lot of it is to do with Vegas.

See, there's quite a few clubs here. Probably about fifty. And one of their favourite things to do is host a celebrity birthday. There are probably only so many celebrities who are willing to spend their birthday in a club surrounded by people they don't know, which means at some point the celebrity quota dries up. All of a sudden the clubs are in a scramble to find someone to be a draw to people who want to be a fully fledged member of the celebrity age, so they elevate some sad twat from a reality show to the status of 'celebrity,' and then people are flocking to the club. The newly christened celeb, baptized by overpriced vodka and legions of new fans, goes on to fight for their celebrity in tabloids and the internets-- when they really haven't done anything that deserves adulation other than actually having said adulation. . .I am adored, so you must adore me. . .

Anyway, yeah, I'll admit it, I wouldn't mind a bit of fame. I'd love one day that I could sell all this bollocks I'm typing in my down time, and never have to work another 9-5 job again. The book of the blog. . .the blook? And fair enough, I don't exactly work a 9-5 job, I've never worked a 9-5 job, but I'd rather be a writer than have to punch a time card every day, and fame helps if you're a writer.

But I want to earn it on my own. I want to deserve it. I want people to read what I write, say 'hey, this is pretty good,' and tell their friends about it. I don't want some club to decide I should be a celebrity, and invite me to host my own bloody birthday party just so people can see me on a billboard and think 'hmm, I don't know who that is, I'd better go and find out because I don't want to miss a celeb.'

Unless anyone has an opening for my 30th next year, because it's easier than making plans. . .Tabu? Body English?