it might come as surprise to you guys (and likely the editors of this fine publication, as they haven’t said a word to me about it … unless they’re planning a surprise party) that I have been waxing on and on about useless issues in The Pulse every single week now for, as of this month, five years.
It’s an achievement that I’m particularly proud of because for me that’s a long time to continuously do anything. I’ve never had a relationship last that long. I’ve come very close, but there’s never been a five-year anniversary with any one girl (yet). I’ve lived in my current home for seven years now, the longest time I’ve laid my head in the same spot since I was a teenager. I did keep a job for nearly nine years once, but again, a fluke. In fact the longest I’ve done any one thing, besides writing, is being a father (17 years and counting). So if it seems like I’m patting myself on the back in my 251st column it’s because I am.
This achievement goes beyond the commitment of longevity. Sitting down to crank out 600 to 800 words about whatever drivel is in my head each and every week for 250 weeks so far is tougher than it reads. Despite rhetoric from those critics who throw snowballs at the subject matter of my opinions like it’s some sort of hard news reporting, there’s a certain kind of art to bullshitting. All this column was ever meant to be are observations of everyday topics set to whatever humor I can muster up (i.e.: bullshit).
Some of the subjects I’ve deconstructed over the years have been more memorable than others. I still get comments from readers about the one I wrote concerning my spotty history of couch ownership, my thoughts on powerchair economics, leaving the Noog to marry Molly Ringwald, who I met at the Read House Starbucks on April Fool’s Day, the alluring qualities of Old Spice and the ballad of Tremont Tavern mug #29. And, infamously, there was that one column that nearly propelled The Pulse into a lawsuit. That’s why you’ll notice I never mention proper names of those who aren’t in the public eye.
I will mention Zach Cooper though. He’s been the publisher of this thing since its beginnings in 2003. He’s not only a cherished friend, but before that, he was the guy who shot down my initial attempts at writing “Life in The Noog” in the first place. “This sucks,” I recall his reaction to the first two. But three’s a charm I guess, because now you can find this column neatly tucked away on the next to last page each week. Just keep turning pages, past the calendars, horoscope, crossword puzzle and nearly every ad and you’ll come across it eventually. Zach tried to ease my concern about it’s positioning by telling me it’s a “destination piece.” Ah, the art of bullshitting.
But despite it’s bathroom readership and common use as a drink coaster, I love writing for The Pulse. Not only is it one of my favorite creative outlets, but The Pulse is the only news publication in the Noog unafraid of calling attention to issues without bias to its advertisers or fear of being discounted for telling the truth, whether good or potentially unpopular. And there’s something to be said about that.
So whether you find my opinions valid, politically correct, funny, stupid or just plain useless, it’s my honor to deliver them to you—each and every damn week. Oh, you can read Alex Teach instead if you want. In fact I hope you read him anyway. But hopefully I’ll continue to have the opportunity to contribute for another five years.
And if this particular entry seems a little self-serving, it’s because they all are. Cheers!
Chuck Crowder is a local writer and man about town. Has it really been five years? His opinions are still his own.