22 July 2011

Today is the third day of my week-long vacation.

So far, I have watched loads of television, listened to new music and thought about my latest creative projects.

Yesterday I posted the latest episode of my currently-monthly podcast The Joseph Richards Show. About three episodes ago, I decided to abandon a script and just see what happens with a loose list of possible topics. You be the judge.

On to important tasks. I have gone back and forth on what to choose as the background for this blog. I began with a picture of downtown Irwinton, GA, the town where I was born and raised. However, the title of the blog blended into the sky of the booming metropolis.

I am currently settled on the chalkboard at Cafe Marmalade in Salt Lake City, where Joey Cougar & The Starfish played prior to finding a drummer.

You can see the sorts of dilemmas I have when I have too much time on my hands.

Speaking of hands, I started watching the documentary Naked States today. As may seem obvious, the picture has me thinking about being nude. So strange that nudity and the naked body are so charged with anything. I’m sure that the boring, White Christian God, if he was not imaginary, was really upset that the first humans were ashamed of their nakedness. Strange also that knowledge came from eating fruit. Common knowledge says that fruit was an apple. I don’t think so. I think it had to be strawberries. What other fruit would have made them realize their naked sexuality so? I’m sure they just started rubbing strawberries all over each other and licking and getting all sexy in the garden and then non-existent Deity strolled up and caught them. (If the Garden of Eden is not an archetype for parents’ basement, I don’t know what it.)

So of course, they thought they would be punished. Instead, the fake Man upstairs was just going to bring them a Tantric book he just invented (immediately after creating Gordon Sumner). But, no! Those scared jerks doubly-handedly created guilt, shame and the fashion industry.

And now that guilt is in our jeans.