Hello again. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Nearly a year. Did you miss me? Wait, don’t answer that. Just know that I’ve missed you. Look, it’s not like I haven’t had things to say. There’s been plenty to write about. But every time I’ve sat right where I am now, ready to plunk out my musings on this topic or that, they all seem so painfully…I don’t know, trivial. I know, I know, trivial is in the eye of the beholder. But you know what I mean, right? In this Year of our Lord 2024 every molecule of our breathable air has been swallowed up by Chicken Little and its Falling Sky (yes, I’m assigning our feathered friend the pronoun IT. Piss off).

To be fair, our poultry pal may be on to something. Only time will tell. Meanwhile, good earnest people will report what they see and hear, keeping us accurately informed if we choose to be (which, increasingly, we do not). Simultaneously, self-monetizing malicious pricks will do their damnedest to keep us angry and polarized by flooding our phones and feeds with every kind of fallacious horseshit. I had no idea equine excrement was so putrid and varied. Don’t believe me? Test your algorithms, I dare you.

If you’re wondering why I’m devoting so many column inches to Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, can I ask you just one question: Is there room for me in your bubble? It sounds cozy and warm. Of course I’m not talking about Tay-vis (Copyright pending, no backsies). You all know what I’m on the verge of ranting about, but I won’t do it. Besides, there has got to be something else we can talk about!

There is. Plenty, in fact. Sure, a lot of it is really bad. Like doom and gloom level shit. But let’s not make it define our existence, people. To paraphrase current corporate jargon, who has the bandwidth for that? Answer: none of us. Put the fucking phone down (yes, yes, physician heal thyself. I’m trying). Sure, it’s a wonderful tool that few of us can live without, but let’s resist tumbling down the rabbit-holes of hate that presently smear cyberspace. For the most part, they exist to accomplish only three things: enrich their authors, keep us online, and make us MAD AS HELL. So far, mission accomplished.

Instead, let’s talk about our kids, our aging parents, that cool new thing we learned, the pain from the past we’ve been avoiding, that trip we loved, what we’re looking forward to, that book we read, the friends we miss, those goals we still want to achieve, the regrets we can’t shake, the things we have in common. Because there are so many. Certainly much, much more than divides us.

2025 is fast approaching. And while I’ve never been accused of being an optimist, my wish for the new year is that we turn this national boil down to a simmer, because I’m tired of getting burned. No, I’m not placing any bets that we will, but I’m sure going to do my part. If that means this new weekly reincarnation of The Cheap Seats will be woefully out of step with the burning news of the day, then I’m here for it. I hope you will be too.

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