Memory loss

As the great Pink once Floyded, “And then one day you find/ 10 years have got behind you/ no one told you when to run/ you missed the starting gun.”

And hey, here we are, with 10 years of the RN&R behind us. That’s OK. A very nice milestone to reach, certainly. How many businesses described as “alternative” make it to number 10? How many businesses, period?

Guess how many of us writers/stringers/contributors/cartoonists around here have been on board for the entire decade-long joy ride? Exactly one. Me. So take that, all you doubters back in ’93 who said I was lazy and no ’count. (One way to concoct a 10-year relationship with an employer is to get to a place where management is not quite sure how to get rid of you, and you’re not quite sure if you want to quit.)

Since I am the RN&R’s senior correspondent, I’m uniquely qualified to present insights and observations as to the paper and its proper historical place in the firmament of Northern Nevada media. Unfortunately, most of these insights are currently irretrievable, wandering without direction in the cobwebbed corridors of my musty memory bank. And, as for the number of you who actually care that we’ve reached our 10-year hump, editor D. Brian Burghart and I were trying to figure that out. We gave up quickly after realizing our methodologies were primitive and inaccurate. We did sense, however, that as long as the number of those who truly care is at least a decent fraction of the number of those who could not care less, we’ll be glowing gold and throbbing with relevance for many moons to come.

One thing I’ve become familiar with during the last decade is a sort of phony writer’s block. I call it phony, because the level of writer’s block I’m talking about can be dealt with directly: One simply sits down and begins writing. Sure enough, this no-nonsense approach (thanks, d.c.) always works, to some degree or another. Which must be why I’m suspicious that it’s not real writer’s block. If it was the real deal, the pure writer’s block, wouldn’t that mean that I’d be sitting in front of the computer for days, slowly morphing into Jack Nicholson when he hits that all-work-and-no-play zone in The Shining?

So anyway, here’s to us and the next 10 years. May we (1) scoop every other newspaper with an honest-to-God blockbuster story once in a while; (2) provide you with a good, solid chuckle, chortle, or even laugh once a week; (3) get you fired up enough to actually write a letter at least four times a year; (4) get all the dates and times right for every event we publicize (good luck!); and (5) damn, I had a real good one to use as a closer, but it just floated off when I wasn’t looking, and now I’m sorta staring out the window with this truly glazed look on my face trying desperately to get it back, but it’s gone, and it’s not gonna return until well after deadline.