You now, it isn’t like I hate everyone. I don’t. Just most of you. And really, hate is too strong a word. I nothing you. And you nothing me. The way it should be.

Unless, of course, you love and adore me in which case I’m sure I feel the same way. No, really. Yup. What was your name again?

It’s not even that I’m a curmudgeon-y, cranky, foul-tempered, bastard of an old man (although I have been told I most certainly am), no I just don’t like people. Let’s face it. My dream job involves spending most of my time alone, creating people I may or may not like and doing horrible things to them in the name of entertainment. It isn’t the sort of gig that goes along with a career in helping small children learn how to snuggle kittens and bunnies.

It is, let’s be honest here, the type of gig that leaves me asking people if it’s too early to start drinking. At 10A.M. Half-joking. Only half. Only ever half. My cat can be more social than I am. For seriously.

Which isn’t to say I am anti-social all the time. I have a few friends I call and see and hang out with. Very few. Mostly they can put up with me. Even then they all have to know that I will blabber about stories and structure and various media things far too often for my own good. It’s the noise in my head, always and forever.

Still and all, I don’t like people very much.

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In contradiction and such: the last few Sundays have been spent going downtown for brunch and then hitting up Wash Sq. park to listen to a great jazz band that plays down in the park every weekend from noon till about six.

This Sunday I might not, short weekend number two of three, but anyway, if anyone ever wants to join in - let me know. I may not be social but brunch and jazz are two things I will always share with the world. Which doesn’t mean, either, that I will always say yes. Some weekends I want to sit by myself. Feel free to stalk though.