What’s shaking my beloved reader,
Welcome to coulda been at the club. If you’re here, you probably know me, but if you don’t, that’s irrelevant. Bang my line if you wanna know me. This is generally a place for me to blog long form thoughts that are too long for tweets, too free-wheeling and unrigorous to be in publications of note, and too annoying to voice to friends during our cherished moments together. My urge to put these words down brought me to my notes app, and my desire for a soapbox brought me to Substack.
coulda been at the club is a public service. Instead of waiting in line to pay an egregious cover to wiggle my arms to tunes whose BPMs exceeds my agility, i’m at the crib, trying to exercise some critical thinking skills about the world we live in, and practicing my own writing as I search for my voice through prose. Imagine your average NYT columnist except I don’t get paid six figures to deliver you shitty opinions. To classify what I’ll cover from the jump would be restricting what I can write about, so I won’t, but maybe patterns will become evident to you as they’ll become evident to me.
Everything is fried or cooked these days, from the club to the crib, from my opinions to yours. So let’s excavate the charred remains and learn something while we’re still on this scorched Earth.
