And...I'm back. Officially married. Did you miss my wedding? No worries, here's the play by play:
Weddings are like a box of chocolate: No one gives a shit.
Wait. That doesn't make sense.
Weddings are like other people's babies: No one gives a shit.
Over the past year of ocassionally (yes, ocassionally, don't exaggerrate) writing about my impending nuptials, I noticed people chafing. Chafing at my self-absorption? Perhaps. Chafing at the fact that I was going to be off the market soon? Duh. But chin up: a) there was no church involved in my ceremony, b) there is no God, period, and c) last time I checked, sleeping around was legal. So hit me with your number, you never know.
It will please you to know that as of this paragraph, I'm done writing about my wedding. Hell, it pleases me. Honestly, the only reason I actually went through with the thing was so I could finally remove the emasculating experience of having to say "fiancee" from my life. Mission accomplished. "Wife" doesn't exactly roll off the tongue yet but at least I feel less like a eunuch, even if my day-to-day life pushes me closer towards acting like one.
To many of you, I'm a friend. We hang out, we chat on the phone or via email, we've gone to school together or had a beer together or gone to a concert or a movie or a game together. So you're on my distribution list, and you check in on me through this column every month, I solicit your feedback, and I appreciate it.
More to the point, I sensed that people were chafing at being emailed yet another boring column about my personal life. I admit, reading journal entries about my life doesn't make for the most entertaining 3 minutes, especially when things are going pretty well. I know, I was much more entertaining when everything sucked and I yelled about it. You make me sick.
But to the rest of you, those who've never met me, those who interact only with my headshot and my monthly output, I'm something else: I'm a celebrity. I'm famous. You don't have the balls to curse God and swear in print and wear pastel colored shirts so you mock and insult me at the same time that you read my columns and laugh at my jokes and salivate over my picture, living vicariously through me and my decadent lifestyle as a member of the
rich and famous.
But I have bad news for you sycophants: I am not beholden to you.
Like my brethren, the Paris Hiltons and Britney Spears and Brad Pitts and George Clooneys of the world, I'm tired of your whining hypocrisy. You lap up everything I throw down and then complain when it doesn't suit you. Too bad. Change the channel. I don't exist for your amusement.
Don't like when I write about my life? Deal with it. Think I've softened since I've settled down? God forbid one of us has something to smile about once in a while.
It's not easy being a public figure, living in the spotlight, people clamoring for your attention. But I do it. For you. To brighten what is undoubtedly a horribly bleak existence. And what thanks do I get? None. Instead, I get complaints. I can take it. But I don't have to.
So stop your whining, I never cared in the first place and I'm done listening.
I'm back, I'm married, and I'm pissed off. I'm a Red Sox fan about to move to New York City in the middle of the playoffs and my wife has my balls in a jar under the sink.
You're all gonna die.
Let's get real here. You don't want to know about me. You want to know about "me".
ABOUT MIKE JULIANELLE
more about mike julianelle
IF YOU LIKED THIS COLUMN...
10.8.07 @ 8:14a
Go beat up a Christmas tree, you has-been.
10.8.07 @ 9:17a
I hear good things about New York. And don't worry. There's at least one decent Sox bar in the city.
10.8.07 @ 9:45a
Funny, I was in Williamsburg this weekend and on Sunday I couldn't find a single bar that had a TV in it that might possibly be showcasing some kind of sporting event. Sports are too square for ultra-hip Williamsburg I guess. Ugh.
10.8.07 @ 9:58a
There is no God?
10.8.07 @ 11:49a
I meant to say He's dead, actually. There was one. But He killed Himself.
10.9.07 @ 8:44a
You are a tremendous asshole!
We weren't chafing at your choice of topics, it was the tedium and ego-mania you settled into. And you ain't gonna get out of it just by playing some tired God cards either...
You suck and so do the $200M Sox!
GO TRIBE!! FUCK MIKE!!
10.9.07 @ 4:39p
Funny, I was in Williamsburg this weekend and on Sunday I couldn't find a single bar that had a TV in it...
You answered your own question. Next time try Park Slope.
10.9.07 @ 11:28p
Next time try the Bronx. Wear your hat and a dress and write about that next month. I'd rather enjoy reading that.