Et transitus

By Coleman Patrick Ranahan

Hello,

My name is Coleman Patrick Ranahan. And things seem to be… in transition. I am not who I once was. And I am not the person I was ten seconds ago. And I am most certainly not the person I was when I graduated high school ten years ago. Which is how we arrived here, at this asinine post, a modern Coleman, if such a thing could exist.

This isn’t a starter pistol, there aren’t runners in position. The runners have already leapt out of the gate and are halfway gone. This is mise-en-scene. The camera was rolling and the director is drunk.

In 2017 if you had asked me if I was ready to start writing twice a month at the minimum, trying to construct something funny, I would have said, “Sure.”

Sorry, I think I caught myself off guard there. I mean yes – positive – OK. A couple of years ago? Absolutely not. Moving down to Los Angeles? No. Living in a house with ten to thirteen people? Negative. Sleeping on a pile of towels and a deflated air mattress, maybe after a few beers. Not even living in a single room in Santa Monica. It just wasn’t the time.

But things are transforming, taking shape and flying upward (I hope). I have kidnapped the hippogriff and I’m going for a joy ride. No seatbelt fastened (which I don’t think is a feature on the 2017 model). I may not be a rebel, wearing leather jackets (I have one it’s just too god damn hot out), smoking cigarettes (yeah, see?), or fighting the Empire, but I have an itch that I need to set fire to.

Now… having written all of that it seems silly to apply that to a humor column (or… an opinion column with humor in it), which, it is. But this desire to start producing, start writing, start filming, doing everything has reached a pinnacle. There’s no going back now. I am sick with something, some innate, idiotic, magicians trick. It’s the rainbow colored scarf I keep pulling at out of my sleeve but it just doesn’t seem to end.

It’s the means to a temporarily satiate, and I don’t necessarily mean monetarily (but please give me your money, preferably in buckets). I can’t focus if I don’t write.

You know how Superman as a kid started flipping out when his powers first started manifesting (and good fucking god I am not actually comparing myself to the most supreme being in the universe – as we all know that is Keanu Reeves), it’s like that. It’s endless noise circling my head. I can’t get to sleep. It’s like someone turned the crowd noise up in a stadium, in the middle of the night.

Sure, I could go to some event on a Thursday night (fuck you Wednesday), get frustrated, and rip some intern’s head off like a dandelion, but this is what I do to get through the day. It’s disgusting.

My writing isn’t quaint, or particularly thought provoking. It doesn’t make some grand gesture for the twenty-first century. I’m not solving any big moral quandary (cut to – X post later where I pretend to have insight) or providing analysis. It’s just the way I get through my day because whatever else people fill their lives with is a void for me. It’s just exists.

Which brings me to the point of this blog, or site, whatever you want to call it. I’m attempting to fill something here, not just a few more words on the page of course, but something in myself. (This is all walking a dangerously close – pretentious line).

Life is in transition, 2017, America, a new job, my brain, my writing, my filmmaking, me. Things are evolving, and I’m not quite sure where it’s taking me. But I’ve reached a point where I seem to be comfortable with a new song and dance (groundhog! – a musical reference I’m sure will be lost on most). I finally feel like letting some things escape.

Not all of it will be pretty, wrapped in a neat little bow (if I wake up with a bow on me I will have questions), or always properly expressed. I liken whatever it is I am to my poker skills. Sloppy, but when I win, I win big. Unsure if I’m winning right now, but I’m ready to start pushing in some more chips.

In particular to this blog, we’ll be covering a wide variety of topics, really it’ll be whatever the hell I’m feeling, maybe it’s something about life in transition, maybe it’ll be politics, or maybe it’ll just be about that time I didn’t realize the Best Buy check-out girl was hitting on me and I stumbled out of the store like a wounded gazelle trying to … sorry did you hit the snooze button already?

I hope the writing on this site entertains, and maybe, just maybe spurs a thought in your head, but we’ll see what happens. It’s a means to sort the noise, and if it can both ease my mind and put a chuckle or a “Wait, what?” on the mind, I’ll be OK with that. Until then, welcome to the Certifiable.

If you enjoyed this column, consider kicking a few bucks Coleman’s way by contributing to his Patreon account. You can also follow him on Twitter.

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