Houston, we have a communication problem.

A lot of people in Houston bitched at me for not keeping in touch with them when I initially moved here. I tried my best, sent messages, called, and mailed postcards, but then life got in the way. So it goes.

During the winter when my entertainment options were reduced to a.) watching videos, or b.) hypothermia, I actually DID step up contact with people back home. I made the effort like a hoss, in fact.

Guess what I heard back?

*cue tumbleweeds*

The poetic justice of this is that now nobody from home contacts me about things. And not just minor niggling issues. Big things. I have to call at odd hours and pester people to hear about news that anybody in their right mind would let me know about. It's ridiculous. I've heard things about people quitting jobs, being killed, getting arrested, and getting major promotions only because I have to act like "Aunt Edna the intrusive bitch." Is it any wonder why I said "fuck it" and moved halfway around the world?

Yowza.

So for everybody complaining that "I don't keep in touch anymore," well, you have your reason. Just think of me fondly and warmly, as you should, because we're friends and that's what friends do in the event that they can't manage a half-assed email.*

* = (Unless your one of those d-bag 20-years-too-late art fags who got mad at me for making fun of Basquiat on the Hands Up Houston page and decided to deride RK like a whiny 5-year-old.)