Why does someone suddenly stop writing lame posts for his three readers? I don't know. I guess I haven't had anything to say. Sure, there have been some decent stories out there worth mentioning. I can't think of them now, though. Recently, however, I guess Hillary's assassination comment was interestingly blown out of proportion. But I think that proves that even CNN has run out of things to talk about. Yeah, that goes without saying when you have around-the-clock media coverage. Maybe my life and musings have just become boring. Or more boring. I'll tell you what is undeniably boring: the nightlife in Charleston. The only thing less gratifying is the radio in this town. Douchebags abound. That's probably the best summation of King Street. So there's Moe's Crosstown and The Rifle Club. That is all that's left in this town. Until I have kids. Or recognize the ones I've already had. Then I can start hanging out at city parks and Chuck E. Cheese's without seeming pedophiliac.

The only true noteworthy thing for my immediate future is a job with the city's legal department. I really don't know what I'll do there - other than research - but it should be interesting. Maybe I'll have some more insight on how a city functions these days - you know, with all of the legal obstacles out there, including overly litigious freeloaders. What I probably won't learn about, though, is how a city comes to be. That is, how a community sprawls and what leads people to approve or disapprove of developments that push the boundaries of a metropolitan area. The answer is certainly beset with legal issues, but I'm sure it's far too complex to understand in one summer. I don't think anyone truly understands it anyway. Or, at least, everyone has their opinions. But because I've been certifying buildings for te USGBC and writing copy for a local developer - and, of course, weighing my own student loan-riddled future - I've been giving it more thought than those other topics I generally blather on about. Even more thought than the absurdity of a college town without a college radio station. No amount of agro-rock can blind me from the light at the end of the tunnel - a light that Richard Hawley suggests might be a train coming the other way.

I was reading a book called The Death and Life of Great American Cities and another called On Paradise Drive. I didn't really finish either, because I'm lazy. But they both address suburbia, the former painting a much bleaker picture. And suburbia is such a popular topic these days. Suburbia is everything that's wrong with America, right? It's not smart planning, right? And now that everyone wants to say "green" at the end of all their sentences the argument seems pretty clear. Is my company green? Is my house green? Is my car green? Is my detergent green? Is my food green? Look, I have no idea if your car is green. The word has morphed into one with about nine alternate definitions. So maybe everything is green. Advertisers would have you believe that. And they are the same people that would have you believe your dreams can be fulfilled in some gated community 30 minutes from downtown. Yep, your wife won't cheat on you, your kid will make the team, your boss will give you a raise at the cookout you have on your patio on Sunday night, your neighbor will mow your yard while he's mowing his, your cancer will go into remission. God, pretty much whatever you want, you can get in that gated community. So we all laugh and make fun of those people who live there. They are suckers. Buying into some fabricated version of reality that only exists in a pamphlet. Everyone smiles in those pages. And the dogs don't bite. But aren't we faulting the wrong people? Of course we are. It's not some middle class family's fault for buying into the dream. They cant be blamed for wanting a yard. Or wanting a fence for their dog or kids. Or a community pool. It's too easy to blame them. So is it the developer's fault? Maybe. Or the advertiser's? Maybe.

But what's more important is that everyone who belittles those communities has bought into the same dream. They can just afford a house closer to town. Or one with an acre and really long, winding driveway. And a country club membership. And slimming clothes. But they want the same things. They want their kid to play lacrosse for the high school, they want to get another raise, they want to have cookouts on Sunday night with people they occasionally like and almost always tolerate. They want neighbors who know their first names and a faithful, thin spouse. Guess what? It might happen. But it likely won't. No amount of paint or granite or fertilizer will save you from those things they don't talk about in pamphlets. I guess honesty and truth is too big of a pill to swallow. And I guess that's why advertising is such a big business. So the truth as I see it is this: Regardless of the sex or race of our next president, the vast majority of Americans will still have a hard time buying a house. Iraq will still be a mess. Health insurers will still be reluctant to pay. And Nancy Grace will have another abducted white girl to cry about. But I guess it's all okay. I mean, thanks to Madison Avenue, your 20mpg Tahoe will be "environmentally friendly," the tree you plant in your yard will feed a hungry child in Africa, the vacation you take to Florida will bring you closer to your family, the sports camp you send your son to will ungay him, and the money you give to your church will guarantee you a spot in Heaven. Oh yeah, that exists, too.

So I'm off to shine my shoes for my first day tomorrow. The first in a long line dedicated to paying my student loans off and finding my idealized version of reality. It's not here. And it's not in the upstate of South Carolina. I can tell you that. I'd also tell you I'll keep you posted, but I've decided to stop over-promising. The next post will probably have something to do with venereal diseases and douchebags. Or maybe fantasy football. Right back in my wheelhouse.