Finding Dean Moriarty and Sal Paradise in San Marcos, Texas

Once I dreamed of leading the revolution, but now I'd be happy with a comfortable seat at the sports desk. Revolution? Really. Any ideals of revolution in 2008 come across like a modern cover of a Beatles song. The lyrics are the same, but it just doesn't seem very genuine. That's not our song to sing. We millennials are destined to be the next great generation, but today we are quickly becoming a generation more famous 'for what they didn't do than what they did.' The iGeneration. The Starving Gluttons. It looks to me like we're headed for something, aimed directly at sometime or someplace, some event that will lead to our rising, our grasping of the torch, and with everyday we're closer than we were before. But until then we can all wait patiently for the montage scene in which we figure everything out. I need a little, up-down-up-down-left-right-left-right-B-A-select-start.

On this blog, uglyamericana.blogspot.com, follow me into senility, as I lament about life, sociopolitical issues, current events, sports, and music, with a side of controlled substances. With my instrument, my keyboard and mouse, I will guide you through sports arenas, corner bars, clear skies, emergency rooms, weddings, funerals, baby showers, street performances and hotel parking lots at 3 a.m. Across these United States and across the vast terrain of the human heart, through all of the ugly bullshit that makes up this beautiful life; In search of my own Johanna, trying to find Dean Moriarty and Sal Paradise within myself. In the end all I am really looking for is what we are all looking for. A little recognition, a little love, a box to hold all of our things and a steady reliable drug dealer who doesn't skimp on his bags.

Somewhat cathartic, but always sincere, stomping and stammering, ranting and raving, shaking broken-down knees and worn out chuck-taylors, celebrating non-conformity and the white light of spontaneity. It's time to roll the windows down and let the smoke pour out.

-J. Ellett