There was a time when I was younger that I felt so deeply about an issue that I was compelled to write about it. Since graduating college, I’m embarrassed to say that that hasn’t been the case. One redeeming fact is that I’ve at least had a two year window to explore literature more seriously without the burden of school. So, my kitschy college dorm room posters of Thomas Jefferson, Ron Paul, von Mises, and Ayn Rand (God Bless her) are happily replaced with framed prints of Capote’s Holly Golightly, Oscar Wilde, and a silly ad for absinthe bourgeois, a drink I wouldn’t even know about had I not encountered Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine. These french poets so impressed me that I now find myself driving thirty minutes to Bethesda for French practice every Saturday afternoon. Je m’appelle Clint.
Reading great authors makes writing an intimidating process. And when there is so much I haven’t read, what right do I have to write a single word? Increasingly, though, I feel compelled to write. Clear-headedness is on the horizon if I can commit to putting more thoughts to print. So, that’s what Clint and Co. will be up to for the next 90 days.
I don’t know what I’ll write about yet; it doesn’t really matter. I have the notion that campaign finance regulations may have a libertarian defense. I’m still fascinated by the role of public opinion in shaping political institutions, and my views of this subject are evolving. These days, I think a lot about fashion, art, literature, music, fitness, and gay culture as well. And I’m excited to reflect on living with roommates, which I, an only child and recovering introvert, never fathomed before moving in with some of my best friends last June.
Excuse me as I use this space to, forgive the trite expression, learn more about myself — it’s necessary after the tragic death of my early twenties.