Mac McGill

A peripatetic factotum with aesthetic addictions. And I like beer. My thirties were practically a wasted decade. I went in to them horribly injured and recently divorced, broke, bitter and in the throes of severe Tourrette's syndrome. Despite everything I tried nothing worked. Not the drugs doctor's prescribed me. Not the relationships I had, romantic and otherwise. Nothing I did artistically. So I figured it would all be a slow slide into decay, madness and death. For some reason when I turned 40 I was absolutely elated. I'd expected it to be a terrible day. One decade closer to death and all that. Instead I was thrilled for reasons I couldn't even clearly elucidate. What's more, an effort to fix my blood pressure got to the crux of the problem with my Tourrette's: I was producing too much adrenaline. I was like a squirrel in a cat colony all the time. All the complicated psyche meds in the world didn't accomplish what a simple blood pressure medication did, almost immediately. At this point I have decent job, for which I count myself pretty lucky in this economy. Not only is the gig okay, but it provides me enough free time to engage my artistic pursuits and I'm finding a lot of artistic satisfaction in my recent projects. Silly as it sounds, I don't even care that much anymore whether or not it leads to bigger things. I'm not saying things are absolutely golden, but at least it doesn't suck anymore. It may not be much, but I'll take it. For now I'd mainly point you to my vlog on YouTube, but I have some hope of promoting pretty exciting stuff in the near future.