When we started Shut Up, I'm Talking, I was dead broke. Living with my younger brother in a leaning rental house situated in a ghetto of St. Petersburg, Florida. There were also approximately five million roaches, spiders, fleas, lizards, geckos, snakes and probably alligators living in, around and under the house. I woke up one morning to one of the smallest lizards I've ever seen sunning itself on my pillow. From my vantage point, it was huge, and then, upon rising from my mattress, impossibly small.

The Columns (as they were quickly known by the three brothers Worley) were about keeping our sanity. And to have an "instant" outlet for our rants, crazy notions and observations about life, politics and popular culture. Before blogs, we had the Internet columns. And we wrote weekly, usually on Sundays, for years and years.

Aaron (younger brother) and I didn't stay in St. Petersburg for long. We landed back in Albuquerque (never to move away again). And even Jon and his wife moved out of Florida a few years later.

I've had three major (paying) jobs since Florida, but kept writing these columns. I ran my magazine for a couple more years after they started. I've been in two bands. I've had a few girlfriends (but never married, never had a kid). And I've downed a lot of donuts.

I'm not sure if we ever thought we'd get famous doing this column thing. I think there were weeks when we thought (individually) we wrote some gold, but nobody with gold came knocking. And it wasn't about that anyway. It was cheap therapy.

And the last few years, it's sometimes been a chore. We've skipped a lot of weeks. Aaron stopped writing (under the name Chris Jungle so as to cut down on the number of Worleys). And I started thinking about a new writing project.

Then I wrote some for this new project. And this summer, when the family got together at my parents, after Jon and I went record store shopping in KC, I pitched him my idea.

Initially, we were going to get working on it pretty immediately. And then summer turned to fall, which (pretty much today here in Albuquerque) is turning to winter. The new project will begin in the new year.

But this is the end of the old project. The old Columns. You can go ahead and have your say now, because we're pretty much done talking.

I was pretty much tired of writing about politics, because it became like rooting for your favorite football team. There didn't seem to be a ton of thought, just that you had to pick a side. And I've never been a great cheerleader (the best I get is during Lobo Men's basketball season, and even then, I don't have blinders on), and that seems to be too much of politics these days.

I can write tons more columns about being in a band, playing gigs, writing and working on songs and loving that. But, then again, I can just be in the band, play gigs and work on songs with those guys.

There's very little in the way of romantic advice I can give anyone. I wouldn't want to press my weird diet and exercise routine on anyone. And if you want information, well, the Internet has tons (both true and false, which is a filter everyone must figure out for themselves).

So we're going to focus on music (for the most part) from now on. There's a new book out called The 101 Best Albums (or something close to that). I'm pretty sure its about rock and pop music. And, I'm pretty sure, it's Baby Boomer centric.

Fuck that. We're going to do the 1,367 Best Fucking Albums Ever Made.

It's sure to be the definitive music list ever compiled. Slowly. Over years and years.

Or maybe it's just another way for us to entertain ourselves. Either way, that's the plan. And we're sticking to it.

Matt Worley is pretty sure he has more than 1,367 albums, so this should be cake.