A Tiny Sip of Absinthe
I have not a clue what I'm going to end up posting here; I'll be as surprised as anyone else, I guess. I started this because I don't want any Tom, Dick, and Harry on MySpace reading my blog, and "any Tom, Dick, and Harry" applies to a lot of ppl in my friend list. Maybe a lot of ppl will end up reading this. Maybe none. Whatever - I'll figure it out. I'm so weird about the internet, anyway - posting pictures of myself and loved ones or talking about deep, dark, private secrets seems so wrong (and screams, "Hey world - look at me and my drama!!"). It seems as though there really is no such thing as a secret anymore. Ten years ago, you'd get a spiral perm, slick it into a really high ponytail, and go on Jerry Springer to air your dirty laundry (has it really been 10 YEARS?). Now you go on Survivor, the Real World, America's Next Top Model, or, if you're a washed-up celebrity, the Surreal Life to show the world how lame you are.
At the moment, I'm trying to figure out what to really dig into to write about. I'm talking fiction here - not public internet postings. My long-term project is on sabbatical, apparently, and I'm ready to put it aside for a couple of months and start with something entirely new. I thought about some sort of juicy expose of the town where I live, but what would really be the point? How is it in any way interesting that people have affairs, take lots of drugs, and spend vulgar amounts of money on crown molding? People do that everywhere.
It will come to me. Something usually does.
Arbitrary and irrelevant item of the day: my poor, awesome, long-suffering cell phone is on its last leg. It holds a charge of about 2 days (used to be 5), and is banged up beyond recognition. The other night, I dropped it, and it fell into 4 separate pieces. Right after I picked up all the pieces, my dad called, and after finding the right piece that was ringing, I talked for 5 minutes, afraid the whole time that I was going to get some sort of low-voltage electrical shock.
We'll see how long Hillary can hold out (I named my phone Hillary when I got her)...
At the moment, I'm trying to figure out what to really dig into to write about. I'm talking fiction here - not public internet postings. My long-term project is on sabbatical, apparently, and I'm ready to put it aside for a couple of months and start with something entirely new. I thought about some sort of juicy expose of the town where I live, but what would really be the point? How is it in any way interesting that people have affairs, take lots of drugs, and spend vulgar amounts of money on crown molding? People do that everywhere.
It will come to me. Something usually does.
Arbitrary and irrelevant item of the day: my poor, awesome, long-suffering cell phone is on its last leg. It holds a charge of about 2 days (used to be 5), and is banged up beyond recognition. The other night, I dropped it, and it fell into 4 separate pieces. Right after I picked up all the pieces, my dad called, and after finding the right piece that was ringing, I talked for 5 minutes, afraid the whole time that I was going to get some sort of low-voltage electrical shock.
We'll see how long Hillary can hold out (I named my phone Hillary when I got her)...
posted by Absinthe at 3:51 PM
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