Friday, November 19, 2004

Forgive me for what I'm about to do.

Eyes closed. Cleansing breath. A slight bend in the knee and . . .

I was watching Sam I Am tonight. It was there. I was here. I really don't have an excuse. I was watching Sam I Am. In it, Sam, autistic tendencies, low IQ, fights for custody of his daughter Lucy. Rita Harrison defends him and--you could predict this, so I'll put it in as sappy of language as possible--makes her own inward journey to learn about love, friendship, and how we are not the sum of our limitiatons.


And fancy this. I fell victim to suggestion and travelled my own little journey of introspection and self revelation. I overstate. Just introspection. I always start these blasted journeys, but never seem to come out where or when they want me to. I just don't have that good of turn around I guess.

Stop. This is much too indulgent and slightly (understate) insincere. And no one has really any clue what I'm talking about, me included. So perhaps I should take stock, regroup--not in that particular order, I think--and get back to this later.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

Shuffle Up and Spiel

What are the rules for blogs? How closely are they allowed to imitate diary entries? Can they just be trivial drivel? I suppose it's all mine, so whatever.

I find this whole blog concept a little odd. I'm sure it's been said--hasn't it all--but I distinctly remember writing blog material--unless I have this all wrong--into a wee little book with a wee little key and then hiding said book and said said in what I thought was a secret location that later I discovered, when mom confronted me with (un)said secrets, was rather unsecretive. And here I am, about to disclose my little heart's deepest recess (or something) to the world.

Okay, sure overstated. Just that portion of the world that happens to trip over my buried blog.

But anybody could trip on this. Except for, ironically, The Moms, who, since she doesn't even have a computer, wouldn't even know where to look.

So I guess that works out after all. I guess.

Friday, November 12, 2004

First Words from Your Mama

I feel so uncreative. And cheap. And garanimaled.

I have a blog. I really do. It's a nice flash thing--all flashy and thang-y. But it's rather time intensive. So I'm slumming, I guess. Going to try out the one-size-fits-all solution and see if it fits. (You'll remember, these things never do. They end up looking crappy on everyone. It's the great equalizer. The glorification of mediocrity and the demise of individuality and creativity. But perchance she overstates.)

So here I am. I've surrendered. Given in. Admitted my shortcomings and limitations. I've accepted the terms and implications of this agreement.