Drinking...
Just think... this time yesterday... pluto was still a planet.
My last blog was a hit, by all considerable standards- there were like 15 comments. Naturally I believe we should attempt to break this record so I implore you, whoever you are, whereever you are, if you are reading this post please leave a comment to let me know:
1) What you had to eat for your last meal away from home
2) Where you consumed this meal (for our purposes, an actual restaurant please)
3) How much you paid for it (pre tax, pre tip- just the entree)
The person who has the meal I find most intriguing will be appointed the winner and will be sent via mail something of indisputable interest. (to me.)
This contest is invalid of we fail to break the record of 15 comments.
This contest is also invalid of more than half of the comments belong to Deanna Gibson or her brothers Jody and Blake. Whom I love. But propriety must mean something!
That said I'd like to get into some of the nougaty details of my quotidian.
There is this blog I read on a regular basis. I know this person. In real life. We've spoken. I've seen her on several occasions. About seven months hence, I started reading her weblog. It's fantastic. Venal, self-important, a declamatory stump from which she can pronounce judgement on the idiot world.
Since I began reading her blog, I've shunned her. Now I've moved to NYC so there's no awkwardness but in the months while I was in St. Louis I would actively find ways not to talk to her for fear of asking her questions about her blog. The blog was so out there- so forthright- chock full of details about her marriage, her family, the sexy details of her fourteen year old daughter's diary which she read fearing for her daughter and then posted online for the entire world to read. Worse yet, she's an actor and a playwright so I get the particularly giddy thrill of detesting myself by proxy when I read the things she writes about her life, her career, her work. I didn't want to mess up a good thing by actually talking to her. She is the car wreck that I like to drive by slowly every day. How could you ever tell anybody a thing like that? So I share it with you, the way I would point out to you a vagrant who was unaware that his testicles were hanging out of his pants.
I believe that I've located the first ever blog. The man's name is Michel Eyquem de Montaigne. He lived at the end of the sixteenth century, a French nobleman who was raised in such completely overwhelming luxury that his family decreed that the staff was only to speak latin around him as a boy. A man with a ukelele (actually a zither) followed him around every day of his life to play music if he ever became bored.
This man, in adulthood, retreated from society and wrote the Essays. He literally invented the word essays. It was his idea to write from the hip. Without a point. Essays. Great titles too.
How bout these catchy bloggy entries.
XXXV. Of the custom of wearing clothes.
XXX. Of cannibals.
XIV. That men are justly punished for being obstinate in the
defence of a fort that is not in reason to be defended.
i am now unable to return to my initial font.
Fear not, faithful reader. I would like to turn
you on to a couple other terrific weblogs that I
check every day.
Jimski is a man of quality who writes both well and
often and a man who regularly makes me laugh out loud.
k8 is a woman who spends more time on line than
any human ever should- but frequently devotes a portion
of her life to making sure that I know what bizarre
gadgetry has come to market. Or the continued goings
on of the Butterscotch Stallion.
Enough.
But please, if there's something online that I ought
to be reading that I'm not reading, for god's sake let
me know.
I spend an awful lot of time staring at a computer, so help
a brother out.
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