The Big Green House

 

TODAY'S ALERT STATUS:

Favorite spam names

Flukier S. Curmudgeons

Autocracy M. Wallabies

Poohed H. Cathedrals

Aboding L. Charmingly

Carnivore I. Immobilize

Incombustible T. Rilling

Bacterium I. Cohabit

Jitney H. Cremation

Verna G. Lugubriousness

Circuitry S. Winsomely

Fleck F. Sleep

Hissing F. Preacher

Circuitous E. Property

Slops A. Brothering

Concentric L. Merchantman

Rosey Dionysus

Cholera O. Correspondent

Guadalupe Boudreaux

Guttural K. Olives

Favoritism M. Holed

Taiwan B. Hedgerows

Graying P. Kiwis

Ulysses Chung

Croupiest R. Hoses

Dunbar O’Monsters

Fidel Winkler

Coffeecake P. Rim

Jenkins L. Pothook

Hydrogenates S. Flushest

Rigidness H. Atrocity

Quincy Zapata

Synthesizer H. Dissenter

Bergerac J. Thrower

Reaped H. Humiliations

Buffing B. Carcinogens

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Monday, December 09, 2002

 

Gazing into the navel, the navel gazes back



My life is effectively of no interest to anyone but myself, and then only marginally so. This is one of the reasons I rarely write about personal things. Then again, there aren�t many things in life more personal than one�s taste in music, and I seem to have no problem blathering on, at great length (some might say �at excruciating length�, and I wouldn�t argue), about that. I may not say much about myself explicitly, but I�m (possibly) giving away more than I think I am when I write about music.

OK, you caught me. I�m shamelessly vamping. Tonight is one of those nights where I either don�t feel much like writing, don�t have much to write about, or some combination of the two. I have a few topics in mind for later dates, but none of them really strike my fancy right now. On the other hand, I feel a certain obligation to post. I�m not deluded enough to imagine anyone out there jonesing for my next update, but I set out to post five times a week & have been very far off that mark, of late. There have been some extenuating circumstances, it�s true, but I feel like a slug when I don�t write anything here for a while. I�m the one jonesing, I think. Am I becoming a junkie? How sick is that?

At least as a music junkie I end up with a room full of records, tapes and CDs; what do I have to show for this addiction - a bunch of electrons strung together on somebody else�s server somewhere, some overlong rants about things of interest mostly to myself, and the questionable ego boost of knowing that those same rants can be read by people around the world. (That they are not, generally speaking, read by anyone troubles me not in the least. I�m happy with just the possibility.) Not much difference between that and being an online pornographer, is there?

Wow. I hope Mom & Dad read today�s entry so I can spend the rest of the month explaining that I�m neither �on the drugs� NOR a smut-peddler. Then I�ll have something to write about.