Friday, July 29, 2005


It is incredibly important to be a blogger. To be a blogger, one must go through a very rigorous screening process. One must be vetted. One must attended seminars to learn to blog. One must have impeccable references from others. They take blood samples. There is a written test, followed by an oral exam. There are trials both physical and mental. Some train for years before they become a blogger.

Blogging is not easy. It is difficult, and becoming a blogger is difficult.

I'm lazy, and I'm stupid, and I have piss-poor references. I am in lousy shape, and have a little roll of fat around my midsection. I get easily winded. I crumble under cross examination.

I can't blog.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005


Hey, this is weird. I'm Ringo Starr. I'm Ringo Starr and as such I'm just not going to be able to blog.

Are you Ringo Starr, too? I think you might be. I think it is a pretty good bet you're Ringo Starr just like I'm Ringo Starr and you can't blog, and I can't blog, and everyone else is Ringo Starr, too, and they can't blog.

And the whole world is Ringo Starr and the whole DAMN world can't blog because they are the former drummer of The Beatles.

We can't blog. We're Ringo Starr. It's surprisingly important to be Ringo Starr. There are so many things we, as Ringo Starrs, need to do during the course of the day that we simply don't have the time to blog. We have phone calls to make, and people to think about, and forms to sign. We have to mow the lawn, we in our Beatle boots, which we still wear but only to mow the lawn. With our lawns mown, and lots and lots of official documents signed, we still have at least three meetings to go to today, and we will not be sitting down to blog—not even a little.

We are all Ringo Starr. That is why we don't blog.

But, here's a secret.

I'm more Ringo Starr than the rest of you. And because of that, I can blog even less than you can.

Friday, July 22, 2005


I will not be blogging today because it is 1988, and nobody blogs. It's 1988, and the late Fall, and I'm on the second floor. I'm talking to the girl I have just started "going" with. She is the girl in her grade with the bad reputation. I am unconcerned that she is the girl in her grade with the bad reputation. She's my first girlfriend. My first real girlfriend. We talk and she comes up close, and she kisses me quick, on the lips. And it's the first time anyone's done that. She says bye. She goes home. I go to my locker. It was a little colder than I'd expected, you know? Her lips were mostly dry.

It's 1988 and I've just been kissed for the first time, and I will remember the way it feels forever, really I will. But, because it is 1988, no one blogs.

So I won't blog.

Friday, July 15, 2005


I woke up today ready to blog, but found that it was tomorrow. Tomorrow! Somehow it wasn't the today I had expected, but the tomorrow I had expected later. And since it is tomorrow instead of today, and I had planned to blog today but not tomorrow, I'm afraid I am unable to blog...because it is tomorrow.

Because it is tomorrow, I would like to offer you a word of advice. I know that tomorrow (which I am having today, even though you are having today today and will have tomorrow at the regular time—tomorrow) you are going to have a really good idea. At least, you are going to think it is a really good idea. It's not. Please ignore that really good idea you have tomorrow, because the consequences—though not life and death—will be unpleasant. Don't do it. Don't do what you are inspired to do tomorrow. For your own good.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005


I was going to blog today, but I can't because I'm on fire. I'm on fire and my hands are too hot to touch the keys.

I was taking a nap on the couch, and I was wearing my glasses, and it was the middle of the day, and the sun came in through the window, and magnified through the lense of my glasses, and lit my clothes on fire.

Now my body is on fire. I'm completely on fire, and I can't blog.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

My Twin

I have been unable to blog recently because I have discovered that I have a twin. Somewhere. I'm not sure where. I just know I have one.

Out there.

A twin. Another me.

How am I supposed to blog under such conditions? With a twin of me, perhaps, somewhere searching for me? Or, am I searching for him? Have I been searching all this time?

I wonder what our twinspeak would be like? You know, that language twins tend to create, to communicate with one another?

What word did we use for "bread"? "Milk"? If my twin finds me, or I find him, and he speaks to me in our language, will I remember the words when I hear them again? Will he ask for money?

Really, will my twin ask for money?

Tuesday, July 05, 2005


I would like to blog today, but I awoke and found I had no thumbs. Instead of blogging, I think what I should do is go out and look for my thumbs. They could be anywhere. They could be on a plane to Mexico. They've always wanted to see Oaxaca, because they are fond of howler monkeys.

I, too, am fond of howler monkeys, but can't just take a few days off to go to Oaxaca to see howler monkeys, to live among the howler monkeys, to pick bugs from the fur of howler monkeys—not like my thumbs. I have responsibilities. I have a job. I need to be at work, and I can't go carefree to some Mexican province to camp out with howler monkeys like I don't have a thing to worry about.

I will most likely get a call from my thumbs. They'll need money to get back.

My thumbs—such romantics. They like that song Pink Bullets, when the singer from The Shins sings: "Over the ramparts you tossed/The scent of your skin and some foreign flowers/Tied to a brick/Sweet as a song/The years have been short, but the days were long." And sometimes, my thumbs tie flowers to bricks, and toss them over fences. And then, they hitchhike back home.

Until I find my thumbs, and have a chance to blog, perhaps you could go here:

this is the link to follow.

where you will read an interview with Todd Hasak-Lowy, a writer who disputes he has written a depressing book.

Friday, July 01, 2005


Today, I was r_ally _xcit_d about t__ prosp_ct of bloggi_g. I _ad a lot to say—about Sa_dra Day O’Co__or, about t__ book I’m r_adi_g (A_tipod_s by Ig_acio Padilla), about that m_mo _v_ryo__’s talki_g about mayb_. But, __r_ I am at my comput_r, and it tur_s out t__y have dow_siz_d t__ alp_ab_t. 5% gon_. A_d t_is is w_at I g_t. Look at t_is. 3 importa_t l_tt_rs, _o mor_.

My blog is i_compr____sibl_.

God, t_is is_’t bloggi_g.

__r_ ar_ t__ l_tt_rs t_at ar_ missi_g:


A_d, I r_ally wa_t_d to blog for you. I apologiz_.