And So the Rant Begins
I know, I know, starting a blog is very 2002. But do I always have to be on the cutting edge? Can't I just join in with the masses once in a while? Besides, the little blogger in me has been dying to get out for years, long before the Internet was even a glimmer in Al Gore's eye*.
It all started in a small town in Southern California. As a toddler unable to speak, I chose to express myself through hysterical crying fits and a variety of hats. With few resources (just a strong set of lungs, a "hat face" and no sense of shame), I was able to take a position, fight for it, and get the message across to a pretty wide audience. Although I did not understand it at the time, my inner blogger was born. In high school, my blog took the form of letters to friends, scribbled on lined notebook paper and invariably beginning with the words "Fifth period is soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo boring." In college, I blogged incessantly over the phone to friends and anyone else who would listen, bemoaning my fate as neoJob, a quasi-biblical character who received unjust punishment daily from bitter grad-student directors and teaching assistants who could not see past their own bad outfits and poet hair. My audience grew substantially during this period, but the subject matter was admittedly tiresome.
These days, as those who read this are likely to attest, I favor overwrought emails that detail every last aspect of my day to day life. Sound familiar, fellow bloggers? Instead of going through the trouble to cut and paste and send a message to each of you, I've decided to give myself fully to this page from here on out. And even if I am unable to intrigue or delight, I will do my best to spell and punctuate correctly. How many blogs promise that?
I have been told that I need a theme, a concept, a niche for this page. My response is (in defiant surfer/hippie accent): "Hey, man, don't try to tie me down like that. You can't stymie my creativity by trying to name or categorize it. This is just me, man." My hubby, Herr Guitar, aptly named this project Blah Blah Blog. My point is, I have much to say on a variety of topics. Just prepare to do some serious reading. My fingers have lots of typing left in them.
First, I must introduce a regular segment, WWWJCD? or What Would William Jefferson Clinton Do? This is where I excerpt my favorite words of wisdom from my own favorite blog, Bill Clinton's Daily Diary. WJC is very candid here, sharing personal stories, political views and relevant parables. Bobbi is his assistant, and I suspect they might be a little too close. I have no idea whether the site is real but, as my coworker put it, I want to live in a world where it is. Here's one favorite (but by no means unique) example:
I met my good friend Bono and Tony Blair yesterday during a media event. We wanted to spend some time together, so we agreed to meet each other in Tonys hotel suite. When I told my assistant, Bobbi I was off to visit Bono, she begged me to take her along. I know the kind of attraction Bono has on young women, so I let her tag along.
It was about 10:30 when we got to Tonys suite. Bono was there already. Bobbi was so star struck, she was speechless, the three of us just laughed. Tony had a bottle of French wine, we opened it and had a great time. That is until Bono gave me a large package. He and Tony could hardly suppress their laughter. I opened the package and to my surprise, inside was a sax made of china.
Bono urged me to play something. To my big surprise, the sax actually worked. Tony asked me to play a song, but I declined to play alone. Tony and Bono got up, walked to the other room and came back with their guitars.
We jammed for a few minutes. Tony is a great guitar player. He told me he used to be in a band. He also told me once that during a short period, when he was homeless, he played guitar for tips on the streets and in the parks of London.
People always think guys like Tony and me were born with a silver spoon in our mouths. That is not true. We had to work very hard to get where we eventually got.
After opening up a few more bottles of wine, we stopped jamming and began playing old rock and roll hits. Bono sang and Bobbi clapped her hands. At one time Bobbi started singing along. It mustve been the wine. All of us had to laugh. Bobbi has a distinct Southern accent. Bono asked her to choose the next song. She said she wanted to hear Angel of Harlem.
We were all silent for a moment and looked at Bono. Bono has a special relationship with that song. He rarely plays it. I dont know why, but I know its so. It mustve been silent for 5 minutes. Bono looked at Bobbi. Bobbi looked at me. Helplessly.
Then he said: All right. He began playing the opening chords of Angel of Harlem. I absolutely love that song. Its a classic. He sang: It was a cold and wet December day, When we touched down at JFK.
Tony and I played along. I will never forget this moment as long as I live. We had such a good time.
Yes, we all did have a good time, didn't we? Until tomorrow...
*This is only a joke. I know that Al Gore did not invent the Internet, nor did he claim to. Such rumors fall under what WJC taught me to recognize as "black ops": that means covert operations. All politicians know or should know everything about this issue. The Republicans did it to me for the entire eight years I was in office. Black ops is not just about smearing your competitor. It is more about making sure your opponent cant give the public his views without being challenged. What black ops does is confuse, change and detract from the other persons message.
It all started in a small town in Southern California. As a toddler unable to speak, I chose to express myself through hysterical crying fits and a variety of hats. With few resources (just a strong set of lungs, a "hat face" and no sense of shame), I was able to take a position, fight for it, and get the message across to a pretty wide audience. Although I did not understand it at the time, my inner blogger was born. In high school, my blog took the form of letters to friends, scribbled on lined notebook paper and invariably beginning with the words "Fifth period is soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo boring." In college, I blogged incessantly over the phone to friends and anyone else who would listen, bemoaning my fate as neoJob, a quasi-biblical character who received unjust punishment daily from bitter grad-student directors and teaching assistants who could not see past their own bad outfits and poet hair. My audience grew substantially during this period, but the subject matter was admittedly tiresome.
These days, as those who read this are likely to attest, I favor overwrought emails that detail every last aspect of my day to day life. Sound familiar, fellow bloggers? Instead of going through the trouble to cut and paste and send a message to each of you, I've decided to give myself fully to this page from here on out. And even if I am unable to intrigue or delight, I will do my best to spell and punctuate correctly. How many blogs promise that?
I have been told that I need a theme, a concept, a niche for this page. My response is (in defiant surfer/hippie accent): "Hey, man, don't try to tie me down like that. You can't stymie my creativity by trying to name or categorize it. This is just me, man." My hubby, Herr Guitar, aptly named this project Blah Blah Blog. My point is, I have much to say on a variety of topics. Just prepare to do some serious reading. My fingers have lots of typing left in them.
First, I must introduce a regular segment, WWWJCD? or What Would William Jefferson Clinton Do? This is where I excerpt my favorite words of wisdom from my own favorite blog, Bill Clinton's Daily Diary. WJC is very candid here, sharing personal stories, political views and relevant parables. Bobbi is his assistant, and I suspect they might be a little too close. I have no idea whether the site is real but, as my coworker put it, I want to live in a world where it is. Here's one favorite (but by no means unique) example:
I met my good friend Bono and Tony Blair yesterday during a media event. We wanted to spend some time together, so we agreed to meet each other in Tonys hotel suite. When I told my assistant, Bobbi I was off to visit Bono, she begged me to take her along. I know the kind of attraction Bono has on young women, so I let her tag along.
It was about 10:30 when we got to Tonys suite. Bono was there already. Bobbi was so star struck, she was speechless, the three of us just laughed. Tony had a bottle of French wine, we opened it and had a great time. That is until Bono gave me a large package. He and Tony could hardly suppress their laughter. I opened the package and to my surprise, inside was a sax made of china.
Bono urged me to play something. To my big surprise, the sax actually worked. Tony asked me to play a song, but I declined to play alone. Tony and Bono got up, walked to the other room and came back with their guitars.
We jammed for a few minutes. Tony is a great guitar player. He told me he used to be in a band. He also told me once that during a short period, when he was homeless, he played guitar for tips on the streets and in the parks of London.
People always think guys like Tony and me were born with a silver spoon in our mouths. That is not true. We had to work very hard to get where we eventually got.
After opening up a few more bottles of wine, we stopped jamming and began playing old rock and roll hits. Bono sang and Bobbi clapped her hands. At one time Bobbi started singing along. It mustve been the wine. All of us had to laugh. Bobbi has a distinct Southern accent. Bono asked her to choose the next song. She said she wanted to hear Angel of Harlem.
We were all silent for a moment and looked at Bono. Bono has a special relationship with that song. He rarely plays it. I dont know why, but I know its so. It mustve been silent for 5 minutes. Bono looked at Bobbi. Bobbi looked at me. Helplessly.
Then he said: All right. He began playing the opening chords of Angel of Harlem. I absolutely love that song. Its a classic. He sang: It was a cold and wet December day, When we touched down at JFK.
Tony and I played along. I will never forget this moment as long as I live. We had such a good time.
Yes, we all did have a good time, didn't we? Until tomorrow...
*This is only a joke. I know that Al Gore did not invent the Internet, nor did he claim to. Such rumors fall under what WJC taught me to recognize as "black ops": that means covert operations. All politicians know or should know everything about this issue. The Republicans did it to me for the entire eight years I was in office. Black ops is not just about smearing your competitor. It is more about making sure your opponent cant give the public his views without being challenged. What black ops does is confuse, change and detract from the other persons message.
posted by j.m. at 4:03 PM
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