Monday, February 10, 2003
Road Trip
So, I’m hanging out at The Sinister Sister’s web site. She’s a writer who lives in the Philippines and is perhaps the only regular reader I have here who leaves some sort of acknowledgment after reading my work. If you see an entry in the Comment section after a posting of mine, it’s a good bet it’s her.
I’m killing time at work today, banging away at my mundane task until I think enough time has passed so I can pack it up and go get a haircut. I have an imaginary buzzer in my brain that acts like a radon detector/canary in a coalmine telling me when I’ve had enough of my job and my office. When it buzzes, I shutdown my computer and go home.
Anyway, as I was waiting for my buzzer to click awake and alert me to dangerous levels of Workplace in my blood stream, Mayamaya (her blog name) and I exchanged posts on her message board about art, my embryonic novel, food (her family runs restaurants, hoping to expand its number soon), and mostly about how I should stop being so worried about accidentally copying someone else’s style and just create my own.
To all those who visit her site, Mayamaya is a type of den mother to bloggers, offering them advice or encouragement. Coming from an artistic family (and as a practicing poet), she understands the daunting labyrinth of the creative process, so see offers kind words or a good-natured kick in the pants whenever she sees fit. Guess what she’s been dosing out to me lately? Here, look at my stress-damaged jeans for a clue.
But today, Mayamaya went the extra mile, offering what I would never dream of doing to a stranger: her blogspace. Today, she offered to let me post an entry on her blog. She told me the entry can be on anything, but let’s be honest: You just can’t throw anything into a guest spot. To me, there’s etiquette to follow. With her site, she’s maintained a sense of gentleness, introspection which becomes the musings of an amateur online anthropologist with children in Southeast Asia.
To me, a blog is someone’s home, at least his or her mental or artistic home. Coming and just dropping down any entry is going to someone’s housewarming party with a can of tuna and a bag of Cheesy-Poofs. You should put some effort into this.
I’m humbled and flattered by this invitation. Hopefully, I’ll have something up soon.
Almost late
Just a note for Internet immortality.
Today is my step-dad’s birthday. I nearly forgot to call him. I’m lucky he got the card from my wife and I on time. He (and my mom and grandma) live 2,000 miles away and, characteristically, I forgot to put it in the mail at the last minute, reduced to a frantic prayer that the postal service will get it to his door over the weekend.
I tried to call earlier today, but he was out. Then, as I was sitting down to draft up tonight’s entry when the lightning bolt hit me: You never called him back.
It’s two hours later, approaching 10:30 p.m. his time. I thought I blew it. He’s asleep, I forgot the guy’s birthday. I suck.
So, after a minor freak out around the house (I’m not a good man in a tight corner, sorry), I grab the phone, hope he’s not asleep and call. He and mom are awake, we chat, and I wish him a happy birthday. They both got home from a vacation in Las Vegas today, when he found our card in a stack of mail. Salvation! The post office comes through.
Yes, I know it sounds like it’s an obligation, but I didn’t want to let the day go by without wishing him a happy birthday. Just wouldn’t seem fair.
So, Mike, Happy Birthday.
Today’s Word: Vendetta
From One Word
An elegant word for revenge. Tales of righting past wrongs are sexy and dangerous, but the story always seems to end after the angry man puts his bullets through the scoundrel’s heart. What comes next? Does the wronged man ever feel at peace? Does he, with his newfound justice, feel empty with his grand quest over?
posted by skobJohn |
9:45 PM
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