Woza Blog!

Some days the office chatter is just like tiny knives in the spinal cord. I'm just saying.

So you may have noticed, I've decided to address this blog as if people are reading it. Not tons of people mind you; I'm no egomaniacal freak. But a decent enough sized group. Full of sweet, urbane, witty people and the occasional ass. (I know you are out there - you always are!) I'm doing this because:

1) All blogs are read by someone.
and
2) Eventually all blogs are ready by someone the writer knows even if she never tells a single person about said blog.

So best to just assume you are already out there. Judging me.

Speaking of which - here's one way I'm a little nuts: I started writing this post last night when I couldn't sleep. I did some rather compelling head composing. It was shaping up to be an exemplar blog post. Touching, funny, genuine. But then I fell asleep.

Once upon a time I thought a voice recognition typing program was all I needed to unleash my talented head voice on the world. Turns out head > mouth> screen > paper is even harder than head > screen > paper. And both suffer greatly when compared to head> hand> tiny scraps of paper. It's really too bad I've almost completely forgotten how to write longhand. I'd consider learning shorthand (which has the benefit of looking like and practically being a secret language) but considering I lost the ability to learn new phone numbers back in late 2004, I seriously doubt I could swing something as complex as shorthand at this late date. This is why kids should learn a second language early on -- before the brain cells calcify. Also, thank god I crammed so many vocab words into my head during my nerdy, nerdy youth. Sure it'll be sad to watch them slip away but it was nice while they were here. Indolent. Fetid. Sacrosanct. Myrmidon. Scythe. Dotage.

A side note: When I was a little kid - say 4 or so years old - I was trooping through the kitchen with at least four possibly as many as six other small children. (Where were our parents? Dude it was the seventies. If they were next door we were lucky. Odds are good they were at the piggly-wiggly or k-mart. Besides, if there were six of us kids there, that equaled 24 solid years of experience on earth. We should certainly be able to mind ourselves for a few hours at a time.)

So there we were -- six possibly ten or thirty-two tiny infants walking and crawling around a kitchen nigh on paved with giant serrated knives, electric can openers, and a gross of open Coors Light cans. And matches, of course. The place fairly dripped with strike anywhere matches. Anyway - we're toddling along and I say "Shhh! Shhh! Listen! You can hear the voice in my head talking!"

And everyone froze. They listened. I listened. We listened so hard. We listened around the mustard-colored fridge's ever-present grumbling hum. We listened past the barking dogs, past Johnny Olson screaming "Come on down!", past 'Kung Fu Fighting' echoing from some teenager's transistor radio down the block. And the voice in my head - my buddy, my pal, but unknown to me, myself - shut right up. There was nothing to hear. I was devastated. Let's hope that doesn't happen on the blog huh?

Lyrics of the moment: Let's go crash that party down in normal town tonight. Then we'll go skinny dipping in the moonlight. We were wild girls walking down the street...

Face it: I make up semicolon usage rules; almost every day.

This post's major themes: Knives & Innocence