B365V2.81 - Me

I was going through my past blog entries today, nothing really to do with anything, just trying to recapture a spark or something.  It was probably me trying to get out of my own head as well, as I have been in a funk recently and perhaps something I wrote would give me a chuckle.  I am here to amuse me after all, not you.  Selfish on my part?  Probably.

I hit on a comment Amy left me, right about the time this blog was in a transitioning phase, from Yahoo 360 to Multiply.  The thing with Multiply was you had to be a user in order to comment on other blogs, so when I got my online house in order I sent out invites to friends and family.  Amy for those of you who don't know and are too lazy to look, is my aunt, though in years and given the circumstances surrounding my upbringing she is closer to my big sister than my aunt.  Anyway I sent her an invite, she signed up for Multiply, though I don't recall her ever writing anything on her page, it would seem I am the writer in the family for whatever that is worth, but she left me a comment on one of my early entries over there.  Without doing a verbatim quote, she basically suggested that reading me is like talking to me, save for the fact I don't answer you of course ( unless you comment, but who the hell does that anyway ).

But that is all I have ever tried to do with the page.  It is a what you see is what you get kind of thing.  I don't pretend to be something I am not ( a lesson my crazy Canadian could use to learn someday ).  I write like I talk, I don't write to impress, so if you see a word on the page which seems out of the ordinary, chances are I made it up or it is in my everyday vocabulary.

As I am sitting here I am hearing music, I don't know if someone is playing something really loud or if there is an outdoor concert going on downtown, but I just heard a version of " Brown Eyed Girl ". God do I fucking hate that song.  No amount of repetitious bludgeoning of that song into my cranium is going to change that fact.

Now where was I, yes about the way I talk, that is a prime example of it.  I don't have the energy or the talent to write fiction.  Christopher Hitchens once wrote that he believed the ability to write fiction was tied to one's musical ability.  I don't know how he came to that particular conclusion, if it was simply a focus group using people he knows or if he did research on the topic, but I fit that mold.  I can't carry a tune either.

I made some changes to the page last night, not willingly but it is what it is.  It has been so long since I have done a page layout, that I have forgotten most of what I learned back in the day.  But I was having issues with an app I use called Shelfari, it is that bookshelf thing off to the right.  It is supposed to post to Facebook when I do a share of a book, but that wasn't working, I was getting a timeout error.  I contacted the fine folks at Shelfari, they told me I needed to log out of Facebook, then log back in through their app.  So I did that and it didn't work.  Not only that, when I went to my blogger page last night the bookshelf was gone too and apparently I pointed and clicked on the wrong shit and not the page looks completely different.  Oh well, I wanted to make changes anyway, this is just extra motivation in that regard.  I want to see if I can get my photo that I mentally call "my Stonehenge" in as my background, but I have to get the file size down to get that to happen.  I think Stonehenge is on my desktop as well, so there is the issue of getting that up and running.

Okay, whatever is going on downtown, they are now playing Sweet Caroline.  How dare they fuck with Neil Diamond like that.  He is the Jewish Elvis after all.  Some things you just don't do, you don't tug on Superman's cape and you don't fuck with the Jewish Elvis.

Okay, I finished my sandwich I brought with me and most of my iced teas ( one sweet, one pineapple coconut which could have used some rum in it ), I should take Sammy's GYST advice ( Get Your Shit Together ) and go home now.  I can only be mopey in the park for so long before even I tire of my mopishness.