Sunday, September 11, 2005

Let's all stop playing the Noble Blogger game. Let's stop pretending that we're all just writing so we can get our thoughts down and really be more self-aware because of it. Certainly this is a factor, but I'm gonna stop lying: I blog because I want people to fucking read it. Yes, it's cathartic to right down my inner thoughts and dreams, but really, the only way that would work would be if I didn't take into consideration that other people might be reading it and therefore censoring myself, which I certainly do. So, having admitted all of this, I debated treating the blog more like a column, à la Sex in the City, but that seemed far too self-serving and arrogant. So I'm going to continue more or less what I've been doing, but without hesitating to reference past posts.


So in one of my initial rants I was discussing the joys of being a slave to public transportation, specifically the decorum regarding proper seating protocol. I saw a couple on the bus on Friday who were not going ga-ga with PDAs (which, you know, I love), but they were holding hands, and that's nice, and not frowned upon at all by society, so whatever, good for them. Anyway, all of a sudden, out of the periphery of my vision, I noticed some irregular twitching in the general area where their hands were so lovingly interlaced. She was picking the dirt out from underneath his nails.

That is so, just, - NAH - not cool. I mean that is a level of comfort far beyond anything I can even comprehend. I can't even get a boy to return a text message, and this guy is having his boogers picked out from under his pinky by his significant other.

I applaud you, sir.

1 comment:

Michael Park said...

I am an ignoble blogger... there!
I expect you to comment on an issue I have posted on my blog about music and its ramifications. I would appreciate if my musical blog friends would give some input.