I have decided, today, to track the exact nascence of a blog post. I am not making any of this up.
It usually begins at about 10:30am, when I am done with work for the day, I begin musing about throwing something up on the ol’ website.
As always, I start by trying to identify the exact post I can write to get myself laid. 0-297 so far. Hope springs eternal.
Check Open Leaderboard on ESPN.com.
Become distracted by spectacular photo of a triumphantly yowling Supernova. Excitable chicks rule.
IM with Dave regarding the logistics involved in keeping a pet leopard on a houseboat.
Dave reveals that he has a new spanking blog.
I debate strutting around taking credit for Dave’s relaunch, as the effect I had hoped for when I posted our conversation last week — that he’d remember what fun it was to be a semianonymous vile pig bastard — has been achieved.
Wonder what fancy el stop Dave uses, that he can describe the smell of urine as “faint”.
Decide to describe his spanking new blog as his new spanking blog, to see what that does to his traffic and my search terms.
Consider lunch. Postpone. Not bored enough yet.
Relieve self and refill coffee. Not simultaneously.
Resume searching Google Images for a template for my next tattoo, the working example of which I have now being far too obscene, even for me. I need to tone down the graphic sex while maintaining the attitude. Sadly, this is a phrase much too complex for Google Images.
Play with Google Images. Among the search terms: Blood & Thunder, new tattoo, angel/devil, tedium.
Get an unexpected call from an old friend, who’ll be in my place of business this afternoon for a little pub. He’s written a play, and is on the PR tour. Here’s the blurb from me: Go see Leaving Iowa, everybody. I’m told it’s great.
Make a few minor touch-ups to this weekend’s grocery and errand list. Added “scapes”, “Maui Wowie”, “E-tie”, and “bling logo”.
Postpone the same eight or ten Outlook reminders I’ve been postponing for months. Among them:
* “Buy new Alton Brown book”
* “Port Royal Trading Company”
* “Call food allergist”
* 3-4 links to online publications I’d like to write for if I ever write something I’d like to publish.
Bored enough to have lunch now.
Receive favorite piece of annual junkmail: “Sign up early for Fantasy Football!” Begin to compose “We’re putting the league back together” e-mail.
Noodle around with Southwest.com, thinking about summer vacation and idly wondering how the hell I’m going to go to Vegas this year.
Check to see if Missy still works at Olympic Garden. Yes. Excellent.
Briefly wonder what the fuck I’m going to write about today. Consider slacking and just making the Mandatory Monthly Lyric Post, but cannot decide between “What You Need Is Jesus” and “Beyond the Sea”.
Participate in impromptu meeting as to the color of a coworker’s necktie. The choices have been narrowed to “pink” and “coral”. I contribute my view that the tie is “striped”. I wish that I was dead.
Do a little research on weekend houseboat rentals near Joliet. Daydream about how unbelievably much fun that would be with the right crowd. Decide to poll interest levels.
Look out my window at the beautiful day and decide to go for a walk. Since I stopped eating food, I’ve spent my lunches walking around in the sunshine, ogling girls, making private jokes about various parts of Millennium Park, and wondering how many other drones are as close to violence as I am.
Things I thought about on my walk: What possessed Bob Marley’s mother to give him the middle name of “Nesta”, how unflattering one’s reflection is in “the bean”, where miniskirts with cowboy boots ranks on the Hottest Normal Daily Outfit Scale (high), what it is about “Got a wife and kids in Baltimore, Jack; I went out for a ride and I never went back” that makes me play that fragment over and over and over and over, what the fuck could “Tinfoil Viking Science” signify other than a way to fuck with Google, and why exactly the Farmer’s Market in Daley Plaza sells soft cheese when their primary demographic is “People who won’t be home to their refrigerators for seven hours”.
Seed of an entry down the road: There is a plaque in Millennium Park that says something like “Millennium Park was presented by Mayor Daley, June Something, Four Years Late, as a gift to the people of Chicago”. My addition would have read “The following day, they were presented with a beautifully engraved silver invoice.” Hey, Mom, look what I bought you! Oh, no, it was nothing. No, really – I took the money for it out of your purse.
Stopped off to visit a favorite semi-former coworker en route back. Why do I never hear any office gossip until after everyone else has? I think “Don’t talk to Al unless it’s boring and you’re mad” is in the employee handbook.
Return and check all blogs in my rundown for updates, because I have no life and nothing to do and I’m so starved for entertainment and stimulation that I think of illicit web-surfing as kind of a thrill.
Determine that Dave’s new spanking blog is also Jon’s new spanking blog. Muse on setting up a betting line as to which couple that’s gonna land in court first.
About a half-hour worth of afternoon work to do. None of it interesting or fun. I could train a pigeon to peck keys and no one would ever notice.
Jesus, I have a lot invested in not having this job improving my life. What if I’m sitting on the couch eight months from now typing a bitchy blog entry about how unchallenging cooking and cleaning and golf are? I don’t know if I could cope with it being me, not this soulsucking day job, that’s the problem. Maybe it isn’t the job that’s boring and pointless.
Egad. That’s bleak.
Nikki’s entry today made me think about Suicidegirls.com – to which I did not link lest any of you drones click it inadvertently and get fired – which always cheers me up. Way up. Mmmmm…nontraditional haircolors.
I’m listening to afternoon talk radio. They’re complaining about some sort of celebrity ballroom dancing show in the outraged tones of devout but closeted fans. This is the best you got? You’re talking about how boring something is? Tell me, if you talk about how boring a thing is, how entertaining do you expect that conversation to be?
Now I’m getting unnerved, ’cause it’s 345 and I still don’t have a post today. Fuck. I have two kinds of posts: The kind that arrive in my head more or less ready to go, and the kind I have to fake and slog through and then hate. Dammit dammit dammit. WHY CAN’T I EVER THINK OF ANYTHING WHEN I NEED TO?
I am told that when we move to the Keys I have to get a cellphone. I have successfully avoided a cellphone to this point. I am of two minds about this. I hate the idea of people calling me for no reason, but I might someday meet girls who will e-mail pictures of themselves in various states of undress to my phone.
Dave is now explaining “invalid reverse lookup addresses” to me via IM. I am quoting “A League Of Their Own” at Becks. de Luca is in the same state of Slow-Forward as I am. What a nice day.
Becks just said something that, for no reason, reminded me that Honey’s parakeet needs another expensive beak trim from a distant vet.
I’m listening to one friend interview another. The poitical and emotional undercurrents in this talk are fascinating.
Aha, here comes the 430pm Thursday “URGENT — PLEASE DO IMMEDIATELY!!!!!!!!!!!!!” e-mail. Right on schedule. Shit. I really wanted to write something today.