Jeremiah's School of Levitation
Upsy-Daisy!
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
I'm Not Crazy, I'm A Blogger
Now, I hope there's no one out there taking this blog thing for granted. I'm truly thankful that I actually now have a legitimate forum for depositing the multiple pellets that drop out of my head on a daily basis and though much has been said about how giganto huge this phenom is, I have to throw my 1.5 cents in and say that this is also amazingly theraputic. Forget that we all have created this intricate quilt of communication, this bedrock of pithy gossip and unique observation, this wildly personal and creative medium of expression, but we've also got a built-in psychiatrist here. For absolutely free, I can sit on Doc Blogger's couch and spew and not only get my brain-dough kneaded by other sharp-minded folks (by the way, I'm reminded of an old pun: Rich bakers don't knead the dough--get it? need the dough?--okay, everybody, together now: GROAN!), but, even if'n no one comments (I'm going to hope that someone is reading...hello?), I at least get that little nut out of my head and into view so that I can deal with it, or not have to deal with it anymore. Let's see. Advice and commentary and mental release? That's what I freakin paid 35 bucks an hour for years ago! Gotta love technology!
I remember predicting all this. I was on a date years ago, long before I even knew there was an Internet. I was just this bohemian dread working at a cash register, happy as all hell that I was living street-level and would NEVER work for The Man (now, not only do I work for The Man, I smile obsequiously as I buy his kid's raffle tickets--but I regress). My only technical knowledge was how to change the tape in the cash register. Anyway, on this date, we were talking in the car outside of my place, trying to figure out if this date went well enough to go into the morning. In a fit of philosophical desperation, I turned to the young lady and I told her that one day, we will all be able to be our own world, our own production company, our own PR firm, and our own broadcast studio. One day, each of our lives will be on display for all to see and criticize, or fall in love with, whatever. One day, we will all be stars.
She looked at me as if I'd said "So, yeah, I eat cars. But only with ketchup."
She didn't get it, and, really, I didn't either. I had no idea how the world would get to the point that I predicted. But, damn, blogging, audio blogging, video blogging. Websites. Podcasts. 10 years ago, I was a stumbling, bumbling, mumbling, fumbling weirdo in a corner where no one could hear and now, thanks to technology, you can come to my corner and we can freak out together, in front of the world! Therapy! Or, at least way more entertainment!
I love this stuff. I tried to quit. I tried to tell myself that I don't really want to read the colorburst thoughts of a zillion other people. I tried to tell myself that I was blowing my writing energy on my blog. But, like Bob Marley said: "The stone that the builder refuses shall be the head cornerstone." Fine, Bob! I will keep blogging dammit, because, 0 comments or no, I gotta say something. I gotta hear what you gotta say. I gotta say something about what you gotta say. I gotta get the Jeremiah Show going. I need to fire up that Applause sign, rev up that Studio Audience (or tweak the treble on that laugh track), I gotta be me, I gotta get up on top a' this piano and sing, I gotta, I gotta, I gotta....
...get ahold of myself.
So, by the way, I have no point.
That date, by the way, ended with her letting me out of the car and zooming away. I was getting weird and geeky on her, predicting the future and shit. I am eventually going to revert to weird and geeky anyway. I may look cool, but, I've got this Inner Pumpkin that will show up at the midnight of my finest moment, every time.
Thank goodness for Doc Blogger.
I remember predicting all this. I was on a date years ago, long before I even knew there was an Internet. I was just this bohemian dread working at a cash register, happy as all hell that I was living street-level and would NEVER work for The Man (now, not only do I work for The Man, I smile obsequiously as I buy his kid's raffle tickets--but I regress). My only technical knowledge was how to change the tape in the cash register. Anyway, on this date, we were talking in the car outside of my place, trying to figure out if this date went well enough to go into the morning. In a fit of philosophical desperation, I turned to the young lady and I told her that one day, we will all be able to be our own world, our own production company, our own PR firm, and our own broadcast studio. One day, each of our lives will be on display for all to see and criticize, or fall in love with, whatever. One day, we will all be stars.
She looked at me as if I'd said "So, yeah, I eat cars. But only with ketchup."
She didn't get it, and, really, I didn't either. I had no idea how the world would get to the point that I predicted. But, damn, blogging, audio blogging, video blogging. Websites. Podcasts. 10 years ago, I was a stumbling, bumbling, mumbling, fumbling weirdo in a corner where no one could hear and now, thanks to technology, you can come to my corner and we can freak out together, in front of the world! Therapy! Or, at least way more entertainment!
I love this stuff. I tried to quit. I tried to tell myself that I don't really want to read the colorburst thoughts of a zillion other people. I tried to tell myself that I was blowing my writing energy on my blog. But, like Bob Marley said: "The stone that the builder refuses shall be the head cornerstone." Fine, Bob! I will keep blogging dammit, because, 0 comments or no, I gotta say something. I gotta hear what you gotta say. I gotta say something about what you gotta say. I gotta get the Jeremiah Show going. I need to fire up that Applause sign, rev up that Studio Audience (or tweak the treble on that laugh track), I gotta be me, I gotta get up on top a' this piano and sing, I gotta, I gotta, I gotta....
...get ahold of myself.
So, by the way, I have no point.
That date, by the way, ended with her letting me out of the car and zooming away. I was getting weird and geeky on her, predicting the future and shit. I am eventually going to revert to weird and geeky anyway. I may look cool, but, I've got this Inner Pumpkin that will show up at the midnight of my finest moment, every time.
Thank goodness for Doc Blogger.
Elliot, 10:15 AM
3 Back at me:
Blogging...you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
It's like crack, man, or chocolate, really really good imported dark chocolate, the kind that slowly spreads like butter (or your high-school squeeze) over your tongue and makes you feel all swirly and down-home.
Plus...hey! Nudie photos! For free!
It's like crack, man, or chocolate, really really good imported dark chocolate, the kind that slowly spreads like butter (or your high-school squeeze) over your tongue and makes you feel all swirly and down-home.
Plus...hey! Nudie photos! For free!
My name is gypsy and I'm a blogger. Sometimes it's hard to admit. And it's even harder to admit how much I love it.
But I have so many addictions. This one seems pretty harmless, except that part last year where I almost got fired from my job over it.
But I have so many addictions. This one seems pretty harmless, except that part last year where I almost got fired from my job over it.
It's like the Mafia--you may go away but you're only allowed to leave the Family when you die.
