Monday, October 31, 2011

Subway Misadventures: Halloween Edition

Hanging out on the downtown A train on Halloween must be entertainment in itself. Sure, there were your cat ears, your babies as ladybugs, but there are also amazing freaks of nature, like "Guy Who Chomps Loudly On Ice", mariachi bands, and one die-hard fanboy...

He got on the train wearing a long, black coat. It wasn't until I looked up that I noticed they were robes. Robes, with a tie, and embroidered insignia. Also, it was clear that his hair had been bleached, and though he was playing it cool behind sunglasses, he gave me a nod of recognition. These were some serious duds.

Thank you, Draco Malfoy dude. You and the bottle-black chick in purple cape you rendezvoused with at W4th Street totally made my afternoon.

Happy Halloween!

Lindsay Weir > Angela Chase

Sometimes, really awesome nostalgic coming-of-age high school dramas get cancelled after one season because the world is a terrible and unfair place. Sometimes, they get cancelled because they're actually just shit. In either case, they become legendary and steep so far into our culture that we begin to revere them as genius and bemoan their short lives and cancellation. Such is the case with two shows, Freaks and Geeks and My So-Called Life.

My So-Called Life
follows the angst-ridden Angela Chase, who abandons her former life as a good girl by dyeing her hair strawberry blonde. Freaks and Geeks' Lindsay Weir also vows to ditch her mathlete past when seduced by the dangerous slacker crowd, and sheds her uptight past by throwing a kegger party when her parents leave town, helping her love interest cheat on a test, aiding her girlfriend in stealing a car and running away. Lindsay joins her new crowd for a night of Halloween debauchery, leaning out a car window to smash mailboxes with a baseball bat and throwing eggs at Geeks, proving she isn't afraid to get dirty. Angela attends a party and falls in a mud puddle, sullying her Laura Ashley dress and ruining her life. Boo. Hoo.

Freaks and Geeks: 1, My So-Called Life: 0.

Angela's right-hand lady is Rayanne Graff, a spunky ne'er-do-well with a funky sense of style. She is the catalyst for Angela's personality change, pushing her to become more outgoing and own herself. Okay, that's pretty cool. Lindsay's new frenemy Kim Kelly, played by Busy Phillips, is an unrepentent slut who picks on the younger kids. But wait! While Rayanne drags Angela into each scenario kicking and screaming, Kim Kelly attempts to thwart Lindsay at every turn. She forces Lindsay to stand on her own feet by becoming her adversary, and eventually, her ally. Kim Kelly has bad-girl swagger and tomboyish good looks. Rayanne Graff has...a perm? Whatever.

Freaks and Geeks:
2, My So-Called Life: 0.

Both shows have super-famous teen heartthrobs who steal the heart of the main character. In MSCL, Jared Leto plays the sexy and mysterious Jordan Catalano. You know he's totally bad because like, at this party, he's all by himself. Loner! Woooh! Sexy! Whereas F&G boasts James Franco who - despite his Oscar-hosting nightmare - has sustained a fairly decent career since the show. Unlike Leto. Sorry. Franco's "Daniel" is an obvious stoner, who cheats on tests and invites weird middle-aged friends to parties...he has a well-rehearsed sob story and a twinkle in his bloodshot eyes. Win! Not only that, but Franco is supported by his cronies Nick and Ken, played by Jason Segel and Seth Rogen, respectively. That's three against one, sorry, Jordan Catalano!

Freaks and Geeks:
5, My So-Called Life: 0

Oh, not to mention that Freaks and Geeks is set in 1980, so not only do we get the 80's nostalgia, there's also heavy undertones of late 70's fashion which is SO in right now, and the music rocks. My So-Called Life is like an hour-long advertisement for Pamprin. I call them as I see them!

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Somewhere Out There

It's snowing again, and it's made me nostalgic for last January, also known as the last time I was in an actual play. I have complicated feelings about the acting world which led me to take a hiatus from submitting, auditioning, and acting in general over the summer.

First of all, I'm not the best auditioner. Once I manage to get my foot in the door, I seem to choke and fail miserably. Test anxiety? Social anxiety? Just plain old nerves? I don't know.

Secondly, I feel like the acting world is so focused on appearances. Attractiveness doesn't necessarily work in your favor...if you're a man. If you're a woman, you'd damn well better be at least as good looking as Kirstin Bell, or Megan Fox if you want to get a foot in the door.

Thirdly, acting has practically nothing to do with luck, or talent. Fundamentally, it's about being less shitty than everyone else they managed to find to audition for them. Sometimes, this works in your favor: they call in a lot of people whose headshots are very old, and they have irritating voices, or something. But most of the time, you're ina room with Kirstin Bell and Angelina Jolie and it really isn't even worth your effort to produce a one-minute monologue.

Most profound of all, there are almost no decent roles out there. I know, I shouldn't complain, I should be trying to change the system, but really. Everything out there is just... "mid-twenties, fresh faced, beautiful but not a model (which means they want a model), who is the lead males' manic pixie dream girl, who thinks she can save him but has her doubts because she's seen so much but she remains optimistic..." Bleagh! I mean, I know it's just a blurb, but could it have some SUBSTANCE? Oh, sure, sometimes she appears nude in simulated sex, and sometimes she was raped as a child, and sometimes she has a substance abuse problem but she's NEVER a witty, functional, acerbic uggo who can hold her own! What is UP with that?

Nevertheless, I really do miss performing. And feeling like I'm actually doing something with my life. Going out on auditions and meeting people and connecting with a text and an audience. I just have to find out how to do so in a constructive and fulfilling matter. Oh, and with a shirt on.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Happy Medium

When you're a kid, everything is opposites: black or white. On or off. Up or down. Big or little. For further reading on the subject, reference the novel Go, Dog, Go!. Big or little. Little or big. It's so simple!

As adults, we probably go back to these simple terms for comfort. When ordering a Starbucks! When we need a caffeine boost, we go for the Venti. When we're hard up for cash, it's a Tall order. Can't Grande get some love, too?

I feel like we judge our bodies using these same dichotomous terms. We see such extremes in the media - our celebrities are emaciated twigs and that is our standard of beauty. Anyone bigger than Kate Moss is "fat," and anyone smaller than Nicole Richie is "sick."

The actual average American woman is a size 12. Perhaps our most famous symbol of beauty in this country, Marilyn Monroe, was also a 12. Tell me then: why is it that there is no "medium" in our standard of beauty? Why is it a woman must either be anorexic to the point of near death, or pumped full of silicone and Restylane? Since when is "average" a bad thing? Is there no "happy medium" anymore?

Personal Space

Coming home last night at 10pm, I met my favourite neighbors in the lobby on their way out to walk their dog. As I always do when coming home alone after dark (which is now 5pm, thank you Daylight Savings Time), I had my trusty pepper spray in my hand in the "ready" position: flap against the palm of my right hand, thumb on the button, fingers curled around with my key looped on my middle finger. I expected my neighbors to be surprised, but rather, I was when they were not.

"All these gropings you hear about..." I sheepishly muttered, to excuse my evident paranoia.

"Oh yeah! Like the guy who lives on the 145th street platform!" They told me about a homeless man three stops away from my house, who touches himself on the platform when a train is coming into the station, then unzips his pants and rubs his erect penis against the female passengers once he gets on the train, getting off (no pun intended) one station later.

Needless to say, I was appalled. Hearing about this crazy and horrible man made me want to talk about something that happened to me on a train last weekend...

Sunday night, after work, I boarded an insanely crowded train at 59th Street. Crowded trains are a reality of New York City. It's just part of public transit. And until you've been on one, you have no idea: people's arms in your face, people stand on your heels, it's literally back to back to keep standing up. If you're tall enough, you can press your hand into the ceiling of the train to keep your balance, if not, you just lean against fellow passengers to stay upright. It's pretty much sardines in a can.

Somewhere along the express route from 59th to 125th, I became aware that the man behind me, whom I'd only caught a glimpse of as I pushed my way into the center of the train, was pressing his arm into my backside. Through my corduroy work pants, I could distinctly feel the back of his hand cupping my ass, his wrist in between my cheeks.

Understandably uncomfortable, I inched my feet forward and leaned my hips into the tiny amount of empty space, arching my pelvis forward, attempting to give him more space. I assumed, on the crowded train, he was unaware of his hand position and as a courtesy, I tried to give him more space. Instead, his hand found me again, and he began grinding his arm back and forth into my rear. I repeated my desperate shuffle forward, as every second turned into a lifetime. I watched the train zoom past the local stops. I muttered under my breath a prayer that he would back away, he would finish with me, that the train would HURRY UP.

125th Street arrived, and though a few passengers got off, even more got on. My new friend and I were trapped together. I tried to make eye contact with someone, ANYONE on the train to see if I was alone in this, but indeed I was. 125th...135th...145th street! Suddenly the train emptied out. I bolted across the train to an available standing space. My assailant looked around, then left the train.

The rest of the ride home I tried to convince myself that nothing had happened: it was a crowded train. Mentally I flashed on this sign I had seen often on previous subway rides:

I had listened to Ani DiFranco and Tori Amos. I had seen my fair share of lifetime movies. I am a feminist! Part of me thought to myself: "How could you be so stupid? Why didn't you turn around, look him in the face? Yell 'Excuse me!' and push out of the way? Scream for help?"

Another part of me thought: "Maybe it was an accident. He didn't grab and squeeze, he didn't put his penis on you or in you, he didn't start humping you on the train! Thank goodness you weren't wearing a skirt! Next time, try to be more careful."

For days I have been replaying the incident in my mind, with commentary provided by one or the other of the above "characters". But hearing about the crazy assaults perpetrated by the man at 145th Street made me realize something:

Being touched by a stranger in a way that makes you uncomfortable is NOT okay. A crowded train IS NOT an excuse. Being a woman in New York doesn't mean you give up your right to personal space, and it isn't an invitation to be touched in any way, by a penis or a weapon or even the back of a hand.

And just for the record, I'm still carrying my pepper spray.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Bang Gang

I'm tired of bangs being associated with these twee, hipster, Zooey Deschanel-wannabes who collect hair bows and live off cupcakes and don't even realize that Anthropologie and Urban Outfitters are owned by an evil corporation that funnels their money into funding detestable causes *pant pant*. After all, I have been sporting the "lunatic fringe" for most of my life (save for about two years in middle school, but we all did stupid things when we hit puberty, didn't we?) and I feel like I should just let you know that bangs aren't just for infantile, breathless folk singers and Etsy shop owners. Nay, bangs are for TOTAL BADASSES!

Suzi Quatro (as Leather Tuscadero, with The Fonz)

Chrissie Hynde

Bettie Page

Joan Jett

Courtney Love

Sunday, October 23, 2011

It's My First Vlog!!!


Sorry for the lighting. I enjoyed the special effects VERY much!

In The Ghetto...

Dear Hot Running Water In My Apartment,

I know in the past that I've been very vocal about how you seem to alternate between shades of mustard yellow and dark brown, and I haven't been very pleasant regarding your particular odor, either. But now it seems I've come to miss you. Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got til it's gone? I would gladly endure your unpredictable smells and colors just to have you back again. You are far better than drawing a bath of cold water, microwaved, and then dumped in the tub. Believe me.

Please come back.



Friday, October 21, 2011

The Book Was Better

When I was in grade school, an English/Reading teacher of mine steadfastly refused to show us the movie version of whatever classic book we were reading in class at the time. When my classmates protested, she stood her ground, swearing on all that she believed in that the movie version of any book would never possibly live up to the book because when you read, you use your imagination.

These words stuck to the inside of my head like peanut butter. Words were so powerful! They are like magic spells: the right stir of words can poof! the precise meaning right into your head. They could make you feel empathy! Horror! Suspense! Disgust! Romantic tugs at your heartstrings!

Bombshell time: I actually kind of hate the Harry Potter movies. I feel like I'm watching an hour-long commercial for the death of one of my favourite childhood memories.

I've only ever seen a few movies that seem to be truthful to their novels, and these were all made a long time ago. Alfred Hitchcock's Rebecca, which gets the plot across but can never convey the suspense accurately, even with Hitchcock at the helm! Vincente Minelli's Madame Bovary, which stays true to the plot fairly well, but wouldn't we all rather imagine Emma's beauty (though Jennifer is certainly lovely, can anyone compare to Flaubert's description? She defies imagining). And Alfonso Arau's 1992 retelling of Laura Esquivel's Como Agua Para Chocolate (which requires us to read subtitles or learn Spanish, which ever's easier), but I would also rather imagine the characters in my head, as I visualized the slightly differently.

Even if a movie could bring a book to life to get across the plot, sometimes it falls short in conveying the majesty. There's something magical about reading, taking the story in at your own pace, dwelling over the phrases that resonate, seeing the story told as it was meant to be, learning the author's vernacular. It used to be that, while books could travel with you anywhere, while movies could not. You could sit in your bed with a flashlight, secretly devouring a story. Or laugh out loud to yourself in a park, in your own private world. Books were more personal, and more easy, that way.

I love movies. I love original stories, and there is much that can be said for the medium of film. But for me, books will always trump all the the best medium for storytelling there is.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Me vs. Man vs. Food

Travel Channel's Man vs. Food tugs at my heartstrings. I love televisions of food, but this one bothers me just a little bit. I adore the host. He's charming, upbeat, but not cloying or fake. He's one of the few television personalities I genuinely think is probably a pretty cool person in real life. And also, he's cute in that garden gnome kind of way. You know I love my gnomes.

On an intellectual level, I have to object to the idea. People in starving countries want to bomb us because of this show. Luckily, they can't afford bombs, because the conceit of this show is pretty offensive if you think about it. The object is to travel America in search of "Food Challenges," wherein a restaurant challenges its patrons to eat ridiculous volumes of food to win honor or prizes. Just think about that for a minute. Hunger is a serious problem, but abroad AND domestically. Yet this show glorifies stuffing yourself in order to win the approval of others. Being A Glutton: It's The American Way.

Then there's the TYPE of food he eats. In nearly every challenge, he eats some kind of red meat. Most of the time, it's also fried. Granted, it's probably more fun to watch adorable Adam Richman attempt to tackle an oversized, 5lb burger than it is to watch him guzzle wheatgrass juice. But every time I watch, I just feel so bad for his colon! But honestly, it's not much different from watching the weird kid eat worms for lunch money on the playground.

Finally, I have to defend myself by saying I love food. I am frequently guilty of eating a lot of food in one sitting, so I feel a little hypocritical attacking Adam for his career choice. But the aim of these food challenges, unlike my own personal binges, is NOT to enjoy or appreciate the food (though the show is divided into three segments, where the first two show him eating for enjoyment and the last shows him eating for competition), but to gorge yourself senseless. He might as well be eating protein powder, or chalk dust, or gravel. There's no love of food in these challenges.

And yet, I still love Man vs. Food. Adam Richman is adorable, the show is cleverly written, and the funny fugue segments make the concept of senseless gluttony almost charming. Almost.

Baby, Baby, Baby NO!

Loud children on the subway. I am probably the harshest critic of this group of people.

However, when I got on the subway and a toddler was singing "Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It) while listening to headphones, I had to reconsider my position. It was...pretty cute.

And when the train lurched and she fell off her chair, I helped catch her.

And frankly, her version of "Baby" is better than Justin Beiber's.

At one point, her mother tried to shush her, because the people on the train were showing signs of annoyance, but she turned to her in all seriousness and reasoned, "But I have to sing!"

You go, girl. You get one pass. One.

I Love Smart Women Who Read

This evening, I went into town around 5:30 and came home around 9. On both subway rides, I noticed a lot of people reading books. Oh sure, there were your requisite screaming babies, makeup put-er-on-ers (people putting on makeup?), people whose iPods were turned up so loud that you could hear their music, but I also noticed a lot of books. Namely, three. One on the way down and two on the way home. Then, I realized they were all nonfiction books! The death of the liberal class, and all that. Then, it finally dawned on me: All the readers of these books were women! Women of all ages, reading nonfiction books on their subway rides. That is real beauty.

Movie Review -- The Trip (2010)

Is this the real life? -- Queen Freddie Mercury

Didja ever have those friends who are so naturally funny, so super charming, that you feel like you could just watch them hang out and chat, and if you turned a camera on them, you'd have a really funny and awesome movie?

The Trip, a "mockumentary," follows the far-fetched characters of Steve Coogan (played by Steve Coogan) and his friend Rob Brydon (actor Rob Brydon), friends and actors, taking a trip around the English countryside and pretending to write a review of local restaurants by reviewing local restaurants. Confused? Heck yeah.

The downfall of this movie is that the actors um...seem to be playing themselves? Their personalities, and their charm, and their insecurities seem to be what makes up the characters. Also, their characters have their same names. But...what about Rob's wife and daughter? Are they for real? And Steve's tumultuous career? Is that all actually happening? I suppose a "trip" to Wikipedia in search of answers is in order...

The charm of this albeit slow-paced movie comes from watching Steve and Rob riffing with each other. Battling over who does the better Michael Caine impersonation, improvising little ditties, mocking costume dramas, singing The Winner Takes It All. Here's my advice for how to best enjoy this film: get some great food. Imbibe mind-altering substance of your choice. Sit back in a comfy chair. Let the movie flow over you. If you wait for something to happen, you will be seriously disappointed: not a lot happens. Oh, and save your dessert for the end of the movie, you're going to need cheering up. Trust me.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Sister Wives - because why not?

A friend on facebook recently pointed out my own hypocrisy on the gay marriage debate. I claimed to be open-minded, pro-marriage equality, "liberaler-than-thou", but I also made derogatory remarks against cousin marriage (which is legal in far more states than aforementioned gay marriage, but I had no reason other than that to oppose it). I was appalled at my own closed-mindedness!

Which is precisely my problem while watching Sister Wives (Seasons 1 & 2 available on Instant Netflix). The TLC show follows a Fundamentalist Mormon Polygamist family living in Utah through the trails and...trials of living the lifestyle they chose. they chose...sounds like the very rhetoric used by many other fundamentalists to discriminate against gay couples and deny them legal marriage.

Let's propose a deal: let's make it legal for everyone on every end of the political and social spectrum, to live the life that makes them happy. No discrimination, no legal boundaries, can't we just acknowledge that nobody has the right to police their neighbors' lifestyle choices, biological attractions, and romantic entanglements. Okay?

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Heere Comes Bridezilla!

I think the way you react to the show Bridezillas says a lot about you as a person.

A lot of people may watch the show and think, "Oh, those horrible women. How can they act like that?"

Whereas I watch the show and think, "Someone is choosing to marry that woman. On purpose. How can woefully unmarried women watch this show and not feel slighted that these poor excuses for ladies manage to find and keep husbands while they themselves remain single?"

I guess that makes me a feminist?

Friday, October 14, 2011


As I was walking home, I saw a most unusual family in a most unusual predicament.

There was a man with a beard, his hot young wife, their 4 year old son and their little toddler boy, who was wearing a backpack of a puppy that was also a leash. The older boy was slapping his younger brother about the head (gently, playfully, not abusively!) and shouting gleefully "YSsssba!!!" or something, in that childish way of repeating a sentence until it breaks down into its consonants and becomes just a noise. But oddly, it was charming.

His dad came up behind him and grabbed the older child by the arms, pinning them behind his back. "Have at 'im!" he hollared to his younger child, and the boy waddled over, Mom in tow, and began dishing out the pain! "Yusssup!" he hissed back, repeating the older boys phrase.

I passed them by, and they continued to spar, and finally I could hear clearly what they were saying:


I couldn't help but laugh! They boarded the escalator right behind me, and I couldn't resist asking them:

"Excuse me, are you quoting Moonstruck?"

The father didn't know what movie I meant, but he did seem interested.

"Who's in that?" he implored.

"Oh, it's great! There's Cher, and Nicolas Cage..."

"National Treasure 2!" The older boy piped up.

"Yeah, he's in that!" I was delighted to play the movie game with this boy. "Nic Cage is a good actor, huh?" I have no problems lying to children, apparently.

"Enh," he demurred.

Out of the mouths of babes.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Who's The Boss? Cake Boss!

TLC's Cake Boss is the story of a famiglia. A famiglia that yells like all the freakin' time, and has a collective IQ of barely over 100, but they bravely forge forward and make cakes in spite of it all.

Buddy, the self-appointed Cake Boss and namesake for all other children on the show apparently, is a loud-mouthed, big-hearted buffoon who runs the family business. As Eli points out, he will yell at someone over the smallest detail, but he doesn't sweat the big stuff - all managers should look to him for how to run their businesses (aside from the hazing and the finger-cobras*, I mean).

This is a fun, light-hearted show I genuinely recommend to family audiences. Instead of watching boring "children's entertainment" with their broadly drawn characters and minimal conflict, watch this show, which has broadly drawn REAL LIFE characters and minimal actual conflict.

* finger-cobras: pinch the tips of all your fingers together. That's his head. Now make him face you. Wave him around in the air. Finger-cobra.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

I Have Seen The Future...

Today at work, the most adorable little baby girl fell totally in love with the drawing board. She was poking it with her tiny fingers, and scratching with her short baby nails, and just making the most amazing avant-garde creation. Her mother resigned herself to buying her daughter her very own drawing board!

So she started to walk away, and her daughter resisted leaving me and my board, until her mother placed in her hands the little girl's very own board, and she clutched it to her chest with glee, eyeing me with surprise, gratitude, and admiration.

Maybe, just maybe, I inspired a future artist today. And that means more than all the commission in the world.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

...OR Your Chicken!

Yesterday's journey home was made just a little more scary by the presence of a crazy, screaming homeless man in the station. He was stalking around the turnstiles, screaming "fuck" and various other words. While scanning the station to locate the source of the noise disturbance, I accidentally made eye contact with the source, and he began stomping in my direction. I could barely get through the turnstiles fast enough, and he slammed his body against the emergency exit, screaming after me:

"I don't give a fuck about YOU, I don't give a fuck about your CHICKEN, I don't give a fuck about your GIRL, and I don't give a fuck about your GIRL'S CHICKEN!"

Monday, October 10, 2011

Thriller Killer

Saddest thing I've seen all day:

A teenager dressed like Michael Jackson circa "Bad" gets on the train, addresses the passengers:

"Ladies and gentlemen...anybody want to see a show?"

Nobody even looks in his direction.

"Going once...anybody?"

Not a word.


Apparently not.

"Fine then."

He sits down and rides the rest of the way in silence.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Movie Review -- Cry-Baby (1990)

As Johnny Depp proclaims in this movie with a face only a mother could love, "Love being bad 'cuz it feels so good," and I kind of think that's the way Jon Waters feels about film-making. It's as if he watched a rerun of Grease on TV one afternoon while home sick with the flu, and thought "Hm. I could do that better," and by "better" he meant "worse," in that magnificent John Waters style.

The plot skips around manically between a host of characters, focusing mainly on Allison, the Sandra Dee ripoff, and Cry-Baby, Depp's Hillbilly Conrad Birdie clone. There's Allison's appropriately assinine boyfriend Baldwin, and her straightlaced Grandmother, both urging her to stay away from the "juvenile delinquents", who are actually just trying to have fun, while the uptight "Squares" trash their cars, start fights, and get them in trouble. On the other side, the characters are much more interesting: Hatchet-Face, whose name says it all. Pepper, with her two kids and one on the way, still in high school. Wanda, a sexy goth pinup before her time. And some bizarre familial relations played by Susan Tyrell and Iggy Pop. Wow.

Because it skips around so much, it makes very little sense. The dialogue, sparse though it may be, is both brilliantly campy and astonishingly vapid. Johnny Depp gets it, though. He's in on the joke. While everyone else tries to play their roles for realism, Johnny is sneering and mugging his way through the title role. As well he should.

If you liked Grease 2 but thought it could have had more sex in it, but you're still too square to dig the lesbian sex scene in But I'm A Cheerleader, this movie is absolutely perfect for you.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Why I Blog

I love reading blogs. I ooh and ahh at fashion blogs, I bookmark projects from DIY blogs, and sigh with witsfulness at lifestyle blogs. I also shake my fists at political blogs! And I learn what movies to rent from pop culture blogs.

What kind of a blog am I? Uh, I don't know. Do I want to "do anything" with my blog? Maybe. I don't know. Blogging is such a bizarre sport: basically narcissistic, introspective and a little masturbatory, it's also a business? Basically, you appoint yourself a "guru," and your friends and strangers comment on your musings, while sponsors pay you to put their ads on your sidebar? What is that? What kind of a weird world is it where THAT happens? And then GIVEAWAYS? Now you're a game show/variety show with commercials and contests? It's all too bizarre for me.

I started blogging to make a record of my thoughts and jokes. How that translates into modern blogging culture is beyond me. It's as if you start a diary, and then publish it as a magazine?

I love reading blogs. I love other people's ideas, pictures, projects and life stories. Perhaps that's why I love reality television? I love being privy to other people's lives. And do I feel pressure to find sponsors, add readers, post more pictures, be more upbeat? Kinda. But do I care? No. My blog is, first and foremost, for me. I want an outlet. I want to get my opinions out. And if that isn't good enough for the modern blogging world, I'll just start putting my ideas in spiral bound notebooks again. Like I did, you know, before the internet.
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