Blog on, Lonesome Prairie Dog
I must be in a chatty mood today, although I am currently feeling like hell.
Thinking about Ben Affleck and unholy spawn led me to the popular theory that coffee shops, bookstores, etc. are great pick-up joints. I disagree. When I am browsing for books or drinking coffee, the last thing I want is someone to hit on me just as I've reached the best part of Jane Eyre or the caffeine hits me squarely between the eyes. Call me sad and pathetic, but that's just how I feel. How I hate going into a place that is less than sophisticated and having people stare at me because I am a woman alone. That's why cities are great for single women: it's rarely a problem. In smaller towns, or at least ones that don't have that wonderful anonymous cloak, you can get stared at. It's never fun to feel focused upon simply because you have a vagina. I'm sure men have their take on this, but at the moment, I'm probably not in the mood to hear it. But whining/blogging are separate issues, non??
When you feel really down, you can pretend to be French.
So this is the blogging universe, to move to a different topic altogether. I am happy picturing millions of bloggers linked in some marvelous mind-meld, hunched over computers and laptops everywhere. I am also happy going to street festivals full of art and then leaving early, because too many humans makes me feel utterly and completely claustrophobic. Must be the curse of the true introvert. Normally I like to see a bit of art and do a little people-watching.
One fabulous thing I saw was this strange wooden figure of a man who reminded me of the dude who tried to sell Oliver Twist in the movie -- the one that came out long ago, in the 70's maybe? In fact for some reason the song "One Boy for Sale" has been going through my mind lately. Whoever sang that song had a marvelous voice (I'm sure someone out there in blog-land knows who it is). Very sad, to be an orphan-child. I really need to re-read Oliver Twist one of these days, if I ever read the damned thing at all.
(In fact I did read a great thing lately -- that during the time of serial writing, which Dickens did -- I believe he was paid by the word -- people would rush to the docks as the continuation of his latest story was dropped off and ask the man delivering it what had happened to the characters, i.e. "What happened to Pip? Did he get away?"). For some reason that makes me fucking happy. I think I was born in the wrong age, b/c being a modern person often simply sucks.
Then again, it's not like I had a choice as to when I was born. Existential crises are so passe. Ha, ha ha.
I think I might have wanted to be a Victorian, but then again, in a past life, maybe I was. Shirley McClaine, can you hear me? How nice to believe in this stuff and hold lectures for $400 a pop. Maybe I'll jump on the reincarnation bandwagon, too.
I now retire my cynical, lonely self, and retreat into cover of darkness. Meaning eating dark chocolate, probably. I rarely drink, and didn't get stoned until I was 30. That was a happy time, actually.
Papa, can you hear me?
Blog on, lonesome prairie dog.
Thinking about Ben Affleck and unholy spawn led me to the popular theory that coffee shops, bookstores, etc. are great pick-up joints. I disagree. When I am browsing for books or drinking coffee, the last thing I want is someone to hit on me just as I've reached the best part of Jane Eyre or the caffeine hits me squarely between the eyes. Call me sad and pathetic, but that's just how I feel. How I hate going into a place that is less than sophisticated and having people stare at me because I am a woman alone. That's why cities are great for single women: it's rarely a problem. In smaller towns, or at least ones that don't have that wonderful anonymous cloak, you can get stared at. It's never fun to feel focused upon simply because you have a vagina. I'm sure men have their take on this, but at the moment, I'm probably not in the mood to hear it. But whining/blogging are separate issues, non??
When you feel really down, you can pretend to be French.
So this is the blogging universe, to move to a different topic altogether. I am happy picturing millions of bloggers linked in some marvelous mind-meld, hunched over computers and laptops everywhere. I am also happy going to street festivals full of art and then leaving early, because too many humans makes me feel utterly and completely claustrophobic. Must be the curse of the true introvert. Normally I like to see a bit of art and do a little people-watching.
One fabulous thing I saw was this strange wooden figure of a man who reminded me of the dude who tried to sell Oliver Twist in the movie -- the one that came out long ago, in the 70's maybe? In fact for some reason the song "One Boy for Sale" has been going through my mind lately. Whoever sang that song had a marvelous voice (I'm sure someone out there in blog-land knows who it is). Very sad, to be an orphan-child. I really need to re-read Oliver Twist one of these days, if I ever read the damned thing at all.
(In fact I did read a great thing lately -- that during the time of serial writing, which Dickens did -- I believe he was paid by the word -- people would rush to the docks as the continuation of his latest story was dropped off and ask the man delivering it what had happened to the characters, i.e. "What happened to Pip? Did he get away?"). For some reason that makes me fucking happy. I think I was born in the wrong age, b/c being a modern person often simply sucks.
Then again, it's not like I had a choice as to when I was born. Existential crises are so passe. Ha, ha ha.
I think I might have wanted to be a Victorian, but then again, in a past life, maybe I was. Shirley McClaine, can you hear me? How nice to believe in this stuff and hold lectures for $400 a pop. Maybe I'll jump on the reincarnation bandwagon, too.
I now retire my cynical, lonely self, and retreat into cover of darkness. Meaning eating dark chocolate, probably. I rarely drink, and didn't get stoned until I was 30. That was a happy time, actually.
Papa, can you hear me?
Blog on, lonesome prairie dog.
posted by lakeofthelongsun72 at 11:41 AM
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