13 August 2012

blogging the unbloggable.

The worst thing about having a blog isn't the actual writing of blog entries; it's determining which subjects really deserve to be written about. This morning, for example, I suppose it would be appropriate and relevant to write about Paul Ryan, but frankly I have nothing much to say about him that doesn't concern his beaklike nose or Eddie Munster widow's peak—and I'm reluctant to admit, even implicitly, that this is all I have to bring to the greater political discourse.

For every blog entry that you eventually read, scan through, or contemptuously pass over, there is usually another blog entry that is begun and then abandoned. This weekend I flirted with a post in which I vented my spleen about tattoos, but rereading the first paragraph, I realized it was too strident and bitter-sounding even for the likes of me, so I started sniffing around for some more bad porn instead. 

But as you might well imagine, the quest for bad porn can inadvertently stray in two unproductive directions: sometimes I stumble upon porn so upsettingly bad that I swear off the internet, humanity, and worldly pleasures for life (or until tomorrow, whichever comes first), and sometimes I stumble upon porn so unexpectedly good that my priorities change. I'll leave to your imagination the nature of my distraction yesterday.

When it's been three days since my last blog entry (as is the case today), my borderline OCD tendencies start to kick into high gear. I start to panic. It's not that I suppose anyone out there is holding a razor blade to his wrist in the fear that my well has dried up... (After all, I know that I don't have to write anything at all and the Doris Day freaks will keep clicking the hell out of this blog:)

But I am nothing if not a fan of consistency. If last week I was here talking about the Olympics and Degrassi Junior High, I want you—the Hypothetical Reader—to be able to count on the fact that I will be here today talking about, say, the GNP of Mariah Carey's vagina or the dilemma of men's underwear. (Be excited. These are both prospective upcoming blog topics.)

Actually, I am going to admit something to you here—and I want you to tell me if George Takei is bringing you this level of heartfelt sincerity... I lied in the preceding paragraph. That consistency crap is a load of hooey. I really panic when I don't blog because (I believe) writing is the reason I'm here on this ghetto-ass planet—so if I don't write, it's like I'm an appendix—a useless, occasionally toxic appendage that should probably just be removed. Now, after sampling my blog, you might respectfully disagree about my raison d'etre, but that does little to assuage my panic. Every moment this blog goes unupdated is like the ticking of a clock in an Ingmar Bergman film. 

Now that this clock has been silenced (briefly) by this post, I've only forestalled the inevitable Mariah Carey post. So when it shows up, don't be surprised.


  1. Every moment this blog goes unupdated is like the ticking of a clock in an Ingmar Bergman film.

    Reading that sentence actually gave me a momentary panic attack.

  2. Yay, you're back!

    (I was checking.)

  3. If you believe you are put on this planet to write, why do you not try to write professionally?

    I do love this blog, and what I love about it is that it is not watered down by blog posts that are written just for the sake of being written. Sometimes it's worth actually having something to talk about.

    But yeah, Mariah's always a good backup.

  4. Also, and this is sort of fucked up, but every so often I have a thought that passes through my pretty little head and lately that has been chased by a second thought, which is: "I wish there were a Kowalski post on the subject."

    Isn't that messed up? Whatever, it's not true. I am normal.

    No, it is true.

  5. If you believe you are put on this planet to write, why do you not try to write professionally?

    I'm working on it, Morais. This shit doesn't happen overnight, you know.

    I thank you for your comments though. You're a good guy.

    And... if you have suggestions for blog posts, send them my way. I always* like a challenge.

    * Okay, sometimes.

    1. Katy Perry's fame is a bit inexplicable to me. I really only have heard that one song of hers, "I Kissed a Girl" (I'm pretty sure that's the title, which was almost like a novelty song, and is in any case several years old... yet now I see there's some movie coming out which- and I could be wrong about this- documents her ascent to the stratosphere of popularity or some such nonsense. Is this a hoax? This is pretty much a non-person, isn't she? I thought she was just barely more successful that the guy who drums on PVC buckets in the subway. Is Katy Perry Mariah Carey's heir apparent as the sitting queen of glorified mediocrity? This somehow seems like a subject that might be within the sphere of Obscene Chewing.

    2. The movie already came out, BB, and tanked at the box office. Katy Perry is indeed a good subject for a blog entry. I will contemplate her.

      But I have to point out one thing: Mariah Carey really isn't mediocre. If you strip away all the bullshit, she's a very talented singer--but she's also a revolting whore. Her vagina has seen more action from professional athletes than Madison Square Garden. And it may be the only genitalia with maximum occupancy signs posted on the walls.

    3. Well, I agree, she does vocal gymnastics which no doubt take a lot of skill, so she may be gifted in technical aspects of singing, but I find her delivery lacking in the intangible characteristics which make me connect emotionally with lyrics, or which at least make me feel the singer has connected with them. In this respect, she is sort of the antithesis of Bob Dylan. Perhaps her function is to keep the universe in some sort of balance.

    4. Also, she's a slutbag.

  6. It seemed like much longer than three days.

  7. I want to see that tattoo post - I like when you vent for me.

    You are an incredibly talented and orginal writer. When I was in high school, I wanted to be a journalist/writer, and I sometimes regret not following through on that. But when I read anything you write, and most of it are things that I think about often, I realize I don't have the originality nor the creativity to have seen it through. I would have starved, but you have a gift.