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.