Of course I now must turn my attention to an 1800-word article on vehicle safety and employee safety training, or the whole of the civilized world might just come crashing down around our ears. I’ll let Krugman write about the economic turmoil soon to face the country, and let Maurine Dowd lament over women rights and Kathleen Parker will grace us with her witticisms and heartwarming repartee of dogs (if you love dogs, or recently lost one, or have a pet with a handicap or all of these) please read courier-journal/article/20130607/OPINION04/306070036/Kathleen-Parker-Bill-gives-pets-ticket-ride by the way, I am in love with both Kathleen Parker and Maurine Dowd. I would fly to NYC and DC and stalk them, but I don’t fly and I hate NYC and my wife will not let me the leave the house (on my own) for more than two-hours at any one time. It’s a safety thing. These commentators are paid pretty well to give their astute visions and opinions. I, on the other hand, am a shill; a hack with a pretty good computer with a pretty good word-processor with a pretty good spellchecker who can build a pretty good case for safety training, if given the time and the 35 cent a word premium to do so. Without which, I would be working as a candy vendor at the Clippers baseball games. Everyone is somewhere in life’s grand illusions. It is obvious to me, and should be obvious to you, that I post these thoughts without giving a lot of due diligence. It’s not that I don’t care what other folks think of me, it is that if I don’t offer something to the gods of the Internet each morning I’ll go crazy and so, no matter how poorly thought out one of my diatribes, I always push the send button. The Internet, to a writer, is like what a million-mile blank canvas is to a third-rate painter. There’s enough space up there that you can dump buckets and buckets of paint in the hopes that one beautiful image might be magically transposed. Some of you, I’m sure, are hoping upon hope that I will soon run out of paint, or that my pretty good computer with the pretty good word-processor with the pretty good spellchecker will explode in my face, leaving me legally blind, my fingertips ripped apart so that I can’t even use a braille keyboard to transport these inane thoughts. But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. If you read any of these posts, you’ll note that I write crummy commentary of three subjects 1) music (I always leave a link) B) politics/economics 3) tales of my youth. I have no favorite subject matter. I’m trying to take the summer off when it comes to politics and I’ve just about ran out of tales of my youth (the G-rated ones anyway, although I have one that I’m dying to write about—it has to do with some delicious trouble that I got into on campus back in 68 that gave me a prestigious file in Hover’s FBI like that of Abbie Hoffman and Malcom X), and that leaves music. I love music. Can’t play a note. Really admire folks who can play. I sing a lot. So, I post a lot of my favorite songs. When a writer post something, they never know if they have an audience unless they get some type of feedback. It doesn’t have to be glowing compliments—it can be a good argument to a contrary opinion, or it can be someone who is really pissed-off at the tone or content of what I’ve said, or it can be a simple response such as “Can’t buy that” or “Well said.” But most people either A) don’t care 2) don’t read the posts 3C) think it is crazy to reason with a looney-tune character. Anyone who knows me well, will tell you that I’m an opinioned bastard but hold no malice: you like to shoot your AR15, that’s okay go kill all the bunnies you like; you send money into James Carville, well I hope you get a nice tax break; you like church, pray for me please; you’re a 300 pound man who likes to wear women’s hose—I hope you can find a nice pair of pumps. Here’s the thing. If you want to write a longer response but don’t want to take the time to write it out or have some reservations about how effective your writing skills—don’t give it a thought. I can even read tweets, partial sentences and most curse words. On the other hand, if you’re figuring that if you don’t respond—maybe he’ll go away. Probably won’t happen. I mean, already this morning I’ve written some 800 words and the sun is not up yet and I’ve got all that lovely, empty canvas to cover.
Posted on: Sat, 08 Jun 2013 09:21:36 +0000
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