I sometimes ask myself, “Why do you make dairy entries? They’re lame.” But then I have to tell my skeptical self, “If they’re good enough for Samuel Pepys, Anne Frank and Beaver Cleaver, then they’re good enough for me”. Tis true, ya know.
I could be posting or writing specifics. Opinions or news or current affairs or ‘tips’ or ‘how to write a better blog’ or all of those things that certain snot-nosed bloggers tell you that a blog should be. But, to quote Claude Rains in Now, Voyager, I leave that sort of thing to the fakers; the writers of books”.
I supposed that I could write it all down in some journal that I got at Barnes and Noble. Away from the Big Brother of the internet. But to be truthful, I’ve kind of forgotten how to write. Sometimes I will try to write something. “What is this horrible scrawling mess that is coming out of my hand”? Half cursive, half print. Abbreviations that I forget what the abbreviation is for. A scribbly Jackson Pollock mess. Heaven forbid if I ever have to sign my name to something and then have it matched to the signature on my Driver’s License. I don’t write like that anymore. I have forgotten HOW to write like that. It’s like Dr. Jekyll signed this and Mr. Hyde signed that. And don’t even bother trying to explain it to the person calling your signature into question.
This doesn’t look like your signature.
Of course it doesn’t you bozo. I wrote this signature inside of an almost microscopic rectangle. I had no room for my natural, free-form, artistic, make my Ts look like stars, make my Bs look like butterflies, flair. Give me some elbow room and I can write and sign the shit out of stuff. Make me sign a teeny tiny piece of whatever and it’s going to come out unnatural and cause problems down the road.
So, I type. That’s what we do now. We’ve reached that part of the Zager and Evans song, In the Year 2525, where we don’t use those skills anymore. I read somewhere that they recorded that song in a garage in one take. I think it was a Billboard book. Yes, a book. Not a wikipedia page. So, I give it just a tad bit more creedence. Not to say that books aren’t wrong. I’ve read 4 different books about the assassination of James Garfield and every single one of them gave a different name for the man who was his main doctor after he got shot.Well how on earth am I supposed to study for Jeopardy with that kind of hodge podge of faux knowledge? huh?
Garfield didn’t die right away, ya know. He lingered for a while. A couple of months. The bullet was lodged in his back somewhere. The doctors kept digging around for it, thereby making the hole bigger and eventually causing infection. That’s the defense that Charles Guiteau used.
I didn’t kill the president. The doctors did.
Hmmmm, nice try, but we’re not falling for it Guiteau. Hasta la vista baby. See ya at the scaffold.
When you do all of this Dear Diary stuff you don’t have to adhere as much to the rules of writing or spelling or anything. Actually, you don’t have to adhere to them at all. You can even change topics 3 times in the same paragraph. Like I did with the above paragraph that went from penmanship to Zager and Evans to the Garfield assassination. Kind of like Tinkers to Evers to Chance. Baseball’s Sad Lexicon.
Dear Diary doesn’t have to make sense. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It can be stream of consciousness.
-that reminds me, I need to use those free 20 oz. coke coupons before they expire. When is it going to stop raining? why is this in italics? Is it supposed to be?
It can even be in code. Вы даже можете использовать Google Translator и сделать его русским.
Whatever you want, do it. Well, you might want to steer clear of assassination plots and junk like that. You might end up on some FBI or CIA database or watchlist. I’m pretty sure that we’re all on that anyway. But yeah, you don’t need some feds knocking on your door and dragging your ass away. That do not be remotely cool.
I have tons more to say, but UGH, I’m so tired.