This morning I woke up with diarrhea. Yesterday I'd read a book that really pissed me off. It was the memoir of a writer who began the book stating how much she hated memoirs but had decided that the day-to-day details of her own life would be plenty interesting to most readers because she, unlike all those other memoirists who just wrote about living their lives like everyone else, led a life of great interest well worth preserving in a diary format. I slogged through about 20 pages before deciding that no one's life was worth being recorded in such a format and then thrust upon the reading public, as if what one did first thing in the morning should be broadcast in the newspaper.
I knew I wouldn't write about this book in my blog, but then what would I write about? I could always write about how I went about deciding what I was going to write about!
There were no books waiting for me in the mail. There never are. Somehow putting up posts on your blog the burden of which is that most book publishers don't know what they're doing doesn't get you many free books to review.
I quit blogging early so I could take a trip out to the Waldenbooks at the mall, which is the only bookstore within a 150 mile radius. After finding nothing but trash to read, I decided to go back home and put in an order at Amazon. This allows me to continue pondering what I do when deciding what to write about on my blog.
Before leaving the mall, I am recognized by someone: "Dan Green, right? My brother had you for an English class. You're even uglier than he said." Before I could get out the door she added: "He said you were a rotten teacher, too!"
I chickened out. I didn't write about how I decided what to write about, but instead put up a post about how I hated books in which the writer just wrote about his own life without thinking clearly about how his life was really just about sitting around wondering what to write about, occasionally pausing to actually write about it. It's a very cutting edge post, I concluded, very self-revealing.
There's a talk tonight about new methods of attacking potato blight, but I can't decide if I'll go. Some of these agriculture lectures can be very avant-garde, but I'm getting a little tired of them. I let the television decide for me. If it was a rerun of the Andy Griffith Show I'd seen less than 75 times I would stay home and chill out--although it's 15 below zero outside, which is chilly enough--but if I'd seen it more than 75 I'd go to the lecture. It was the episode in which Barbara Eden (a real hot chick in 1962) wanted to give everybody in Mayberry a manicure. I'd seen it at least 100 times, but decided once more couldn't hurt.
In looking at the New York Times Book Review I saw a review of a new novel by someone I've never heard of. I decided to write his publicist and ask for an interview. I don't know anything about this writer, but the idea of writing to a publicist seemed very exciting. Plus, I can now sit around thinking about how I'm going to interview the person I'm going to interview, the fruits of which might make an interesting blog post. Or maybe the Caribou Gazette will want to publish my musings in next week's issue!
I checked my e-mail. A really good one: "Saaxiest women in your area--Meaat now! Hi my name is roy and Id like to invite you to my favorite pick-up site. Since I fiirst sow this site, 4 months ago, I felt a MAJOR change in my ljfe - I met more womeen then I've ever dreamt of! You can enter now too, since the site is open to the public for free. Feel free to enter!"
There's just not anything to blog about today. (Although I could of course blog about how one decides there's nothing to blog about, etc.) I had almost concluded I'd spend most of the day making toast, when the doorbell rang. It was a complete stranger, very bedraggled-looking. I suddenly wondered if he knew I had a blog, and if it finally crashed in a deserted part of the blogosphere, would it still make a cyber-sound? He wanted to know if I'd been to the potato blight lecture, and was I aware of the Revolutionary Farmers Association--the RFA--and its anti-potato industry manifesto? Some days having a blog is a wonderful thing.