Where, oh where, have all my blog buddies gone?

MARION, Ark. - In the wake of massive holiday food comas and two-week drunks, much of the world's blog production has ground to a halt with content providers eschewing the virtual world for the distractions of the actual world.

"This is almost unheard of. Bloggers are notorious social outcasts and so even holidays, weddings and birthdays will find them in front of their computers, typing out entries in the vain belief someone is reading," industry analyst Roger Elliot said.

News operations, politicians, Geraldo Rivera and others who rely on blogs for the majority of their research are worried about how long the dry spell will last.

"Unless we have another major snow storm or some local folks get caught up in some international tragedies, I'm not sure where we're supposed to get our news without the bloggers," said Steven Mann, station director for WFXY, the local FOX affiliate.

"Actually, if we had some local people caught up in international tragedies we probably wouldn't be able to find out about it without the bloggers."

Although the holidays are being blamed for at least some of the missing entries, industry watchers are hesitant to lay the entire drought at the feet of Christmas cheer.

"The truth is no one knows what's happened to the bloggers," said Mindy Yin, spokeswoman for the Organization for Internet Cooperation and Development. "Sure, some of them maybe have had one too many pieces of fruit cake or are having their stomach pumped after ingesting too many pumpkin soy lattes, but that doesn't explain all of it. After all the holidays come every year."

Alyssa Buck, who blogs as Rey-Ray on the World Piano Monkey Pizza Donut site, says she hasn't posted an entry in "like, days or something."

A die hard blogger, Buck, 16, said she isn't sure what's come over her recently but after spending a year of her life blogging at about 100 hours a week she is feeling burned out and disillusioned.

"I started out to like change the world, I guess. I had all these great ideas and I knew, I just KNEW that if I could get them out there then things would get better. But after a whole year, nothing is different. You could say things are worse. So I just haven't felt like logging in recently. I don't even know what people are discussing on my blog. And I don't even care."

She hopes after the new year she'll be able to return to her blog.

Trading of video game and Hot Pocket stocks were down Thursday on the news of the unofficial blog blackout.

Compiled from our wire services

A Quickie on Wednesday Morning

The ice is finally melting. It is now safe to return to the streets, well as safe as driving and walking in this city can be. After all the idiots are still out there, still running red lights and crossing against the light. But at least they aren't doing it with the added bonus of ice. That's something to be thankful for as we waltz into the new year. Ah, 2006, what joys of global warming will you bring us?

That's all for now. I'll return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Snow = End of the World

It snowed yesterday while I was at work. Well, really it was more of a slushy rain, which hardened overnight and then had a dusting of snow. It's white out there now, but soon the depressing dirt black ice will begin to develop. Anyway, idiots here on the radio were urging everyone to stay home because to leave their homes "they endanger their lives." The police announced that they would only come to accidents if someone was seriously injured or killed or possibly if one person involved was driving drunk because THEY DON'T WANT TO DRIVE IN THIS WEATHER. Emergency personnel do not want to drive in this weather. What is that about? I mean there's probably not even an inch out there. It's snow, people. Snow. Some ice. It's not the friggin' end of the world. Don't drive like idiots and stop freaking out. I'll be really pissed if this keeps me from finishing my Christmas shopping.

Life in a Three Panel World

Despite waking up this morning and coughing up half my lungs, I came to work today thinking, "I'll just finish the two things I'm working on and then I can stay home tomorrow, rest and get better without feeling the guilt of not finishing my work."

Now here we are at the very end of my work day. Let us take stock of what I've accomplished today: I still haven't gotten to the two things I came to work to finish because I had to do a local insert on a national shopping story and I had follow up on an attorney general's lawsuit. I've been assigned another story (potentially an entire package of stories), asked to "flesh out" a second one and then there's a story assigned a few weeks ago that I haven't yet started on. (It was technically due today).

So instead of staying home in bed tomorrow, where I SHOULD be, I'll be dragging my sick ass into work where I'm sure to infect the few sad souls who bothered to come in on Christmas week and where once again I am sure to get many new assignments before even beginning the ones that I've already been given. I fully expect to come in tomorrow and see Catbert sitting on my desk.

I may soon be in need of a lung transplant.

Ba, Blogbug!

For the last few days I have dutifully been ignoring my blog in the hopes it would go away. It would not. It's still here reminding me of how woefully underexciting my life is. Tis the slow season for blogging, I guess, as none of the blogs I visit have been updated in a while. People are too busy doing their holiday shopping and stuffing themselves on pumpkin spice bread and eggnog lattes to write down their adventures. We probably won't get an update until Christmas Day when, driven to madness by their families, the bloggers lock themselves in bedrooms en masse and begin recounting the adventures of the last six weeks. Also, probably our younger bloggers are busy finishing papers and taking tests and all that school business that goes on around this time.

Recently saw a very amusing local "band" called Automusik. We still have nasty, uncooked, sausage at my home that was handed out at the end of the show. I think the boyfriend is waiting for an appropriate dare before frying them up and eating them. He has very questionable food habits.

The holiday party season is upon us, as you well know, and I've been busy dodging the emailed invites from people whose parties I do not want to attend and hoping for invites to the parties I do want to attend. It's a torturous season for me, what with having to fast and being around massive piles of food at the same time. This country is not set up to cater to my dietary needs, you freakish meat eaters! Parties should begin on the holiday and continue for the days following, instead of beginning weeks before the holiday and then having the holiday be a massive emotional let-down after all the weeks of partying. Of course this would do nothing to rid us of the invites to parties we don't want to attend. I'll have to devote myself to solving that problem over the next few weeks.

Meatless Woes

Well it's been pretty quiet around these parts lately. There was an exciting altercation between W* the cat and AB* the dog, but that was short lived and ultimately not as exciting to retell as it was to watch.

It's so sad I can't think of anything going on so I guess I'll just complain about food. There is a serious lack of good vegan options in this town and even the health food stores don't carry milkless chocolate chips. I would also complain that there is a serious lack of vegan recipes/cookbooks and that I have grown extremely weary of rice. I can't believe people eat like this every day. Meat I can live without but cheese and ice cream...soysicle is just not the same.

That said, there are some great no-animals-killed-in-the-making-of-these-desert recipes. I, myself, stick to the cookies and banana bread in my two vegan cookbooks, How It All Vegan and its follow up In The Garden of Vegan. I find the brownies and cakes too dense and they suck all the liquid out of your mouth. But perhaps that's just my cooking skills at play.

But seriously rice is nice but we gotta find something else to fill out our vegan meals. Also, before I go, I have to make my annual comment on the changeling known as the soy bean. It is the most amazing bean ever. How you can create so much from something that grows in the Mississippi Delta is beyond me! If I could a prize to most underrated grown item, it would be the soy bean.

*Names have been initialized to protect the innocent.

The Most Horrible Day of The Year

It's been days since I've written. A week, now that I think about it. There's been a lot of crap going on that's interfered with my blogging abilities. Most notably we've had our now annual Holiday Layoffs here at work. I'm still here. (Like right now. Right now I'm here at work, sitting alone in an empty office. I think some other people are supposed to be working today. I hope. Because I can't put out an entire paper by myself.) Anyway, not a very happy Thanksgiving for us but I won't go into all that.

Instead I'll use this time to complain about the annual Day After Thanksgiving Shopping Story that all newspapers and all TV stations feel the need to do year after bloody year. Why? Why? Why? What kernel of truth do we glean from these stories, what wealth of wisdom washes over us when we read these stories or watch them on television? And does anyone read these stories?

My personal opinion - no, no one reads them, no one cares. They look at the photos of people waiting in huge ass lines or fighting over the last Sponge Bob Square Pants doll and they say one of two things: 1) "We were in that line and it sucked and it was freezing!" or 2) "Those people are crazy. You couldn't me out of bed to go wait in line like that." So why do we feel compelled to write this story year in and year out? I think it's because we're scared to stop. Scared that somehow, NOT doing the Day After Thanksgiving Shopping Story (DATSS) will cause subscriptions to fall at a mind dizzying pace; scared that there won't be any other news that day to fill the newspaper; scared that God will strike us down if we do not write the story.

And now for the biggest question of all - Why, no matter what my job is, do I always have to go out and write the DATSS? I hate the day after Thanksgiving. I hate it with a passion unmatched by anything else. Hate is not even a strong enough word to describe today. Oh, let me count the hours till the work day is done. Eight hours and counting....

Not Really Worth a Title

I notice some time has passed since last I wrote, but sadly I have little to report. The carcass of the dead thing was never recovered but we've had no subsequent bad smells, at least not coming from dead things. (There was this incident recently with refried beans but I won't go into that now.)

My life has returned to the mundaneness (my dictionary says this is a word but none of my spell checks recognize it, so I'm not claiming ownership it) for which there is little of note to speak. Perhaps something exciting will happen this weekend as I trek down to Louisiana. It is possible something exciting will happen before then, but only slightly more likely than my winning the lottery. The best advice I can give you, my three readers, is check back next week, round 'bout Tuesday. Perhaps I'll have some news for you then.

The DMZ

Taking a break from the political landscape that I hardly ever write about, I'd like to get back to a more important issue that the pundits and public should be engaged in right now, namely, the dead mouse in my pantry.

That's right, living in an old building as I do, we have the great joy of frequent mousy visitors who apparently take great pleasure from dying in our walls and closets. Right now there is quite obviously a dead mouse in the kitchen pantry somewhere (if you put your nose to the computer screen I think you'll actually be able to smell its demise), and a debate has been raging in the household on where said smell is coming from and was the death a natural one (cat attack) or unnatural (all that rat poison the landlord keeps putting in the basement).

The accepted facts are 1) something is dead 2) it is most likely a mouse since we find them dead quite often in our flat and 3) the dead, alleged mouse is most probably located somewhere stage left in the pantry, so deemed by the scientific method of that's where the bad smell is strongest.

So tonight, boys and girls, we face the very unpleasant task of removing every item from the pantry in a quest to find the DM. It is my great hope that I will not be the one to find it. In my life I've had to discover the rotten-potato-behind-the microwave-with-maggots and the dead-kitten-in-the-kitchen (not making either of those up) so I think my life-time quota of dead and disgusting things has been reached. It is now someone else's turn to do the finding.

Please wish us luck and God Bless the U.S.A. and also football.

Where are you, Reds?

Yesterday was a bizarre day in which everyone here seemed to walking around in a daze. Tempers were short and voices were drained of emotions. I live in a red state but I have no idea where all these reds live. They must be on the other side of the state or something because everyone I talked to yesterday from a nurse at the VA to a guy that does PR for a medical device manufacturer sounded like they had just gone 20 rounds with a polar bear. My email inbox was full of messages of woe and misery. I'm pretty bummed myself, but I don't think it's the end of the world. And I have to get back to my everyday life, which is monopolized with earning's statements and concerts, not red states and blues states and gray states.

Thus far today, the inbox has been filled with "look on the good side" messages (all with the disclaimer "I know it's not much but...) in response to yesterday's Revelations-style predictions for our future. So here's my look-on-the-bright-side message: At least we have something to bitch about for the next four years.

Voting, Ghetto-Style

Seriously, my voting precinct is the saddest precinct in the whole world. It's a senior center in the ghetto. (I'm not just calling it that, it's officially the ghetto. My nearest neighbors are a drug and alcohol recovery center and public housing.) There's no way to keep the door unlocked so you have to knock on the window (stand on tip toes, force hand between bars) and one of the elderly poll workers hobbles out and opens the door for you. Then you go into a dark, dingy room where people are shocked to see you (well, doubly shocked if you're young and not black, both categories I fall into). Once overcoming their shock, the poll workers lead you on a complicated process of signing multiple documents and directing you to the correct machine.

I can't accurately describe my voting machines to you. But let me start by saying, although they are touch screen, it's not the kind of touch screen you're imagining. These things were the ORIGINAL touch screens, apparently built in 1968 and sister technology to the very first computer ever built. They have curtains that are stiff with starch or maybe decades of cigarette smoke and grime, I'm not really sure. You slip into the voting booth hoping the curtains do not touch you and press the people/issues you are voting for and then hit the giant green VOTE button at the bottom to lock in your decisions. It's really a pretty sad experience, especially knowing what palaces of technology and cleanliness the suburban folk vote in. In my ghetto we are not technologically advanced enough to have hanging chads.

Anyway, there's still time for you to have your own fun poll experience. So, get out and vote, bitches! (Then come and tell me all about it.)

Bucky's Meek Return

Well I had a rough week but I've made it through. Sorry I couldn't post but I was extremely busy. And now I've had a most unrestful weekend. I finally bought a (used) motorcycle on Saturday. Drove it home no problems. Then yesterday I drove it to Oxford and back to visit a friend. I am sooo sore and discovered that I have a problem keeping the bike from falling over after I've stopped. So far I've only encountered this problem in parking lots, but it has made me deathly afraid of stopping on the street. It's a mid-weight bike but that's still pretty heavy and takes two people to get it back on its wheels. (It's been amusing watching men try to upright it by themselves before moving over and letting me help.) But I think the biggest problem is that my feet do not completely touch the ground. Only the front of my feet...more than my tip toes but not a whole solid foot. Harley makes a ladies bike that is supposed to be better heighted (yes, I made that word up) to women, but I'm not really a Harley enthusiast. So I plan to take the bike to my parent's house in the country and practice my stopping, starting and turning out there with the horses and pastures. That way if I fall over at a stop sign in the street no car is likely to come run over me. Maybe a dog will come sniff me, but that's a risk I'm willing to take.

Also, for all you none riders up there, a piece of advice: Do not, DO NOT try to pass a motorcyclist on an one-lane on ramp or off ramp. Fools, you'll kill us both!

Halloween was fairly uneventful, otherwise. Not a lot of ghouls and goblins this year. But did go to another rockin' philosophy student party Saturday. At this point I might as well enroll in the graduate program myself.

Bucky Out

Since I have this secret belief that no one is reading but my boyfriend these days, I'm sure no one will mind if I delay my wrap up of this weekend's events - which primarily involved watching movies and continuing the trend of not buying a motorcycle due to rain. I'll also be reducing the number of postings this week both things due to the online seminar I'm taking, which is monopolizing my time. More later on that as well.

Illiterate for a Weekend

So during my lunch break I was reading my creativity class book and learned that this week one of our exercises is to go the entire week without reading. The entire week. Without reading. I'm a journalist. How am I supposed to not read my notes, not read what I write, not read the paper? Then again not reading the paper might be a blessing in disguise. Anyway, two and half days of my week are already past, so I'm just going to try going the weekend without reading. Prepared for a creative me on Monday!

Ride, Sally Ride

So instead of posting my own account of last night, I will just copy and paste the Email I received this morning, wrapping up our evening of fun at children's advocacy organization's fundraiser. The names have been deleted to protect the innocent:

Where to begin.... First and foremost many thanks to K., who once again did his rainbow feather boa proud....We're all pulling for you to make it two in row in the CA....To H., who quite frankly did everything proud,....I don't think the wait staff or the chairs at our table will ever be the same....to S., shake-it, baby, shake-it....clearly the most sought after dance partner at the party...who were all those women you were slow dancing with?.....To A. and G., who did the Bar (profession and otherwise) proud and clearly showed they are "too much fun to be lawyers"....To Bucky, who coyly wore her sun glasses to avoid detection by her boss, I must honestly say you not only had the best moves on stage, but you can really belt "Ride, Sally Ride"...I think the Jimmy Johnson Orchestra may have found a new backup singer....To L., not only are you a foxy grandma, you are a super foxy grandma....too bad you had to leave before the chair dancing...you would have been our spotlight dancer....To H.M., so many thoughts, so little time...clearly the best dancer at the whole function...smooth, soulful and stylishly dressed...clearly you were the Mac Daddy of the table this year!

And finally, to B. (aka Bubblegum/Brittney Spears), you not only fulfilled your duties as A.H.'s substitute, I actually believe you are a better A.H. than A.H.....you danced on stage, danced on chairs, served food with rhythmic bounce and cheer...I don't know, we may have to let the folks vote next year on which of you returns.

***

For your information I did not want to sing "Ride, Sally Ride" but I was pulled on stage by Bubblegum who had no problem singing in front of all those people. I kept trying to turn my head away from the man with the microphone and he kept sticking it in my face. Luckily it was late enough in the evening that I believe everyone was trashed by that time. I'm also hoping there was no one there that I knew (who wasn't sitting at my table). Or at least they didn't recognize me with my feather boa and sunglasses.

It's Thursday, right?

Well I came in to write about the glorious 10-3 victory by the Sox last night, but my excitement has already been deflated by the men who work in my department and their insightful analysis of the games. They should all go get jobs at ESPN or better yet as baseball coaches. They know so much more than the current ones, at least to hear them tell it. What are they still doing here? They should be coaching, not writing or editing. They could be making the big bucks and I wouldn't have to listen to them any more. Already their chatter has put me in an annoyed state of mind. It will be hard to accomplish anything today.

So now I need to think of something else to write about. I saw The Killers last night. I like them but didn't realize they were so popular with the 12-year-olds. Good thing their concert got out by 11 a.m. or all those kiddies would be out past curfew and then all hell would break loose. Then again with only one album, how late could they have played? The band sounded pretty good live but it's obvious that "Somebody Told Me" will be their only hit - and I use that term loosely to mean, played on the radio several times during daylight hours. I wouldn't mind being proved wrong as I like this resurgence of New Wave 1980s music, but I have no hope that it will last.

Alan Alda for President Or What Radio DJs Are Talking About This Morning

Well, sadly, I have nothing funny to report from class this morning. We have one person who clearly doesn't want to be in the group, so I'm not sure why he keeps coming. Probably just bored with his job and the class is good for a laugh.

So instead I will mention that I missed the Gilmore Girls last night. (I'm thrown off my days of the week due to being off work Monday.) And that at long last The West Wing season begins tonight. I'll have to tape it, of course, because of the writing class I teach overlaps with the show. Hopefully I'll find time to watch it before the weekend. Stupid radio disk jockeys were talking about the show this morning and had no idea what was going on. People who do not know what they're talking about should not veer from their scripts. They were saying Alan Alda was being introduced as a possible presidential candidate and that they guessed Martin Sheen would be voted out of office. He's already run for reelection, idiots! He can't run away. So either the DJs don't watch the show or they don't know that a president can only serve two terms. It's a toss up, which is the case.

Well lunch is quickly approaching so I've managed to waste away another perfectly good morning, doing absolutely nothing productive. I'll leave you with that thought and the pocket lint I dug out of my pants this morning.

Food Me

So if you're looking for a good gift idea this holiday season I suggest the following cookbook: Cat Cora's Kitchen and not just because she's my godparent's daughter and I grew up with her. It's because cookbooks make great gift ideas. And this one is chock full o' yummy goodness of the Greek, French, Italian and Southern variety. Ah the joys of growing up Greek in the Deep South.

She did a book signing in Oxford, Miss., last night and she's in the middle of one in Jackson, Miss., as I type. If she comes to your town, go see her. She's a hoot and she brings along great food. So that's what I was SOOO busy doing yesterday that I didn't have time for you people. But I'm back at work today and am writing away for your reading pleasure (after beginning my day with a lovely slide show of bone replacement surgery. Goes great with muffins and juice.)

Tomorrow my creativity class meets again so be prepared for some more chuckles and guffaws from that front.

Warning! Idiots in the Machine

So yesterday when our Email was down and nobody knew why, it turned out that the IT department had SENT US AN EMAIL telling us they had taken the server down for repairs. That is true genius at work. Today, just a few moments ago actually, we received an E-mail AHEAD of the shut down informing us of the ill-timed decision to work on the server some more right at deadline. Nice going guys. I'm sure in no time you all will be running the U.S. government computer systems, probably in the Defense Department and maybe Homeland Security. God help us.

Writing Woes: A note on those the American education system left behind

So our company E-mail is down and unfortunately the work that I need is on the E-mail system. So I guess I'll just blog.

On Wednesday nights I teach a writing class for adults at the local literacy council and it's been very frustrating trying to make them understand subject-verb agreement.

We have been drilling on when to use "am, is, are" for about a year now and people still don't get it. While they are testing well with fill in the blanks, their writings are not reflecting what we're studying in class. Everything is still "they is" and "I are." I feel very discouraged sometimes.

Last week we added "was, were" to our studies and that was a disaster. They were putting are and is in the blanks even though I kept saying "Put only one of two words in the blanks - was or were." Not even close. And this is an advanced class. They supposedly read on about a fifth grade level. (Although I know some of them are closer to a first grade level.)

How do you explain these basic concepts to people in a way that will stick in their heads? We only have an hour a week. (This semester my writing class has been combined with a reading class, so we do one hour of reading followed by one hour of writing. An hour is barely long enough for me to explain their assignment so everyone understands.) I tell them to study at home, give them homework. It's a rare student that does either. I'm not sure how effective this set up is. If someone really wants to learn to read and write, they need to spend at least an hour a night working on it, I think. I wonder if I should switch to personal tutoring. Maybe it's easier to see a student's growth on that level.

Anyone have any thoughts, ideas on teaching adults?

A Quick Musical Interlude

I saw an great show in an awkward setting last night. (Held at a local restaurant/nightclub. Those of us without a table had to bob and weave to avoid the slightly annoyed food-carrying waiters.) The show was short but unique with Section Quartet as the opener, playing stringed version of pop/rock music. The main act was a woman named Sam Phillips, who is yet another prolific singer/song writer I've never heard of. (I am so not cool.) The music was not alt. country, as I was told before hand, but more country-influenced jazz. Sam has a great voice that seems both throaty and bubbly at the same time. Too bad I'm not a writer, perhaps I could explain it better. Anyway, check her out if you have the time. Best of all, despite the clinking of plates you could clearly hear the show. And there were very few idiots yelling out to the singer but all did so at appropriate times, which I think of as: When the singer is not singing or talking.

13-3, Interception Return

So I have a few minutes to write about my absolute lack of anything to write about. It's raining here, as it has been all weekend long. This just gives me one more excuse for wanting to still be at home in bed...not that I need an excuse to want to do that. Another reason to stay home: so I don't have to hear a detailed analysis of this weekend's baseball games and how fantasy football leagues are faring. Do I care? No. Do I subject them to my conversations, for example a detailed analysis of the laundry I did this weekend? No. I hate when I can't get work done because of the loud conversations going on around me. God forbid we do some work around here. Good thing the bulk of our news hole goes now to the society column and big photos, I guess.

Creatively Yours...also known as: Week 2 Begins

So my creativity class met today, thereby rendering my entire morning - to use the technical term - "shot." Hopefully I'll get some work done after lunch. I have several interviews I need to conduct today and unless we have another flu vaccine shortage pop up, I should be able to fit them in. But my job is ever changing, so who the hell knows.

Back to creativity. We've already had one person drop out of our small group because she just doesn't have time to meet and do the work, which really isn't all that much, but whatever. A second person didn't show up today and it's only our second meeeting. A third may not finish the course because he has yet to do any of the work...except maybe the chapter reading. I'm not sure. Look, I think this class is dopey just like they do, but I'm in it and I'm going to finish it and I don't appreciate people who slack off their work in class or on the job. If I can find time, they can find time.

So, as you can imagine, right now I'm not feeling the creative flow, I'm feeling rather bitter. I also didn't feel very nurture today as an argument broke out over the definition of creativity, which is just ridiculous. I made the point that you can't be creative with earnings reports and several of my classmates said, "Oh sure you can." (They do not work with earnings reports.) And I thought yeah, you can, but it's called fraud by most people.

Then the facilitator (because we don't have a "teacher") said, "Yeah, like..." and launched into some story about changing the way you come to work and I just was looking at her like, "What the hell does this have to do with earnings reports?!" I mean what bad movie have I walked into, people?! Someone help me, please! I'm crying out to you! Call out the dream police to help get me to the waking world because this can't be it!

Anyone?

Help.

Creatively Challenged

Here we go again. I tried to post yesterday but my post was lost and the "Page Unavailable" warning that makes your bones crawl out of your body popped up.

So I was saying yesterday that work really interferes with one's ability to post. The most prolific and best bloggers must people without day jobs or students or the IT department at my company, all of whom are gathered in some dark, undisclosed location in this building and only come out when new computers come rolling in. They are probably master bloggers and actually control all the world's blogs. They probably are even writing this blog and I just THINK that I'm writing it. They are clever, our IT department. Anyway, all this is to say that work has sucked up all my time and all my creativity.

This leads me to topic number two in what will henceforth be referred to as The Missing Post - my creativity class. Yes, I am taking a creativity class, which is supposed to unblocked our creativity, through our in-house "university." It's a twelve-week course and sadly we are only in Week One. Good news is this should mean I have plenty fodder for future posts (even if they aren't particularly creative ones).

Week One: I can report that I do not feel any more creative than the week before I started the course. I dutifully write my morning pages everyday before getting dressed. I have done all the exercises and have even done my daily affirmations (yes, that's right, daily affirmations...like I'm Stuart Smalley) and so far I have not magically transformed into a creative genius. Of course, the book would say this is my Censor at work. So I guess I should change the name of this blog to Censor's World and let the Censor become my alter ego. Then my real ego will feel free to be creative without worrying that I might be gay or cannot spell, which apparently are two reasons - according to the book - that people block their creativity. I personally think my creativity has been strangled to death by daily deadlines and the five W's and H. But I haven't written a book on that philosophy, so I guess my opinion doesn't count.

To celebrate my soon to be found, newfound creativity I think we, my little Internet community, should start our own annoying list that can be E-mailed around by newbies to the Internet. (You know, those folks who still believe forwarding a 32MB file that lists every blond joke ever written will be funny to the whole of their address book.) We will call the list something unoriginal like 101 Ways to Find Your Creativity.

Who wants to start? It can't be me because I have no creativity.

There's a Reason Those DMV Jokes Are Still Funny

So this morning, before work, I took a little trip over to one of our neighborhood (I use that term loosely as I had time to charge my cell phone during the trip there) Department of Motor Vehicles license testing centers. I have a license already and it is still current. But as some of you may know I recently passed my motorcycle class, which exempts me from having to take the written and skills tests at the DMV to get my two-wheeled operator endorsement. I was warned to bring my birth certificate. So I did. The same birth certificate I've had in my possession my whole life. The one I used to get into two colleges, to get my original driver's license, to get jobs and any time I've needed to prove that I was actually born. But today, today at the DMV it wasn't good enough because it wasn't "certified by the state."

"But I wasn't born in Tennessee. I was born in Mississippi," I responded.

"You have to go to the Tennessee.gov Web site and order a copy of your birth certificate. But the only thing is you have to pay with a credit card," the lovely DMV worker replied.

"But I wasn't born in Tennessee," I repeated.

"It doesn't matter. If you are a new resident you can go and order a birth certificate and they'll send it to you."

"But I'm not a new resident. I've lived here for three, almost four years."

"If you weren't born here, then you are a NEW resident," the woman said, explaining the great wisdom of this state.

So I'm dubious of the state's ability to procure my birth certificate from another state as they can't even procure an agreement on who owns Stateline Road. But I go to the Web site after getting to work and low and behold you can only order birth certificates if you were BORN IN TENNESSEE.

I guess tomorrow I'll try a different testing station. Maybe I'll be able to fool them into accepting my Mississippi issued birth certificate.

On second thought it's probably easier just to mock up a birth certificate from Tennessee.

Seriously In Need Of A Topic

I spent my weekend taking a motorcycle safety class, so sadly, for all of you reading to see what my newest complaint is, I have nothing for you. I am too tired to complain what with all the waking up early and learning to switch gears and trying not to fall over while making tight figure eights. (Okay, so I never successfully made the tight figure eights, but I didn't fall down. I still got my license endorsement. I just won't be making U-turns in the middle of streets any time soon. Well, I won't be doing anything motorcycle-related anytime soon because one needs a motorcycle to do these motorcycle-related things. Hopefully one will be forthcoming. This parenthesis has been open for too long, hasn't it?) Enough about motorcycles though, there are sure to be many stories on this topic in the near future and I don't want to wear out its welcome at the onset. I also saw The Forgotten this weekend. I had no idea it was about aliens when I went to see it. Perhaps I should pick up the habit of reading about movies before I go see them instead of just going by the previews. Not that we all don't like a good alien film now and again. And finally in my entry about things that have nothing to do with each other, anyone know how to get a dog to quit licking its butt in public?

Tell the Guy in the Orange Cap to Shut Up

Concert Annoyances Part II: Really obnoxious guy who won't stop yelling at the band.

Why do people do this? I mean what do you possibly stand to gain by asking a man who has been speaking and singing for an hour 45 minutes in his Sussex-born accent if he's British? Do you think you're being funny? Were you that deprived of attention as a child? There were only about 35 people at this concert, so this idiot's behavior was only that much more aggravating. It's one thing to yell out requests. Even if, unlike John Wesley Harding, the musician isn't likely to do your request, at least there is a purpose behind it. What purpose other than being a fool is there to this kind of behavior? Trust me, the artist isn't going to think you are so cool that he wants you for his best friend. Really. I know these things. You're just going to get beat up in the bathroom by the two over anxious fans that follow obscure but prolific artists and who were already angry over a number of life's injustices before arriving at that evening's concert. If you want to yell stupid comments at people on stage, go to the Jerry Springer show. I know a guy that can get your tickets.

Vote Dammit

I thought by now I'd have witnessed all the annoying behavior there was to witness at a concert. But I was wrong. Last night, for the first time ever, I couldn't hear the musician because PEOPLE WERE TALKING. And it wasn't just that one loud, drunk sorority girl that you get stuck next to sometimes, but it was EVERYONE. As if Ani DiFranco was the house band for some hook-up dive where no one came for the music and only wanted cheap beer and someone to take home. Sadly there was no cheap beer and Ani is not in a house band (nor are tickets to her concert particularly inexpensive). I tried changing locations, but no, the chatter was absolutely everywhere. I was not surprised when she performed a one-song encore. Actually, I was surprised she did an any-song encore and didn't just say, "Screw you guys I'm going home." But I guess she REALLY wants us to vote on Nov. 2. Not that anyone could hear the message.

Go post, young (wo)man

Really all I wanted to do when I got up today was make it through my work day and maybe remember to pick up my comforter from the dry cleaners. I had no plans to start this blog. But, unfortunately, all my friends have these things and keep saying "Go post, go post." So I go and I read about the difficulty of defining verbs and how the fabric of our nation is being ripped apart by conservatives and click on the button for comments and find out I have to create my own blog if I want to respond to someone else's. Is this a good system? I don't know. Not everyone has something to say. Take me for example. I have absolutely nothing to talk about since absolutely nothing ever happens to me. I got to work, I go home. Sometimes I see a movie, sometimes I buy groceries. These are not the makings of a good blog. So go read someone else's blog people. I'll get back to you when I have something really clever to say.
(You can start by trying these: http://satchelspage.blogspot.com/ or http://deltaisdifferent.blogspot.com/)