On Hiatus

Blah. Yuck. Phooey!

I've looked over the blogging I've done lately and can't stand it. Bland, namby-pamby, sanitized snapshots-of-life that (surprise!) fail to draw many people here to read. They wouldn't draw me, either.

I've got a lot of stuff bubbling in my head, but I don't post it here because I don't feel like fighting over it, or shocking or offending people, or otherwise letting myself in for grief, worry and/or criticism I'd otherwise not have to deal with. I'm afraid to be honest on my own website, and much as people insist it's no problem and tell me to go ahead, my internal censor has taken over here, and from where I'm sitting that's an unhealthy state of affairs.

The crux of matters is this: I need to write, and my activity here has served to scratch the itch - but only partially. Time to scratch it for real. William Gibson (an author whom I respect) feels like it's difficult for him to reconcile the activity of blogging with that of writing; they create distinct internal "landscapes" that work out to be incompatible in his head. I'm not sure it works that way for me, but I do know that the writing I do here isn't really the kind of writing I want to do, or to be known for.

So: this isn't good-bye; I'm sure I'll post updates here from time to time, because there are several people who have become accustomed to keeping up with me through Brain Squeezings. Heck, once I get a better picture of who I'm turning into and what I want to say to the world, I may well come back here, renovate the place, and take it in a new direction.

...But this is my line in the sand. Brain Squeezings has been a lot of fun, and I've met some wonderful and fascinating people through it, but I'm not going to take my half-measures here as a primary writing outlet any more.

By the way, any of those wonderful and fascinating people who want to contact me via e-mail are of course welcome to do so: echoloc8@mailblocks.com is still alive and well, and I think personal, one-on-one communication is probably more in line with what I'm trying to do anyway.

-Rich

Headphones at Work

Funny how such a little thing can help with focus. Between talk radio of various flavors and some NPR for a classical fix, it's been a relaxing and productive day. Still, this is bandwidth-heavy activity, so I really ought to dig out my own CDs and listen to them instead. That or invest in an iPod or some other MP3 vehicle to listen to my ripped stuff.

Conversation I've been having with more and more people lately
Conversationalist: Dude, you're bored, you've settled into your house (mostly), and you're out of sorts.
Rich: Dude. Yeah, that's true.
C: So, when was the last time you wrote anything? Outside of e-mail, blogging or journal entries?
R: Been a while. Well, there was that one blog entry with the smartoff kids...
C: Dude, weak, write something.
R. Well, yeah, I suppose I should.

(Time passes)

C: Well, have you written anything?
R: (Insert excuse here.)
C: Dude, weak! (Shakes head sadly.)

Okay, okay, I get the point...

-Rich

On a Roll

In keeping with my pattern of increasing cleanliness, I vacuumed today. The dogs are, of course, traumatized, and I haven't seen the cat since midday. I fully expect there to be a reckoning at around three this morning. For cats especially, I suspect revenge to be one of those dishes best served cold: early in the morning, when your target is asleep and particularly vulnerable to a tail under the nose, or an "accidental" stomp on the head.

Saw The Italian Job last night - decent flick, and especially good on the big screen. Otherwise it was a pretty uneventful weekend.

-Rich

PS. Oh yeah, the backyard mowing-perimeter worked like a champ once I got it spliced and fully staked. It's all coming together now...

Disrespectful to Dirt

It's the annual office clean-up event here at Books-A-Million today, and Lemon Pledge is in the air like unending subliminal audio: I'm cleeean; I'm cleeean.

<ObscureSimpsonsReference episode="Mr. Sparkle">
"I'm disrespectful to dirt! Can you see I am serious!"
</ObscureSimpsonsReference>

In other news, I got my back yard mostly perimeter-wired last night, but I figured the world was trying to tell me to stop for the evening when one of my splices broke as I hammered a stake down next to it, at which point I felt a series of sharp tingles begin in my right foot, which, upon close examination, had been planted in a fire-ant hill.

Ah, nature.

-Rich