Even though I've failed miserably in my mission to complete the interview within 10-days, as Sonny and Cher so capably sang, "The Beat Goes On" (Which, by the way, should be "Music-On-Hold" for Peep Shows). And so, humbly submitted for your desperate and insatiable thirst for momentary and fleeting enjoyment, I give you ... the fourth question.
4. What do you enjoy about blogging? What part drives you crazy?
Well it certainly isn't for the monetary gain. That's for damned sure. And I'm not even entirely confident it's for the approval of you, my motley group of readers. Because even Janet Jackson's horribly misshapen and hairy nipple wouldn't hold your attention for more than a halftime. So I suppose it's only fitting* (* not unlike her funky nipple ornament) that it's HER song, "What Have You Done For Me Lately?", which would serve nicely as YOUR collective Music-On-Hold.
However I was able to come up with a couple of things that I do enjoy about blogging. So here goes:
1) It's the one last refuge for this aspiring author and raconteur. Penthouse refuses to publish any more of my letters to their forum, and ditto for Popular Mechanics re: my endless narratives (with sketches) about building (and populating) my own secret basement torture vault. Even Readers Digest finds my ficticious "Humor in Uniform" and "Life in these United States" submissions "undigestible".
So here we are, on this last remaining island that even Papillon could grow accustomed to. And apparently as long as I manage to scam unwitting passersby into at least 5-hits a day, they'll keep me on their scuzzy drive.
Sure. It could have been radically different for me. Maybe I could have been "that guy". You know, the one who writes all of those instruction manuals in broken English. That's one heck of a gig. I wonder if the only time his boss yells at him, is when he inadvertantly writes instructions that are too coherent. Showing up drunk to work would actually better prepare one for that particular task.
Or perhaps it should be yours truly writing all those fortunes they place in those cookies. I sure as heck know I could do a better job of it. For instance, here is a fortune I just thought up: "People know you masturbate frequently, yet they cannot help but admire your bicep". See what I mean? Who wouldn't love to crack open a delicious treat, and have that nugget of insight waiting for them inside? Here's another: "People are drawn to you, not unlike flies and rodents to our kitchen". And I've got a million of them, so you'd never get the same fortune twice.
Then I would branch out into greeting cards. Instead of the tepid, "Lordy, lordy ... (then you open the card and inside it says) LOOK who's 40! (with a little mirror strip below the "40"), MY creations would be different. For example, here's one I just "noodled": "Happy 50th Birthday, Honey!" (then you open the card and inside it says) "At first is WAS the money. But my love for you is now SO deep, I no longer plot to kill you in your sleep!"
Okay, so my greeting cards need a little work. Maybe I'll need a creative partner (along with an illustrator), just like Lennon needed McCartney (Technically, I think McCartney needed Lennon, but I digress).
In the meantime, blogging represents the realization of a dream that is not all wet. And without our dreams, all we have left is reality.
2) Meeting "interesting" people, well, like YOU for instance. Let's face it, where else - other than in those free weekly metro-area "alternative lifestyle" newspapers - can we find that there are others just like us? Need proof? Go ahead and Google the most bizarre and digusting keywords, and chances are one of our blogs will be near the top of the FIRST results page (Lamby's blog, usually).
This is why I periodically pay homage to The Police's "Message in a Bottle" when seeking an appropriate metaphor to describe how - although still creepy and eccentric time-bombs - we are not ALONE. And so we scoop up those "hundred million" bottles washed upon our shores, place them into out mental shopping carts with the loose and wobbly casters, and trudge back through the sand to our spider-infested Tiki huts.
And it is there, after a brief repast and nap, that we use Piggy's purloined spectacles to read through each and every note contained within those vessels. Even the poorly spelled offerings in crayon (sorry for singling you out, Scary). The next morning, we are back on the beach with our shopping cart, as part of the ever-descending circle of life.
Every once in a while, we may find an unusual object amongst all of those non-returnables. Perhaps it is a volleyball with a bloody handprint on it (something from /t.) to keep us company in our increasingly unbalanced states of mind. Maybe it is something that initially appears to have little value, such as an ice skate (Pinks' blog), but then proves useful at cracking one's nut. You just never know.
We also quickly realize that warmth is an essential requirement for those cold evenings where the incessant pounding of the surf is the only companion at hand. Lacking fire, we take solace from the only source of heat that is readily available in sufficient quantity: the compost pile fermenting with new posts from other bloggers. Though not aesthetically pleasing, the acrid smell does become an acquired taste. And the steady emission of thermal comfort is a blessing on many a frigid* (* Sorry, I couldn't think of any of my female readers who might fall into this category, which is why I MUST make love to each of you, either single-file or in a casual, group setting) night.
To answer the second part, "What drives me crazy?", that's easy. That I cannot write FULL-TIME is what drives me crazy. Usually, I have to leave a lot of additional ideas out of my posts, take shortcuts, and make other concessions to time. Along with almost every other blogger out there (and boy, some of you are REALLY "out there") I would love to write for a living, if I could make a decent living from it. I would look forward to collaborating on a project to start with, and could use a good illustrator and industry veteran. Who couldn't? Meanwhile, I won't quit my day job.
Well there you have it. Sorry it took so long. Stay harmless, lucid, and maintain that grasp on reality (as best you can)!