Sunday, January 25, 2004
My plan is working! I have successfully alienated any and all current readers by going months without posting. Now that I know they won't be reading, on to building an entirely new audience by writing about how much I secretly hate my friends! AH-HAHAHAHAHAAAAA!*coughcoughcough*
I rarely remember my dreams. Last night I had one that I was downstairs at Cafe Saint-Ex and some guy I'd just met was giving me a haircut. I was watching in a mirror and it looked good... so I looked away for a few minutes. The next time I went to the bathroom my head was all shaved but for random sproutings here and there. Of course, every time I looked it would be an entirely different noxious haircut. After a while of running around looking for the guy to yell at him and possibly beat him up (come to think of it, the setting may have been inspired by the bizarre almost-barfight some friends and I witnessed at the Land of Exupery last night) I gave up, found some clippers, and shaved my head all the way down to even it up.
Thinking about the dream has reminded me that this was all a subplot in some kind of drug-running scam, except I think the drugs involved may have been cold medicine. Like all memories but moreso, trying to reconstruct the plot of the dream would be as much new invention as recollection, so I'll just stop now.
I have come to the conclusion that I have no idea what to do with this here 'blog. I am in the midst, you see, of a full-blown 'blogdentity crisis. I could use it to recount random events I witness or instigate, a la Mimi Smartypants or Izzle Pfaff (two 'blogs I only know, just so you know, through friends' online communities). Or I could scribe essays on interlinked musings like Snarkout. I could search out disturbing links, post them, and rant about the general uselessness of everything like Old Man Ellis does on DiePunyHumans. I could post on the minutiae of my uninteresting life like thousands of LiveJournalers. I could cave to my fundamentally introverted nature and pen endless self-analysis, trying to suss out the reasons I have a BA from an Ivy League university yet pass my time reading comic books and making lattes for local hipsters. I even have a ream of unpublished entries recounting the latest (you know, latest at the time) developments of the whole strange drama with The Cook (The Artist Formerly Known as Record Store Girl, for those of you who need that kind of a hook). I could even do my Redfox impression and tell you about the Kale and Cannellini I cooked up the other night (finally using some of that rosemary I've had growing on my back porch for the better part of a year).
Any suggestions, including those simply to pack it in and go back to foaming milk (link stolen from the abovementioned Redfox... it made me feel inordinately proud that, aside from the post-steam swirling, I'd figured all this out by trial and error over the past year or so, all without any real instruction... the Cafe, you see, uses the milk-foaming equivalent of tossing a kid off the dock to teach him to swim pedagogical method for new baristas), can be sent to me via Email. If you don't know my address, then what the hell are you doing reading this, huh!? Where tha Hell'd you find out about this useless little 'blog? Sheez, gedda life!
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