Monday, December 10, 2007

Classic NY, sorry for being late

No excuses.
It wasn't the traffic.
Or the train from Jersey.
Not delayed this time.
Or slow escalators up to the street level from Penn Station's arrival hall.
It wasn't the weather.
Or strong head winds.
I didn't get abducted by aliens.
It was just me not getting around to it.
Getting out of habit.
Got lazy.
it's like jogging or going to the gym.
Miss one day and it's easy to miss the next and the next again.
And sooner than you know it you'll have to pull
yourself up by the roots of your hair to get going again.
It's easier if you have hair. On the scalp.

I'm talking about this blog.
Or the lack of it the last couple of days.
Major advertisers and sponsors are threatening to withdraw.
But hey, I don't blog for money.
Or glory, even. those days are long gone.
Everybody's got a blog.
If you don't you simple are not.
You're nothing. You don't actually exist.

That part of not existing started to bother me a bit.
I like food. If one doesn't exist one does not getting any.
You're not getting anything if you know what I mean.

One, unfortunately, or preferably, needs to have something to say to write a blog.
Or at least one needs to be able to say it in an interesting way,
whatever one's saying.

I read for the joy of reading. I readily admit what I read needs NOT be important.
I can get drawn into silly pieces on how to knot a tie in five different, and with which shirt collar it goes, or what the stripes on a striped tie really means i the hunt for a perfect wife.
And i haven't even worn a tie once the last five years or so.
It's just the act of reading that I enjoy.
I find this sort of reading material and magazine's for men and others.
What's nice about these little articles is the obvious joy the writer feels when writing.
Even if the topic is not earth shattering.
A nice little joke here,
some wit there,
a skillful turn of phrase to impress the editor,
ensuring the next gig coming up.
Whether on the topic of be the perfect omelette for a morning after,
or how to light a Cohiba no. 5
and mix a g & t in a gentlemen's club in Mumbai.

Today, perhaps, I simply tried to enjoy the act of writing, and associating.
So I picked up on my typical NY excuse,
as my randomly chosen picture seemed to suggest it.
Or at least let me associate in that direction.
A lazy choice for a lazy writer.

I guess I could have, should have, spun a story around
the guy looking into the trunk,
finding his wife tied up and gagged.
Naked, apart from an orange apron from The Home Depot.
and a pair of Martha Stewart rubber gloves.

However. I stick to the apology for being late. For now.
The wife in the boot would take a book to get out of.
Although I'm sure it got you wondering.

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