After all the waiting around
for windshield replacement, I ended up with a tasty and non-nutritious bag of
microwave popcorn for lunch. Dinner had better be something good.
On
the plus side I found out that the vending machine downstairs has ginger ale.
I keep thinking I should switch to blog-style entries, or even start
a whole new blog, because I'll think of something want to write about it, phrase
it in my head, and then totally forget about by the time I get to writing the next
diary entry. The above is why that would be a bad idea. It would be likely to
discourage the cohesive essay-style entries and odd bit of poetry (some odder than
others) that I meant this diary to contain, and that I even still sometimes write.
And while I'm never entirely sure why I've been doing this for the last 15 months,
I'm pretty sure it's not about soda. Not only does no one else want to read about
the contents of my local vending machine, I don't even want to read about that
stuff. I can't imagine doing a random web search some day when I'm in my 70s (on
whatever the Internet has become by then) and thinking, "Oh, wow, I liked ginger
ale back in 2002!"
Though you never know. I've been known to discuss
the merits of ginger beer vs. ginger ale, and I was wondering just last night when
they started selling Coke in bottles rather than just at soda fountains, and then
when people started buying soda in bulk to have in he house rather than just
getting one at a time at a gas station.
Still, I'd just end up
writing about stupid things like what I've eaten, and who care about that? Reading
about what other people have eaten is never interesting unless it's actually
interesting food, or it has a story attached. Or a recipe, so I can try it myself.
If you've gone to a French-Asian fusion restaurant and had a saumon-canard terrine
with a soy ginger sauce, then I want to hear about it, or about why you can't make
piecrust as good as your granny's because she used pure lard, or about how
everyone looked at you funny as you jumped up and down in the middle of a Houston
supermarket emitting squeaks of joy because they'd just starting the special brand
of pretzels you were addicted to and thought you couldn't get outside
Pennsylvania. (Actually, that last one was me.) But I don't want to talk about
what I had for lunch today, or hear about what you had for breakfast just to make
small talk. This was a favorite conversational gambit of my parents', so I'm
venting some pent-up boredom here, but I think that gets back to my original
point. If I had a blog, I'd end up writing about more minutiae than anyone ever
needs to read, and I'd bore myself silly. (Sillier.)
So that's why I
need to avoid blogs; ironically, nontechnical as she is, keeping a blog could turn
me into my mother. Eek.