Hey ho, everybody. I'd hoped to get writing about 30 minutes ago, but as always, it has taken me quite a while to think of something to say. Sure, I could try writing just some nonsense and see if I can't find a flow in it (because, as Nietzsche and that one Johnson from Blazing Saddles (it was Howard) said, "From chaos comes order."), but where's the fun in that?
Yeah, you could say that it's everywhere (especially since that's where a lot of my writing (INCLUDING THIS VERY PARENTHETICAL) comes from), the fun, that is, but come on. You've seen what I've gotten the past few nights. We've had lobster invasions, Cthulhu zombies, soap operas, and beards. Yes, it has been a wide array of topics, and hopefully there will be more to come for the rest of the month (and hopefully you'll keep reading, because if you don't, I will find you, and not in the cute little Isla Fiscer from Wedding Crashers way, either. We're talking full on Glen Close in Fatal Attractions, but without the supposed elevator sex. One day, I might see that movie. Probably on a day when I'm really tired of rabbits, because, Bugs, what did Elmer really do to you? Why do you have to humiliate him like that and leave those sorts of scars? Those scars don't heal.). Also, take that, fly. You don't fly around here without my go-ahead. My keyboard also makes a frightful noise, what with my hands weighing down the proximal side of it in such a way as to make the main body keep arching up, like so many people in the club waving their hands in the air like the just don't care (but they do. Oh, they do.).
But yes. On to the point of this blog entry, which I guess even got alluded to briefly and obliquely earlier.
And that is...
The
Five
Things
Rob
Will
NEVER
Blog
About
Because, really. It's stuff you don't want to hear about.
5. That dream that I, like, just had
You really don't want to hear about that. First off, I can rarely remember my dreams in any concrete fashion. I was initially going to talk about dreams in general, but I already broke that with the whole "Hey, let's share in Rob's childhood nightmares." Seriously. Do you know how hard it was to post that lobster picture? Okay, fine, it wasn't very hard, but I wasn't looking AT the picture for most of the time. I think that was the fastest I ever typed, just to get that picture to leave me alone.
But really. Even if I DO remember a dream for long enough to put pen to paper. Um. Fingers to keyboard? That just sounds wrong. Anyway, if I remember it long enough to commit it to the annals (heh) of this blog, do you really want to read about it? I thought not. Even if it's freaking AMAZING, you probably don't want to hear about it. I mean, if we're talking saving hipster Christina Hendricks...
... while fighting alongside Batman to end the menace of Edward Cullen...
... and... um... zombie pirates with chainsaws?
See, that's not from any dream I've ever had. I wish. No, that's just straight from my imagination. And wasn't it better than, "Oh, so it was like I was at this camp, but it wasn't a camp, it was also an apartment building, and my classmates were all there, except for Jim, and I was wondering why Jim wasn't there, when all of a sudden Jim WAS there, etc. etc. etc. shoot me in the face etc. etc. etc."
4. Blow by blows on trivia
Yes, I go to trivia a couple of times a week. I already played the games, though, and even if I remembered all the answers, once again, would you really want to hear about that? But this goes beyond the "You don't want to hear about it" argument, because if that applied to everything, I wouldn't get any posts written. Ever.
No, part of this comes from the old adage that I just made up, "Don't write about things you take really seriously. Something about distance, professionalism, and this is probably coming from something about doctor-patient relationships or some such. The things years on the Quiz Bowl circuit does to you. Oh, we're still in the quote about the adage? Well, then let's have a parenthetical, too (on second thought, let's n- oh goddammit), because there's not a thing you can do about it. You won't hit that closed quotation mark button. Well, really it's two buttons, but you won't hit it anywa" and that's enough of that adage.
The point is, not only would a trivia recap be boring, but it would be something I'd get super worked up about, and then I'd forget why I was worked up about it, and it would be a lot of me going back and forth on what REALLY should be a linear chronology. Not in the fun way that I usually do it, either.
3. Poetry
Let's start with a story. Once upon a time, Rob was in high school. More specifically, Rob was in Mrs. Parker-Lawrence's AP English class, which was a ball. We read Ender's Game as part of our summer reading, we read The Stranger, we read oodles and oodles of business. We also did a lot of poetry, of which I remember one poem. It was that one by Stephen Crane, and it's still a good one.
Really, I know all of 3 poems in English. If you add in French, I'm at... 7 or 8? Unfortunately (sorry M. Suffren!), a few have escaped me. There are several more that I'd like to get in my head one day when there's space for some of it. Honestly, I have no problem posting business about poetry, analysis, and the like on here. It probably won't happen, but the option is there.
But back to the story, because the point is coming.
See, in that class, one of the extra credit things we got to do was write a poem. If it passed muster, we could get a few extra points. Gunner that I always was, I jumped on the opportunity, but had nothing to write about. I finally came up with something, and Mrs. Parker-Lawrence apparently liked it. I got the points, and somehow, by some miracle, I ended up getting the "Best Writer" award for my graduating class. I can remember bits and pieces of what she said about me when she was giving the award, and I still really appreciate it. You were and are a great teacher, and I'm glad to have had the opportunity to learn from you.
Fast forward a few years from that graduation. I find that poem again. It was... oh man, it was so maudlin. I think I somehow, in the sleep deprived state in which I wrote it, managed to trigger some savant bit of technical poetry out of the recesses of my brain, because while it's not an AWFUL poem, it's just so... adolescent? Emo? I already said maudlin, but maybe that again?
Anyway, the only other poem I tried to write since then was just laughably terrible, and I find that I prefer prose for my purposes. So that's why we're not doing poetry here.
2. Jersey Shore
Really? I need a reason for this one?
No. Bad. But, fine, I'll give a reason to up the word count here.
I've never watched an episode of Jersey Shore. I hope to never see an episode of Jersey Shore. Not that I'm opposed to ALL trashy TV. I watched some of Baggage one night. It's a game show with Jerry Springer in which a lucky bachelor has 3 lucky bachelorettes who reveal increasingly incriminating secrets about themselves, and he looks appalled as they come out. I'm sure they flip the genders, but I wasn't sticking around to see that far. Jersey Shore crosses a line. Maybe it's the spray-tan line, maybe it's the stupid line, but it's a line, and it's about drawing a line in the sand and saying, dude, this aggression will not stand.
1. Ex-Girlfriends
Yeah, I've already broken this one once. I know that, and I'm sorry for it. It was a rough time in my life, and thankfully, it wasn't a huge time (I think. Well, at least not on this blog). But, see, I'm already falling into the trap?
Ex-girlfriends (or boyfriends, but I don't have any of those at this juncture... GENTLEMEN) do some strange things to people. You get out of the relationship, and maybe it's amicable, or maybe it's not. I've run into both of these scenarios. Maybe you're like me and find it palpably awkward to be anywhere in eye contact with them for a while. I definitely know that feeling. Well, fine. I don't know what exactly it IS, because I can't tell if it's guilt or anger or fear or what. I couldn't be a Sith to save my freaking life, because I'd probably guess wrong on which emotion I was using and end up choosing serenity or some lame business like that.
But then, time passes. You find yourself around new people (or old people, just more often), you make new stories to tell your eventual kids with that new woman (or man) that you're going to totally find someday. But then you hear that song/go to that place/see that movie/see that other movie with the guy from that first movie/see that movie with that reference to that song that was in that movie that was playing at that one party where there were the board games and you laughed so, so long, because who really thinks that "dilemma" has a silent n (Author's note: NO COMMENT).
And then that shit happens. Again, not sure on what the feeling is, because not so good with the feelings, but maaaan does it happen.
Now, picture what happens when you try to write a blog about it. Believe me, I thought about an airing of the grievances entry (and it wasn't even Festivus). It wasn't a good idea, and it still isn't (though for slightly different reasons). Ultimately, it's just not worth it.
Well, unless the story is absolutely hilarious (like the food poisoning that they though was appendicitis while Martina was interviewing at the NIH), but when could something THAT ridiculous happen?
 |
| Also, blow it out your ass, Howard. The bums lost. The bums always lose. CONDOLENCES! |
But yes. On to the point of this blog entry, which I guess even got alluded to briefly and obliquely earlier.
And that is...
The
Five
Things
Rob
Will
NEVER
Blog
About
Because, really. It's stuff you don't want to hear about.
5. That dream that I, like, just had
You really don't want to hear about that. First off, I can rarely remember my dreams in any concrete fashion. I was initially going to talk about dreams in general, but I already broke that with the whole "Hey, let's share in Rob's childhood nightmares." Seriously. Do you know how hard it was to post that lobster picture? Okay, fine, it wasn't very hard, but I wasn't looking AT the picture for most of the time. I think that was the fastest I ever typed, just to get that picture to leave me alone.
But really. Even if I DO remember a dream for long enough to put pen to paper. Um. Fingers to keyboard? That just sounds wrong. Anyway, if I remember it long enough to commit it to the annals (heh) of this blog, do you really want to read about it? I thought not. Even if it's freaking AMAZING, you probably don't want to hear about it. I mean, if we're talking saving hipster Christina Hendricks...
 |
| Yeah, like that would happen. |
... while fighting alongside Batman to end the menace of Edward Cullen...
 |
| YOUR SKIN KILLED MY PARENTS |
... and... um... zombie pirates with chainsaws?
 |
| I would have gone for something more accurate, but this is just more awesome. |
See, that's not from any dream I've ever had. I wish. No, that's just straight from my imagination. And wasn't it better than, "Oh, so it was like I was at this camp, but it wasn't a camp, it was also an apartment building, and my classmates were all there, except for Jim, and I was wondering why Jim wasn't there, when all of a sudden Jim WAS there, etc. etc. etc. shoot me in the face etc. etc. etc."
4. Blow by blows on trivia
Yes, I go to trivia a couple of times a week. I already played the games, though, and even if I remembered all the answers, once again, would you really want to hear about that? But this goes beyond the "You don't want to hear about it" argument, because if that applied to everything, I wouldn't get any posts written. Ever.
No, part of this comes from the old adage that I just made up, "Don't write about things you take really seriously. Something about distance, professionalism, and this is probably coming from something about doctor-patient relationships or some such. The things years on the Quiz Bowl circuit does to you. Oh, we're still in the quote about the adage? Well, then let's have a parenthetical, too (on second thought, let's n- oh goddammit), because there's not a thing you can do about it. You won't hit that closed quotation mark button. Well, really it's two buttons, but you won't hit it anywa" and that's enough of that adage.
 |
| PARENTING. |
The point is, not only would a trivia recap be boring, but it would be something I'd get super worked up about, and then I'd forget why I was worked up about it, and it would be a lot of me going back and forth on what REALLY should be a linear chronology. Not in the fun way that I usually do it, either.
3. Poetry
Let's start with a story. Once upon a time, Rob was in high school. More specifically, Rob was in Mrs. Parker-Lawrence's AP English class, which was a ball. We read Ender's Game as part of our summer reading, we read The Stranger, we read oodles and oodles of business. We also did a lot of poetry, of which I remember one poem. It was that one by Stephen Crane, and it's still a good one.
![“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.” — Stephen Crane [x]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lxvknlB4V71r7cnjfo1_500.gif) |
| And this gif just proved my point before I wanted to. CURSE YOU GOOGLE! |
Really, I know all of 3 poems in English. If you add in French, I'm at... 7 or 8? Unfortunately (sorry M. Suffren!), a few have escaped me. There are several more that I'd like to get in my head one day when there's space for some of it. Honestly, I have no problem posting business about poetry, analysis, and the like on here. It probably won't happen, but the option is there.
But back to the story, because the point is coming.
See, in that class, one of the extra credit things we got to do was write a poem. If it passed muster, we could get a few extra points. Gunner that I always was, I jumped on the opportunity, but had nothing to write about. I finally came up with something, and Mrs. Parker-Lawrence apparently liked it. I got the points, and somehow, by some miracle, I ended up getting the "Best Writer" award for my graduating class. I can remember bits and pieces of what she said about me when she was giving the award, and I still really appreciate it. You were and are a great teacher, and I'm glad to have had the opportunity to learn from you.
Fast forward a few years from that graduation. I find that poem again. It was... oh man, it was so maudlin. I think I somehow, in the sleep deprived state in which I wrote it, managed to trigger some savant bit of technical poetry out of the recesses of my brain, because while it's not an AWFUL poem, it's just so... adolescent? Emo? I already said maudlin, but maybe that again?
Anyway, the only other poem I tried to write since then was just laughably terrible, and I find that I prefer prose for my purposes. So that's why we're not doing poetry here.
2. Jersey Shore
Really? I need a reason for this one?
No. Bad. But, fine, I'll give a reason to up the word count here.
I've never watched an episode of Jersey Shore. I hope to never see an episode of Jersey Shore. Not that I'm opposed to ALL trashy TV. I watched some of Baggage one night. It's a game show with Jerry Springer in which a lucky bachelor has 3 lucky bachelorettes who reveal increasingly incriminating secrets about themselves, and he looks appalled as they come out. I'm sure they flip the genders, but I wasn't sticking around to see that far. Jersey Shore crosses a line. Maybe it's the spray-tan line, maybe it's the stupid line, but it's a line, and it's about drawing a line in the sand and saying, dude, this aggression will not stand.
 |
| There's such a thing as decency, is what I'm saying. |
1. Ex-Girlfriends
Yeah, I've already broken this one once. I know that, and I'm sorry for it. It was a rough time in my life, and thankfully, it wasn't a huge time (I think. Well, at least not on this blog). But, see, I'm already falling into the trap?
Ex-girlfriends (or boyfriends, but I don't have any of those at this juncture... GENTLEMEN) do some strange things to people. You get out of the relationship, and maybe it's amicable, or maybe it's not. I've run into both of these scenarios. Maybe you're like me and find it palpably awkward to be anywhere in eye contact with them for a while. I definitely know that feeling. Well, fine. I don't know what exactly it IS, because I can't tell if it's guilt or anger or fear or what. I couldn't be a Sith to save my freaking life, because I'd probably guess wrong on which emotion I was using and end up choosing serenity or some lame business like that.
But then, time passes. You find yourself around new people (or old people, just more often), you make new stories to tell your eventual kids with that new woman (or man) that you're going to totally find someday. But then you hear that song/go to that place/see that movie/see that other movie with the guy from that first movie/see that movie with that reference to that song that was in that movie that was playing at that one party where there were the board games and you laughed so, so long, because who really thinks that "dilemma" has a silent n (Author's note: NO COMMENT).
 |
| Leave it to the Internet to sum up dating. |
And then that shit happens. Again, not sure on what the feeling is, because not so good with the feelings, but maaaan does it happen.
Now, picture what happens when you try to write a blog about it. Believe me, I thought about an airing of the grievances entry (and it wasn't even Festivus). It wasn't a good idea, and it still isn't (though for slightly different reasons). Ultimately, it's just not worth it.
Well, unless the story is absolutely hilarious (like the food poisoning that they though was appendicitis while Martina was interviewing at the NIH), but when could something THAT ridiculous happen?
 |
| Ha HA- Emergency department. |
I'd be tempted to write a tale, in verse, of a dream whereby Chthulhu leads a crustacean invasion of the Jersey Shore and the only way to overcome is a trivia match for all the marbles but since the Old God has tentacles for lips (right?), he forces my ex I'm-completely-over-but-I-also-never-will-be to play in his stead and he's going to kill her if I win so I valiantly toss the finale, get sqvooshed, she survives to ever contemplate how she never should have let me go in the first place, and Jersey Shore is obliterated. Anyway, I'd be tempted, but I'd be required to shoe-horn lots of "zulu" and "lobster" and that would be hamfisted at best. Also duelling my rhyming laziness is the consideration that I've been particularly commenty (on FB) about these, to the point it may come across that I WILL NOT BE IGNORED!, but, fret not, I mostly just like encouraging creativity (double fret not, the remainder of that "mostly" isn't same-gender romantic enticement, LADIES) and having a chance to flex and frolic. You see, my job involves sitting in a cubicle and clicking a mouse for 9-15hrs/day when, really, my training is more aligned to walking the Earth and helping people like David Carradine (minus the totes messy ending). Long story short, Ajax is stir crazy and keep up the good work.
RépondreSupprimerIt is apparent that you don't read the comments to your blog. If you don't read the comments, how are you going to get more soup??? Do let me know if you ever actually read this.
RépondreSupprimerOh, nice blog.