All Things Considered...
Mood:  don't ask

I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t always listen to NPR while driving in the car. (Shhh…don’t tell Rush Limbaugh, you’ll ruin our reputation.) In fact, sometimes on my way to work, still cloudy from the night before, I’ll listen to a local morning radio show to help shake away the cobwebs and the impending sense of doom that accompanies my morning drive. Typically this means that as I leave work and return to my car, invariably the radio is on something loud and abrasive. Sometimes this is exactly what I need to unravel my jangled nerves and racing thoughts on the way home. But frequently I immediately scan the dial for something else.

 

Every now and again, nothing hits the spot like NPR. As I pull onto the freeway, accompanied by 5 lanes of speeding cars and review the highlights of the past day, it’s simply delightful to get lost in an unusual story. To hear a small slice of life come alive before my eyes and ears is a welcome retreat. I know that secretly, they know that sometimes I’d rather be listening to SexyBack, rocking out, or worse, opting for the high-octane ranting of Randi Rhodes. But for this story, I get to pretend that I’m an NPR regular, like everyone else listening.

 

I can see them, in their small Philadelphia apartment. They are in the kitchen, bathed in the low-angled sunset as it casts shadows onto the newspaper spread across the dining room table. They pick up their coffee mug, gently wiping away the ring left behind by the bottom of the cup, and slowly sip as they listen to the finer points of the button trial being presented by Nina Totenberg. I picture her likeness as that of the Simpsons schoolteacher, a certain blend of bookishness and sauciness, as if to say, “HA!” at the end of her carefully couched vague political double entendres. But this is NPR, a beacon of centrism punctuated by jazzy snippets before diving too deep. A pun not lost, they smile inside, carefully glancing over to check the boiling water on their stove, their eye drawn to the kitchen window. Peeking in the corner is a straggler branch of the old neighborhood tree, beginning to change colors to a warm russet signaling the first hint at fall around the corner. They are quiet, content, interested, and smarter than you. They wrap both hands around their warm mug and sigh, listening until Nina delivers her clever punch line and the trumpeted melancholy theme song drifts into the news.

Blog, or No?
Mood:  rushed

I’ve pondered this question many times.

 
Who hasn’t stumbled upon a hidden gem, linked to from a very edgy and hip site and bookmarked, RSSed and podcasted it immediately? You check back first thing in the morning when you arrive at work and read rapturously, thinking, “hey, I could do this”, and also, “hey, they are much more interesting and smart than me”. Next thing you know, you’re searching for free blogging sites and thinking of your wittiest topic for the first entry.

 
I’ve started this blogging process on more than a few occasions, and this is as far as I get. Somewhere along the line I usually wonder, isn’t blogging more than just a little bit self-involved, and mostly for people who are arrogant enough to believe that people might actually want to read their drivel? And since I’m either neither of those things, why on earth would I do this?

 
Well, I finally have a compelling reason to blog: to write. I’ve kicked around the idea of writing and (until recently) fancied myself fairly decent at it. That is, until two things happened:

 

1)       I took this quiz.

2)       I realize that outside of emails to coworkers and friends, and writing checks to my condo association, I don’t actually write. Ever.

 

So. What better place to create a writing journal than a blog? My hopes is that it will serve as my own little personal writing sandbox, a place to play, dream, reflect, and mostly, to write. Maybe I’ll find something in here worthy of the next big bestselling novel, or maybe I’ll just have a slew of blogs about my dog. Mostly, I hope it will be a place to practice. At the very least I hope it improves my writing. It’s a work in progress, so we’ll see.