To Whom It May Concern #6

This is my 100th post. Yes, this "blog" is one and a half years old and I'm only now getting to the century mark of posting. Many people post a hundred things in a week, some--no doubt--even in a day. But, this is a strange blog.

As I've no doubt said before and will no doubt say again, this is somewhat experimental for me. It's essentially a Memoir of the Mundane. No one really reads it (and I'm still fine with that), but it does what I want it to do--I'm accomplishing what I wanted to accomplish. That's not to say that I think my posts are accomplished. No. Some are better than others, many are the kind of drivel that only my own idiosyncratic mind can appreciate. But they are not meant to be fully developed, fully explored essays. Yes, they are essays, but they need to be linked for a fuller effect. I think there is a larger arc or narrative at stake here--for me there is--one that will take more years of scribbling to accomplish; definitely one that would take much realigning, editing and rewriting to make good. But, I like the posts. I like that I don't know exactly what I'm going to write when I sit down to do it, don't know what sentence will follow the next or how I'll attempt to tie it up at the end (which is why many of the posts are on the lame side). And I don't want to do any heavy rewriting and crafting--not so much out of laziness, but out of a dual sense of keeping it in the realm of a true blog and to teach myself to think (write) on the run, letting the consequences of the incompleteness fall where they may. Anyway, I have other writings to attend to and--as in anyone's life--I have only so much time to do the things I want to do.

The posts change. I shape them differently, concern myself with other things as time passes, as new subjects and events present themselves. In a month or so, I think I'll start writing about the 1990's as well as the 60's and 80's. Then there's the good and horrible years of the 1970's. And by then, another decade will have passed--the aught aughts (2000's). Two thousand and ten is a' coming.

I sometimes think of my chosen title for the blog--something done almost on a whim. I originally thought these posts would be much more stylized, more doused with fictional elements, but they didn't turn out that way (except, perhaps, for my very first post about Los Angeles). I thought they'd be funnier. Imbued with excitement, a little self-pitying tragedy. I thought they would capture the absurdity of my own life--though now I'm not so sure what's all that absurd about it . . . Semantics . . . It's all absurd--the whole ball of wax--isn't it?

Really, I guess I didn't have anything to say, other than to commemorate my 100th post. Commemorate it to myself. That's kind of absurd.