When I first heard the word blog, I thought it was pronounced B-log. About five years later (although I knew the current pronunciation by that late date, at least in my revisionist memory), I mentioned this to Greenspan and Viv, and I still get made fun of about it to this day. Well, who’s laughin’ now, punks? Welcome to my B-log — now show me yours!
I’ve been thinking about doing this for a while — and now that I have absolutely nothing to really blog about, I’ve decided to start one. Gone are the glory days on the beaches of Barcelona, the days of eating hunan turtle in Shanghai, the days on the beaches of Vietnam and Thailand, the days of eating Fried Grasshopper in Cambodia (paradise means different things to different people — just be thankful there are no 77 virgins in mine).
Nigh are the days of living at mom’s house. Of not having enough money for new sneakers. Of having very little to get up for in the morning.
Except for today — today, I’m temporarily in Monami’s apartment on 5th and L in DC, where she’s so graciously let me stay while she’s in the Barbaric Lands of the former Soviet Republics for the next month. Today I started a temp job making phone calls — probably my least favorite campaign-related activity.
Not exactly the rebirth I had in mind, but I’ll take what I can get. It beats living with mom.