So after much prodding and prompting from folks who will probably never visit this site (curse these so called “friends” of mine… Facebook has just so blurred the concept, has it not?), I am now dipping the proverbial toe in the serene-looking yet clearly loch-ness-monster-deep waters of the blogosphere. I have literally been emailing a group of friends since email first came to be widely used on college campuses in the (pull up a chair, sonnie!) early-1990s. So for roughly 18 years now I’ve been mercilessly clogging up people’s inboxes with inane ramblings, including a full 20-30 episodes of an all-text animated series in the late ’90s called Writerman and Friends. That was back when I was working in publishing and it somehow seemed okay to my fresh-out-of-college mind to spend an hour or so at work writing an email. Learning by doing, I guess? Who knows… I was hopped up on diner omelettes and milkshakes at the time.
Then Facebook has this “Notes” feature where I’ve yet to discover a word count limit, so I thought briefly that I could “blog” that way, although I guess you’d have to be my friend to read it, search for lewd keywords, etc. No, no… writing for my friends alone would never do… clearly I have something to say that warrants nay demands the attention of the cloud and all its virtual inhabitants. Or so I’ve been sort of half-heartedly told by a handful of friends. It didn’t take too much encouragement, is what I’m admitting here, so maybe I do believe there are other mystified souls out there who would enjoy recognizing their own thoughts in the words I’ll record here.
Mostly I’m kind of disbelieving of the adult world — the one that inevitably requires “small talk,” politics, status symbols, ethical compromises and frequently the lubrication (and absolution) of alcohol. This was very apparent when I lived overseas in a chauvinistic East-European country. I typically refused to do things like drink, smoke or kill pigs and was therefore always asked if I was a man. In America, unless I’m at a football game or a NASCAR event (that was a one-time experience), I pretty much pass for a grown-up. Yet I’m always finding myself in meetings writing down a particularly-well-botched cliche or a word or phrase that would make a great band name. I’ve always assumed at some point I would become one of these adults I’m surrounded by, but year after year passes and it hasn’t quite happened yet. The one time I started relating to and conversing with another parent at the playground, I lost track of one of my kids for a scary minute or so. I once shadowed a middle school student for a day (as part of my job, not as some sort of horrible criminal), and one of his classmates asked me if I was a new student at the school. I was in my early thirties at the time and probably wearing a tie… at a Baltimore public school without a dress code. So it’s not just me, it’s like the world is telling me, “You will never grow up.”
Anyway, so what is apocalyft? It’s a joke business idea a friend and I had to start a pickup service for the end of the world, assuming most people won’t have access to or the resources to build their own ark. Stay tuned for a link to that website once we get it up and running. But I thought it would work as the name for this blog too as a little beacon of mirth in the face of… well you name it — the end of the American dream, global warming, China (tell me you’re not still haunted by the opening ceremonies of those Olympics). So that’s the aim behind the name. I will try to post regularly and add to what must be just a sea of drither (great Aerosmith tune). I was and still am really reluctant to add to it, but maybe you have to fight one coming deluge with another?
Until next time, I’m yours manning the Sharon underground,