The Flaw in Blogging or; Flawgging

I've discovered, since revamping this blog, that it has begun to run my life. It was subtle at first, but now I've started to notice more and more how I analyze each encounter, each chance observation, every thought and feeling and impulse of my quotidian life for it's blog potential; it's blogability, if you will.

This phenomenon is both frustrating - every time I answer the phone (which is a lot of times), I think "Oo! Please say something unexpected!" and then I forget what I'm supposed to say - and self-defeating - they never say something unexpected. This is why so many poets write bad poems about writers block. Because they have writers block. And they are searching too hard.

By way of example, I'm going to share some choice selections from my search for inspiration.

Yesterday, at the gym. I was stretching and a Suzanne Vega song came on my iPod. The lyrics were beautiful.

"If sand waves were sound waves
What song would be in the air now
What stinging tune
Could split this endless noon
And make the sky swell with rain"

And I thought, "YES! Something profound and original and touching! How inspiring." And then the song ended and Bedrock by Young Money came on. For those less familiar with the lyrics than myself and the rest of my a cappella group, I include a brief sample:

"Oh Baby,
I Be Stuck To You,
Like Glue Baby,
Wanna Spend It All On You,
Baby,
My Room Is The G Spot,
Call Me Mr. Flintstone,
I Can Make Your Bed Rock Girl"

Right. So much for inspiring.

Today, walking down Ludlow St. I saw a bicycle cosy. It was pink and purple and red and it was attached to a bicycle. It looked crocheted. Or possibly knit. It was the most ridiculous thing I've seen in a while. Unfortunately, I am so loathe to look like a tourist that I refuse to take pictures of anything in New York where someone could see me, so I have no documentation of this bicycle cozy. It was so not inspiring. Funny, though.

Tonight, in my kitchen. I haven't been home in time to cook dinner in a while, so I decided to go all out tonight and make a giant batch of pasta salad to eat for the next couple of days. As I set about making the dressing, I wondered in what container I was going to put the leftover vinaigrette. Tuperware in my kitchen is oddly shaped and rarely useful. I was just about to recycle the olive oil bottle I'd just emptied when I thought, "Aha! A container! I'll even peel off the label so it looks all pretty and green and chic. How innovative. How inspiring!" So I spent the next thirty minutes scrapping infinitesimal flakes of pulpy glue and paper off of the bottle, while running it under hot water, while trying to make sure the pulpy glue and paper didn't go down the drain and block my sink, while trying not to burn the vegetables, while talking to my sister on my cell phone. The result: a sort of pretty used-to-be olive oil bottle with two large, square shaped smudges that are irritatingly sticky to the touch. Holds the salad dressing though, so there you go. Practical. But not blogable.

The clever reader will realize that I'm contradicting myself. This entire blog post is utterly reliant on the unblogable. A paradox. Who shaves the barber?. Well, maybe not quite so clever.

And so, the moral of this story is that there is no moral. Another paradox? Maybe. Anyway, the point is, if you look hard enough for what is meaningful and profound, you will inevitably find what is foolish, funny, and human. Like a purple, pink and red knitted (or possibly crocheted) bicycle cozy.