An aspiring writer is told to write, simply, about what he knows. Browsing the left sidebar of Blogger.com, where a continually updated list of recently updated weblogs is displayed, I've found many in the blogosphere (I thieved this term from a columnist in Punk Planet) are writing about what they know... That is, what they know they did today. Now, I am as guilty as the next subterranean blogoholic of solely documenting the events. And more so of ranting out marathons solely about age, dentistry and math class.
The itch to blog comes burning often, these days, when I am three beers into a Tuesday night with a hitch-free Wednesday to follow. Unable to convince a 19-year old his fake looked realistic enough to convince a bartender in low light, I trodded off to the liquor trough companionless that Tuesday. It may have been for the better that my would-be companion came down with a terrible bout of conscience and didn't attend with me. The bartender ex-amined my card, glanced up at my face, and examined some more for a good 20 seconds before serving me.
I sat between two men and faced an inset mirror. As I sucked the foam from my second Point Special, the man to my left, without hesitation, engulfed his last slice of a full, fully-loaded pizza. The man on my right had been conducting reconciliation with his spouse via cellphone since I had arrived. I relaxed, sipped, and waited for something to happen.
I noticed a sign hung to inform patrons that anyone looking under the age of 25 will be checked for identification. I saw myself in the mirror. I heard the chomping of pizza next to me, I heard the cellphone scuffle to the right. The bartender switched rapidly between radio stations with a convenient remote control in hand. The music blared approximately 20 second bursts of various genres, as the bartender's tastes dictated. I do not recall the song, but I do suspect it was a nineties 'alternative' song I had grown to love so long ago. In a rush of clarity, edged on by the howling vocals and brushing guitar, I could see this very blog in a very different state. Epiphanies popping like the CO2 bubbles in my drink, I was prepared to stub out my cigarette, leave the remaining beer in my glass (for effect), sprint back to my Internet portal, and write a damn moving essay on coming of age. I compromised with a stub, a chug, a tip, and a walk.
Without much explanation needed, I did not succeed in writing the envisioned essay. I quickly prepared for sleep and went to bed after staring into the 'Post' window without being able to punch out so much as a word. I'm tempted to find my same seat in this bar with notebook in hand another night--or maybe I should mount a mirror behind the computer. In any case this essay has turned, the night after, into one on lost inspiration.
Allow me to itemize my day.
- Ran into my academic advisor on campus 3 times. Always a good time.
- Ate a fortune cookie with a message that said 'You will soon change your line of work.' Hmm.
- Saw a crow eat a baby bird. I will not speak of the details in the same way a veteran of a war will not. Although, I suppose it's nature. Just didn't touch me in the way that oregano bush full of bumblebees did in Bayfield last summer.
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