Monday, May 22, 2006

Shaken and stirred

I hate it when I write something and then start freaking about how someone is going to interpret it. Then I start second guessing myself and wondering if so and so will read it the wrong way or such and such will think it is directed at them. The Monkey Playing Cymbals is always telling me that I over analyze stuff and that sometimes a "banana is just a banana." The monkey may not be real, but he is pretty smart.

I started blogging as a release from writing what other people wanted me to write. I didn't want to be constrained any more by what sells or what is popular or what would get a positive reaction. Then I catch myself yesterday writing about these unwritten rules that should dictate what people blog about.

It occurred to me yesterday while I was mowing the lawn how wrong that was. Or maybe how hypocritical that was. It was the very act of mowing the lawn and smugly feeling superior to my neighbor's unmowed lawn that drove it home for me. The only reason I was snippy about them not mowing their lawn was because I had to mow mine and I wanted them to share in my suburban yoke of oppression and drag their sorry butts out there and mow theirs. Misery loves company.

I mean, why should I give a hoot if my neighbor's domesticated weeds are groomed properly? So applying this analogy to blogging, why should I give a hoot who or what anyone else blogs about? Is it because I have applied limits to my topics and can't stand to see anyone else dare blog without limits?

The monkey is nodding in agreement now, so I must be getting warm.

So in essence, I have once again given myself a license to blog. This is not to say that I'm willing to trash my job and family and reveal my secret desire to dominate the free world in my blog. If I really felt compelled to do those things I would (except dominate the free world), but I don't. And I'll never say never again but I will say live and let die as long as I'm in her majesty's secret service.

And I expect everyone else to blog about whatever floats their boat or provides utility hook ups for their RV.

The monkey is motioning for me to wrap it up (I think he wants a banana), so I must have said everything I wanted to. I guess I'll go ahead and split for now (the monkey loves that joke). But I'll be back.


Anonymous said...

A blogging as lawn mowing analogy. Glad to see you're getting your money's worth out of that Maytag Simile generator!

I have a sock money that serves the same purpose as your cymbal-playing monkey. Only over here, however, a banana is never just a banana. Unfortunately. That would be too simple and direct. But I can dream that day might come...

Oh, and your secret desire to dominate the world? Not so secret.

Naughti Biscotti said...

Boy, I sure missed a lot of activity over the weekend. Hmmmmm I'd tell you what I think of all that, but a picture is worth a thousand words.

Time said...

Kristy, The grass is always greener if you use chemicals. And I'm assuming you intended to say Sock Monkey, not Sock Money. A Freudian slip perhaps?

I never let the grass grow under my blog. And what did you do to the Monkey? He seems very aggitated about something.

Alex Pendragon said...

The only grass I have is that feral stuff that came with the property. It gets no fertilizer OR water, except for what Bob and the goats grant it. I have saved alot of gas and sweat not having to mow this crap since getting "the gang of four" and there's that much less contamination of my groundwater as an added bonus.

Maybe if I put a Tiki God on my desk and appointed him as director of blogging operations, I could rely on him in much the same fashion as you assign to that flea bitten cymbal banger. Or maybe an Al Gore bobble-head. Hell, ANYthing would do a better job around here than Me, Myself, and I did.

Yea, Tim, you're right. Just because your blog is a Caddillac Escalade compared to my Yogo, there's no reason for me to feel inferior in that respect. The reason I blog was never to keep up with the monkeys. Even the winged ones with funny hats.

By the way, I own a Walther PPKs, and I bet you don't! hehe

Time said...

THE Michael, I've always coveted getting (one of) your goats. Why is everyone dissing on the poor Monkey today?

Oh, and I see your Walther and raise you a Barretta, too.

Big Ben said...

The hardest part of life is coming to the realization that people do things differently and that it is not wrong the way the are doing it, just different. I still havn't got the hang of that one.

Time said...

That's true Ben. It is difficult sometimes to keep in mind that there are many paths to the same destination.

Time said...

Where did we all go so wrong?