People I actually know and interact with in real life, sometimes referred to as "friends" and "family," who also happen to read my ThunderJournal, occasionally ask me why my site has become so much more focused on the silly nonsense rather than the somewhat deeper stuff I used to write about in the early years.
And I have to be honest: I just got bored with it. I'm at my happiest when I'm writing about topical stuff, news of the weird, mocking Nick Coleman, and generally sharing anecdotes from my life when something I deem interesting occurs.
And, really, after about four years of mixing it up in my comment threads as well as others, yammering about everything ranging from politics to, well, politics, I just stepped back one day and thought "what's the fucking point?" I found myself establishing and defending positions that, at the end of the day, were basically ridiculous exercises in futility, although some great insults were written back in those halcyon days that I'll always cherish, Jesus Fuck Dog.
Besides that, come about the 2006 timeframe, the Internet opened up even more, with the emergence and dominance of MySpace and FaceBook and MyFace and SpaceBook, not to mention YouTube and the bazillian forums that can be found all over the Web. In other words, the "conversation" went viral. Many newspapers have finally clued into the need for comment threads on their news articles and opinion pieces (the Strib being a notable exception, because they remain largely clueless about all things Internet--Buzz.mn being their exception), so the debate can begin at the source, rather than bringing the articles over here for a virgin fisking. *growl*
There are, literally, millions and millions of newcomers to the Internet conversation coming to the medium almost on a daily basis, and the thought of leaping into that pool of newbs and outlining, for the millionth time, my thoughts and positions and covering all that same old, tired ground, just makes my mind grind to a halt. New people to the Web discussion are often immediately tiresome (think YouTube comments), about five years behind the conversation, passionate without focus, overly excited about having a place to say something, and frankly just not worth the effort.
So, my ThunderJournal, which started as a little corner of Web where I could hopefully sharpen my writing skills by penning a lighthearted journal, morphed into a semi-serious conversation, and is now back where I want it to be: mostly silly nonsense.
Besides, with house projects, an eventual wedding to think about, jiu-jitsu training, and other actual things of personal importance going on, arguing on the Internet just seems kind of silly right now.
I still fully intend to keep this ThunderJournal going; just don't expect anything too serious.
Poop. Fart. Wiener poopy.
My jiu-jitsu instructor mentioned before class last night that he'd been filling his empty hours by watching YouTube videos of people doing Zippo tricks. Because I'm a curious person who also has an empty hour to fill while sitting on a conference call from hell, I thought I'd share some of these Zippo tricks:
Notice that the arms on most of the people in that video look like they spend most of their days cooking up spoons of smack, judging by their thinness. The Japanese music is a nice touch, though.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=ZOHwjDzUDnE&feature=related
In this video, the background items of note are the Macintosh computer and that frickin' irritating bracelet on his right hand. Nothing against either of those items, per se, but taken together I just want to punch the guy in the throat for some reason.
Ah, yes, for those of you just now embarking on your lucrative Zippo trick career, here's a video that outlines some of your most basic Zippo tricks. Don't start by foolishly dipping your finger in alcohol for the grand poobah of all Zippo tricks--the lit finger. No, start out simple, and work your way through intermediate, speed lighting, IDENTITY CONCEALMENT, and of course, the crowd pleasing MESS UPS, complete with Zippo-spiking outrage. Background items of note: the particularly filthy looking room with dresser drawers akimbo, the backpack against the wall, and the dog tags around the guy's neck (strangely, I have my doubts about his military service).
For those curious enough to learn more Zippo tricks, there are PLENTY more YouTube videos out there for your perusal. For an added mental exercise, be sure to read the comment threads, which are always packed to the gills with thought provoking commentary and impeccable grammar and spelling.
I've been thinking about signing up for a Capitol One Carbon credit Card. The interest rates seem reasonable, and the exchange rate between U.S. dollars and Carbon credits is at least as good as the exchange rate between unicorns and leprechauns, to shamelessly borrow a phrase from Stanley on "The Office."
Ryan says: Whoa, my farts are PURE garlic.
Caroline says: I would've been surprised if they weren't.
Ryan says: You can bottle this stuff and sell it as a tonic.
Caroline says: Puke tonic.
Ryan says: Sounds nuclear.
Caroline says: Nucular
Ryan says: The puketonic plague that decimated Europe.
My ThunderJournaling colleague, LearnedFoot, steered me to the greatest Web site ever conceived by Al Gore:
I like the red thong. No, maybe not. Turn around. Come closer. Cup your breasts. On second thought, try the black thong. Turn around.
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Wait. What?
I honestly believe cold weather in general, and prolonged cold snaps specifically, sap my creativity, inspiration and ambition. Throughout January and into February, I've struggled to write anything I've been happy with. The very act of typing feels detached and machinelike. It doesn't help, I'm sure, that my office is basically a flourescent cell with nary a window to be had, so it's a mind-numbing sameness for eight straight hours with only the promise of biting cold awaiting me upon my 5 p.m. freedom. This winter has been the coldest and snowiest in recent memory, and my writing, both professional and recreational, is suffering because of it.
My watch band broke Saturday night, which means I've been without a watch adorning my wrist since that time, which in turn means I haven't been able to just check my wrist on a whim to ascertain the chronology of a given day, which in turn means I'M GOING FREAKIN' INSANE!
Yes, I'm a clock-watcher. Why do you ask?
