Sunday, October 20, 2013
Could It Be That I Was Never Really That Interesting?
I've been struggling to think of things to blog about lately. Everything I do just seems so ordinary and uninteresting. Does anyone really want to read a discussion of how I bought a coat this weekend? Or the thrilling tale of how I thought about going to Walgreen's on Thursday but then didn't? I could of course summarize the six hours or so of television I DVR and watch each week -- or the dozens of articles I read on the train, if we want to be slightly more highbrow about it -- but how could I ever compete with the geniuses at Entertainment Weekly and Reader's Digest? The official magazines of my parents' and my grandmother's bathrooms, respectively, deserve a little bit of breathing room.
What's somewhat confusing to me is that I can recall that I used to blog every single weekday back when I started this thing. Granted, that was almost ten years ago, so I was also popping the collars on my polo shirts and watching The OC religiously, but I did have a lot more enthusiasm for this project. Of course, reading some of those old entries does make me feel a bit better. I don't think that my experience dogsitting for my coworker really merited two paragraphs, while subjects like "I went to Home Depot" and "I had a weird dream" were barely subjects at all. So at the end of the day, I have to conclude that I just found myself a lot more fascinating when I was 26 than I do today. I blame our culture's obsession with youth. And Miley Cyrus. I just kind of what to throw that in there.
Anyway, I am trying to be more interesting, just for all of you. My amazing martyrdom continues.
I've been struggling to think of things to blog about lately. Everything I do just seems so ordinary and uninteresting. Does anyone really want to read a discussion of how I bought a coat this weekend? Or the thrilling tale of how I thought about going to Walgreen's on Thursday but then didn't? I could of course summarize the six hours or so of television I DVR and watch each week -- or the dozens of articles I read on the train, if we want to be slightly more highbrow about it -- but how could I ever compete with the geniuses at Entertainment Weekly and Reader's Digest? The official magazines of my parents' and my grandmother's bathrooms, respectively, deserve a little bit of breathing room.
What's somewhat confusing to me is that I can recall that I used to blog every single weekday back when I started this thing. Granted, that was almost ten years ago, so I was also popping the collars on my polo shirts and watching The OC religiously, but I did have a lot more enthusiasm for this project. Of course, reading some of those old entries does make me feel a bit better. I don't think that my experience dogsitting for my coworker really merited two paragraphs, while subjects like "I went to Home Depot" and "I had a weird dream" were barely subjects at all. So at the end of the day, I have to conclude that I just found myself a lot more fascinating when I was 26 than I do today. I blame our culture's obsession with youth. And Miley Cyrus. I just kind of what to throw that in there.
Anyway, I am trying to be more interesting, just for all of you. My amazing martyrdom continues.
