to blog or not to blog: the perils of decision making in an increasingly decision-orientated world

When starting a blog is more like starting an argument. With yourself.

This is the house I'm going to live in when I stop
procrastinating and  get a real job

Look what I found during my standard I'll-trawl-through-folders-on-my-laptop-and-see-what-hides-therein procrastination technique. This was written when I was about to start blogging. Not just thinking about blogging. Not just signing up to Blogger.com and chickening out before writing anything down. 


No. This time, blogging was about to happen, and it was about to happen to me. Well, that's what I thought. Here's how that Mind Conversation panned out. 


(I'll give you a hint: not very well.) 

I was ready. Boy, was I ready, armed with my cup of tea and my obligatory silver-foil covered biscuit. I had absolutely no messages on my phone. I had no pressing concerns to be concerned about. I had my cardi on. I even had A Place By The Sea on mute in the background. At that moment, you could have accused me of being pathetic. You could have accused me of being overly preoccupied with whether or not a foil-covered biscuit really was the way to go, when an equally tempting Mikado was peering out of the tin. But you could not have accused me of not being what I most certainly was- ready.

And? 


Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I sat in front of my laptop and I realised, not for the first time in my life, that I had nothing to say. 


I sat there for a while. I sat there for another while. And then I started to doubt my very existence. Could it be that I really have no thoughts on anything? Do I not care about something? Is there nothing that I have to say to the world? Nothing at all? 


Apparently not. I officially had no opinions to share with the rest of the world. My blank blog page confirmed it. I was not a blogger. I had no thoughts. I was a failure. 

But I wasn’t going to take that failure lying down. No, son. I decided instead that I would be a Specific Blogger. That is, I would be an expert in some kind of field. 


The only problem was, I wasn’t an expert in any field.  


What could I blog about? What did other people blog about? Other people blogged about fashion, I thought. They write about fashion. You know. Clothes. Glasses. Chanel. Fashion bloggers are cool. They have polaroid cameras and they take pictures of stuff. The last thing I took a photo of was a sign that said GORILLA CORROSION on it. I don’t know what GORILLA CORROSION is, but it was written on a van, and I thought it was funny. 

sleepless? got mail? i know the feeling...

Well, the brilliance of Meg 'n' Tom had to be revealed at some stage in this blog 

You again? Tom and Meg in Sleepless in Seattle

So far, in my many (7) posts, I have discussed King Arthur, Mountains, Goats, and, strangely enough, Football. I haven't asked any tough questions, or asked anybody to choose between two perfect entities.
Until now.

That's right, it's time for an epic, two-dimensional, and frankly, unfair question. This is the real fridge-opener that you've been waiting for. Oh yes, it's time - past time, actually - to discuss the two heavyweights of early 1990s romantic comedy involving Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.

Some people may call them the only two romantic comedies that Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan were in together.
These people have obviously not seen Joe versus the Volcano.

Others may call them movies that have an unprecedented amount of brown suits in them.
These people have obviously not seen One Fine Day.

Others still may refer to them as examples of why not to go to internet chat rooms/write people letters because you heard them on the radio.
These people are just wrong.

As you can see, this is a diverse and divisive topic, this You've Got Mail/Sleepless in Seattle (henceforth YGM/SIS) debate.
First, some things to think about.

I've seen you before: Meg and Tom in You've Got Mail

monday knight madness

You know you've hit a low point in your life when you find yourself saying - actually saying, aloud, like talking - 'Mordred is king? Tch, I don't want Mordred to be king! What? Who wrote this? WHO WROTE THIS?'

Welcome to the bottom of the world. The pit, if you will, of doom.

That's the kind of thing I'm saying to myself at 7 o'clock on a Monday night while other people are getting ready to go out, get the shift, get moving, get pizza, or get something. The only thing I'm getting is annoyed because some 15th century dude made Mordred king while Arthur was in France. And then he let him take over and ruin everything. Well, he let the people let him take over. It's a long story.
(Should've said Spoiler Alert there really - sorry for ruining all those surprises.)

The worst part is, I don't even hate Mordred that much. Why am I talking to myself about something I don't even care about? The only reason I even know who he is is because I've got a tutorial on the Death of Arthur in two days. I'm not into the fantasy genre. The only thing I knew about Guinevere before I read it was that her name sounded sort of like Genevieve, and Keira Knightley played her in that crap Clive Owen version. Before last week Mordred wasn't even a thing.

... so that's what was happening in Camelot when Mordred took over

the purpose of mountains

I was bored, so I found this picture of a goat

After I went to Barcelona I came home with a cold and wrote a Really Bad story about a mountain. I wish I had put a bear in the story because then it might have been less bad. I spent the whole day thinking about mountains and weather and what winter is like in the mountains and what birds sound like there (conclusion: they sound the same) and what kind of mountains they have in America - when I was supposed to be doing some Greek - or possibly Roman- related essay thing. Sigh. Boredom leads to a whole new world where mountains are Interesting and Important and bears are simply an afterthought. In the land of boredom, mountains have colours and contours and stretch up to the white sky. That's if they're in Ireland. If they're in America, I figure that they've got houses on them with blue gardens. In Peru they're like orange roads through the desert.

I like them. They're more boring than volcanoes. Volcanoes are always causing havoc and strife and exploding all over the place. Mountains are like, yeah, I've got magma. But I'm old and tired and bored of erupting. I want to stay here and watch Midsomer Murders and possibly have a biscuit and maybe another and then I'll just lie here and sleep for a while.

That's mountains for you.