The Problem With Blog
Sometimes I want to go where nobody knows my name. On the internet, I mean. The disadvantage of having associated my real life identity with my blog is that it no longer serves as an adequate outlet for all my inner loathsomeness. It would be easier and less emotionally complicated in many respects if I maintained a respectable* persona online while engaging in all manner of villainy in real life. After all, only three or four people around here could pick me out of a police line-up, and few of my real-life intimates know how to fine anything in Northern Virginia anyway. I might as well have an invisibility cloak for all the scrutiny I invite out on the street.
I don’t know which specific villainy I would undertake, mind. I just feel antisocial as hell. This feeling is compounded by the gawd-awful yet impossible to ignore dialogue of the “Littlest Pet Shop,” which apparently is a cartoon available on demand courtesy of Comcast. Perhaps telling Mouse that she could order up anything she liked was not my best idea. Note to self: I need to buy some ear plugs.
* Every time I start to take pride in my powers of perception, I write or say something like that and then realize that, no, I am still the same Big Weirdo I have ever been. Is that an Asperger’s theory-of-mind kind of thing? I’m hardly infamous, but most people’s definitions of “respectable” probably do not involve publishing TMI about bodily functions, parental nonfeasance, and domestic squalor.