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Might as well. brain is not functional. So why am I blogging? I suppose something in me values it--and wants to see me blog more.

I've been trying to get more involved with my corner if the blogosphere/InterTronLand--subscribing to friends' blogs and following twitterfeeds and reading/snarking the news.

It's fun but it can be a bit time consuming. I dont know how many prospective bloggers/internet celebrity hopefuls take that into account. That a good many of the internet folk  they idolize for being so cool, so funny, so natural have had to commit such great sacrifices to seem so cool, so funny, so natural. Of course, half the battle is precisely to seem so cool, so funny, so natural.

It's much the same for writers, generally; someone very clever, incisive, and possibly more than a bit jaded said somewhere out there on the internets--"Writing is an illness not a profession.". It's always a commitment of some kind. But it's also a <i>compulsion</i>.

With my blogging, as with my writing, I wish that compulsion--how I feel it and how I act out on it--were more regular and consistent.

I've gotten better, I think. I've realized that blogging, more than some things, needs to be kept simple for the most part. It's much too easy to overcomplicate a post and let it make itself prohibitive. I do that much too often. Plenty of times I gear up for a mega meta post when a short, simple one would do just as well. And, assuming I ever even manage to finish that post, the next seems harder for it.

But I also need to try toget post somewhat regularly. It really isn't that hard so I can do it--I can even post from my phone. But I don't--but I should.

So, thus came to be this rambling musing post. I guess.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…