Maybe it's because there was a less than resounding response, when I decided I was bored and lonely in my new country and needed to keep a blog to which my far-away friends would contribute instead of forgetting about me (me, the friend who abandoned them in the first place), that I lost interest in my mollyblog. Some people responded, which was fun. But I could hardly expect my pals, whom I'd left behind, to hang on and pine after me when I'd gone off on some hare-brained adventure for which I had no real goals or plans.
Not that I'm all that interested blogging right now. Keeping a blog up-to-date sounds a bit like hard work, especially when all the most interesting changes in my life would have been over the past few years... there's a hell of a lot to catch up on. But then what AM I doing? As I'm not-quite-gainfully self employed after over three years in Ireland, don't I find myself at loose ends and wish for something to keep me occupied (especially when I'm busy procrastinating work on one of my screenplays)? Surely I've got the time to plug in an update at least once a week. But it seems to me that choosing to blog, like anything you choose to do in good faith such as make resolutions at the new year or decide to quit smoking or vow abstinence not because of a moral dilema but more because you just can't be arsed with kicking strangers out of your bed in the morning anymore, choosing to blog is like that Etch-A-Sketch you wanted so badly for Christmas and then promptly left half immersed in compost in the garden because it worked better as a shovel and, lets face it, you can get a hell of a lot more creative with a piece of paper and some markers... or with something else... like riding your bike...
No, my decision to resurrect my blog is based, rather, on the idea that work begets work. (If anyone knows that there is scientific proof of work begetting work, please let me know) I only last week stumbled unceremoniously over a writing block that was in my way when I made my long-suffering partner sit and listen to me prattle endlessly on about the bit of my screenplay I had written so far. He was busy cooking dinner and unfortunately, because of me, the pasta was let go a little long and came out all mushy. However, in the middle of that night I had a small epiphany which pushed me squarely over the block and into a mud puddle, which made things, if not entirely clear, at least a little clearer. I had a day of writing in a gush of creativity... and then promptly sat down on my ass in the mud, too overwhelmed by such a flurry of activity. So I've stalled a bit. Alright. But if it could happen once, it could happen again. And if I make an exercise of this, perhaps that will help lubricate the process.
I'd like to leave you today, in the spirit of the fact that this is my blog and I can rant about whatever I damn well please (and hope you keep reading), with this thought about one chain email I've just recieved for the third time today. I don't at all blame the sender for sending it to me when he couldn't possibly have known that I've recieved it before. And of course he means well by it. It's the fact that it incuded the following statement, which put me off:
"Do not keep this message.
"This must leave your hands in 6 MINUTES. Otherwise you will get a very unpleasant surprise. This is true, even if you are not superstitious, agnostic, or otherwise faith impaired."
And then following this was a list of commands about how to live my life (of which I'll list 5 out of 21):
"ONE. Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.
TWO. Marry a man/woman you love to talk to. As you get older, their conversational skills will be as important as any other.
THREE. Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want.
FOUR. When you say, "I love you," mean it.
FIVE. When you say, "I'm sorry," look the person in the eye."
And ended with:
"Now, here's the FUN part!
Send this to at least 5 people and your life will improve.
1-4 people: Your life will improve slightly.
5-9 people: Your life will improve to your liking.
9-14 people: You will have at least 5 surprises in the next 3 weeks
15 and above: Your life will improve drastically and everything you ever dreamed of will begin to take shape."
Jaysus. To the person who composed this email (not the person who sent it my way) I say the following:
1) 6 Minutes?! Shit! With all the other chain letters you get at least 10!
2) "Unpleasant Surprise"!?! Damn! With all the other chain letters, in failing to continue the chain simply forfeits any benefits you might otherwise reap if you were to comply!
3) Why do you single out people who are not superstitious, not agnostic, and not otherwise faith impared? Are you implying that people who are religious are "faith impared"? What IS faith impaired? Who ARE you?
4) Why can't I spend all I want or sleep all I want, if that's my choice?
5) This is fun? Bothering my friends with inanity? Surely the unpleasant surprise will come if I DO forward this to everyone I know... kind of like that guy from Avcom in Dublin who emailed that chain email about Microsoft paying you to forward the letter on to everyone you know accidentally to everyone in his address book. Dumb ass. (judging from the emailed apology told me that I wasn't the only one who wrote back asking that he didn't clutter my inbox with such nonsense).
And then it reminded me:
"Do not keep this message"
Why the hell not? What if I need the inane list of 21 points in that email that tell me how to live my life to get me through when I get really depressed about my life? What, is my computer going to blow up? Will the FBI flag my email account because I have a message presumably intending that I think freely (if only I follow their directions to a tee)? If I keep the message, will I be plagued by the notion that I once had faith in the world but now I'm not so sure because this email presumes that (since I haven't passed it on) I am faith impaired? Oooh. I'm suddenly afraid. Religion, or spirituality, is too heavy a subject to be contemplated over a vodka and tonic on a lazy Sunday evening.
Anyway, I hate chainmail almost as much as I hate that funny looking couple on the train who sit together like they're conspiring. Every morning, they look at me boarding the carriage and then start whispering to each other. I know they're judging me. They look like brother and sister. Assholes.
More to come. I smell a chicken roasting and my boyfriend is lonely.
3 comments:
Moll!
Glad you're jumping aboard the blogger bandwagon again. It's the surest way to a book deal these days, ya know?
And thanks for not sending me that chainletter email. I don't quite understand why people ever send me that stuff. Don't they know what a cynical ass I am?! Don't they know it will only make me blind and drunk with rage?!
Speaking of which, are you concerned about the increase in Stella Artois's advertising? Now, I like a good Belgian lager as much as anyone (in fact I've enjoyed many this long hot summer,) but I'm worried that all these artsy little faux European film/ads that they are running and the increased billboardage they are buying means that they're "hardcharging" or making an advertising "power move" or something. I just don't feel comfortable about it. Not one bit.
Hmm... Stella Artois is such a fundamental lager here, I can't really say I feel uneasy about their power moves or their hard charging or anything because we are virtually swimming in it. However, I am surprised to hear that they are a household name over there now... that's new.
Don't worry. At least you don't have competeing lagers/pilsners/swillbuckets to the degree that we have:
Stella Artois - The Arty One
Harp - The Home Brew
Carlsberg - So Good, The Danes Can't Help But Send It All Here
Budweiser - Beer For Football Worldwide (Association AND NFL football)
Rolling Rock - Can't Find PA On The Map But You Know Our Rolling Rock
Coors Light - For People Who Don't Drink
MGD - For People Who Don't Drink Coors or Bud.
C'mon...send it on, beeyatch. I'll rip it to shreds in my teeth, piss on the pieces in midair and then use my howling cynicism to blow the piss-soaked shreds of such chain-madness right back down the interweb into the homes of the faith impaired so that they may cower on their knees in awe of my mighty verbiage.
In spades.
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