Well, I'll be. For some reason, I now have a weblog. I woke up this morning and didn't have a blog, and now I do. My best friend's 70 year old father has a blog, and now I have a blog. Blog.
It happened like this. This morning was Sunday, and I woke up and thought, "this is the kind of day it was when Gatsby got shot." I read The Great Gatsby this spring for the second time (or if you don't count high school, for the first time--or if you believe reading something in high school cancels out the adult reading of the book, the 0th time). One of the things I like about The Great Gatsby is that, like early Bruce Springsteen records, it provides mile markers for the summertime. For instance, I'll think to myself, say around the first of June, "this is a good night for a Gatsby party," or on a rainy day in midsummer, "this is a nice day for Gatsby and Daisy to meet," or in late August "this is the night Myrtle Wilson gets hit by Tom's big yellow convertible." This morning, I decided was the sort of day to find Gatsby floating face down in his swimming pool (kind of warm, but not confidently so, a bit overcast, but not the robust haze of August).
Anyway, I wanted to write that down, and so I decided to start a blog.
Other things happened today: Odessa was cranky and teething, an appointment was cancelled, I went downtown after the Georgia-LSU football game to smell the barf and look at the blond lady handcuffed by the police outside the UGA t-shirt store. I went to the library to get a bunch of Dr. Seuss books and paid the librarian $12 in late fees. I thought for about an hour on what to call this blog, and I decided to write down every one of my ideas and pick one at random. Not the best one, in retrospect, but better than "res ipsa loquiter."