I like to pen a blog on a Monday but nothing is suggesting itself as wanting any sort of a ‘treatment’. I’ve only got snippets of thoughts. Not truly a writer’s block, just a dearth of inspiration. And that got me to thinking, or asking: Why do I do this at all?
Well, I think it’s primarily due to the fact I was a columnist for over two decades and even though I wrote my last column for publication years ago. The need to ‘turn something out’ gets in your blood and becomes part of your DNA, and like assorted hungers (namely food and sex) it periodically demands to be fed.
So, that’s where I am today: Hungry but unable to access mental sustenance.
Snippets of ideas have come to mind but none demanded to get a full treatment. As follows are items I thought might make worthy blogs, but lack of ambition or imagination seem to have quelled offering much more than a comment. So, brief comments are all I got:
– Magazines: I had noticed over the years that Wendy rarely picks up a mag, let alone buy one. Sometimes I’ll hand her an article and she’ll read it, but it’s not a voluntary impulse or a satisfaction of a need. I grew up in the golden age of magazines. In my childhood we got Life, Time, National Geographic and the Saturday Evening Post in the mail. When I became an adult and had moved past Mad and comic books I discovered National Lampoon, Playboy (of course, but just for the articles, y’see), Esquire (which used to be better) and Vanity Fair. Still read VF, though sometimes it’s unworthy. Still glance at Time, though it’s barely a shell of Henry Luce’s flagship, and Newsweek has gone digital, so screw Newsweek.
– Fly the fiendish skies: Glanced at a newspaper article this morning that told the tale of how Chinese air passengers are going apeshit at airports and attacking airline staff due to intolerable delays. Good to hear. I hope it catches on. It’s about time the public started retaliating for the insults and inconvenience and general wretchedness that aerial travel has become.
– American Graffiti (sort of): Went down yesterday to look at the magnificent vehicles – hotrods, customs, dragsters and the ilk in all their candy-apple red and green flaked livery and sporting the mammoth engines that go with the territory, all of it chrome delectability. And I noticed that most of the vehicle owners – those who had painstakingly created these bits of automotive brilliance – were old geezers like me. In other words, guys who had grown up in the era of American Graffiti . Scarcely a young buck in sight among the owners. Sad, that. Sad that a generation doesn’t know that the throbbing rumble of a Lakes pipe enhanced exhaust at the tail-end of a ridiculously overpowered engine can produce a better orgasm than an encounter with a 17-year-old girl will do.
– Royal bairn: Has been done to death by everybody and I refuse to go there ever again.
And that’s it. That’s all she wrote.