Gotta run, no time for fun

I was planning on having a ton of time to write something insightful on some deep topic tonight, but (thankfully) my wife ended up getting home from work early and wants to have a tasty dinner. As such, I don't have the time to write anything really long now, as I sit in my office preparing to head home, and I know for certain my dog, still too exciteable to grant me much free time, will not allow me the time for deep blogging.

And so, something fast and empty, much like so many of my most recent blogging.

It is certainly true that sometimes the well is deeper than others. The last month has found me committed to checking in, but not with much to say. I tend to have more interesting stuff to say in my comments on other blogs than I do here, which saddens me.

Indeed, despite the heavy rains, I'm still suffering a drought, wanting for anything really worthwhile to write about.

And I can tell I'm not interesting. The hits are dropping, and I think for Denise's sake, I need to be uninteresting while she's off on her wedding holiday, so she can get her much-sought 5000th hit on my blog. (So, while we're on the topic, swing by and congratulate her -- soon, she'll be DNT, as opposed to her current initials of DD).

Which is not to say that I live entirely for the numbers my blog generates. I still suffer the same existential quandries I've always had about why I blog, what my blog means in the world, and whether it would be better just to stop blogging and shut the hell up. However, as I've currently decided to continue prattling on into the wind, it is gratifying to see that people are checking (and re-checking) me out, as if what I have to say about anything might mean something to them. It's even better to see comments.

My wife is astounded, by the way, by the whole notion of comments. She read my blog recently, and wondered at the fact that complete strangers comment on other people's stuff. And, when you think about it, that is an interesting aspect in the blogosphere. We're all strangers, yet we're all drawn to each other's writing and feel a need to put our two cents in.

As I read blogs I like, I wonder if they're written by people I'd actually ever hang out with in real life. While I know some of the bloggers I point to, some of them I only know by their writing, and writing isn't the best way to learn about someone, because writers have the luxury of taking time to craft what they're saying so that it is widely digestible and comes off as intelligent (although, the fact that so many people just spew a bunch of crap and hit send, without really having any insights into anything, tells me enough about them to not care if they'd be fun to talk to at a bar).

That said, I'm not really all that eager to meet any of my blog-buddies. I mean, I wouldn't avoid them if I knew them. If I saw a person who looked like Denise, I wouldn't shun them. I saw a person who reminded me of Betsy at the bank last week (granted, I've only seen this picture of her) with a young man learning how to deposit money in a checking account (thought for sure he was The Mogul), and I was ripped with a desire to ask if it was her, although at the same time I realized how outlandish that sort of question might be (I ultimately abandoned the thought as I imagine her to be more of a NE Portland person, while I was in SE). But I'm not the guy who is dying to set up a local bloggers meet-up. The fact is, I'm not sure I want to know people as more than the sum of what they write. As far as you all know from my writing, I might seem funny and deep. Some people who know me might suggest I'm just a crass a-hole. I'd hate to pop the bubble I have imagining how cool all these other people are. I'd rather just admire them from a distance, and let the illusion live.

Whatever. This is taking too long. The Missus just called and ok'd a run to the gym, so I need to get there before dinner gets too late. Besides, not too sure anything I wrote above was even coherent.

Catch ya later.