Wednesday, September 13, 2006

dead air

Things are not well, are they, all told. I hesitate before churning out all the inner woes, because blogs are essentially vantiy toys for the bored. I trawl through other blogs in moments of boredom, and as I suspected they are either generally interesting (the minority), or deadly dull (the vast, huge, largest majority). I spotted a lot of "round robin" style blogs from career women desparate to give daily updates on how India and Xavier are doing at the Fluffy Bunny School for the Dull and Deadly. Maybe the point is to go one further than the "round robin", and to go for on-line wars - soon little Tykes are forced to have chat room sessions with French teachers on Mayotte.
Strange dream this morning. A good friend of mine, and me, on a coach, which speeded up through an urban landscape and splattered itself (and us) against the tarmac. This followed a scene in which I was shot at by a crazed gun-man at a traffic light junction not to far from where I live. No wonder the calming tones from the World Service jolted me when I eventually woke. No car crashes on the way in, just the dullard new starter at work sending inappropriate emails on her third day. From IT to HR in a swift tap of the enter key.
As for friends - eep, I could find myself typing for days. I thank whoever above for the "hard copy" diaries, in which I can be sure of putting the world to rights without being traced. Just remain in a state of confusion about certain things, and this seems to tie in with the news story concerning lads stuffing themselves with pills because of the number of "six packed gym types" shown on TV and elsewhere. A teacher at my school called it "porn envy", but that was my school, before the National Curriculum took complete control. At just under 10stone, and with a beer filled pot-belly, I recognise the concern that may be felt, but I have no desire to a) spend my free time pumping iron, or b) spend my spare money on dodgy muscle building who-knows-what. Such feelings, from so many young men, are the unspoken concern, the secret no-one wants to speak about because women are the only sex who are supposed to feel insecure about their looks. On the male side, it is never taken seriously, and it really should.
Gonna scoot... I was going to spend a while skirting round danger zones, but not sure I could.