Saturday, March 12, 2005

Ya, that's me. My triumphant photo entrance into the blogosphere. Definitely the best picture taken last night. The girls were playing with my hair. I was going all Krameresque yesterday.

But today it was too nice to sit at home. It's march and it should be cold and snowy but it's 65 and I'm feeling pretty alive. Sometimes you just have to break the cycle of roomates and classmates and sorority girls. Sometime you have to remind yourself that there's something going on outside of your own existence. It's happening down the block and across the street and even in the house next to you. So I ventured out alone and onto the bus. Down to the pedestrian mall. Just to see new faces. Too see kids playing and smiling. To see Street performers with flaming pins and people asking for money. So many of the greatest works were written by loners. But they weren't always written about being alone.

I found my place in the crowd. Wandering. Remembering that a community is more than just a bunch of weblogs linking back and forth between each other into infinity. That most people want to feel like they're a part of someplace, some group with real faces and sounds and emotions. Then I found myself snuggled away in the corner of the bookstore paging through magazines. Today's reading list included Utne Reader, The New Republic, SKI, and even People Mag. It's all about diversity.

Ironically, the comfortable corner in the magazine section is right in front of the sports rack. All those people walk by probably thinking I'm reading about skateboards and bodybuilding while I'm pondering the future of religious fundamentalism. That's fine, let them think whatever. But it does get in the way of my fantasy. The one where some pretty girl sits down on the bench nearby reading something similar. And smiles at me. And we chitchat about what we're reading. I'd make some stupid joke. And she would indulge me.

I've had plenty of smart girlfriends but it never fails that whenever I take them to the bookstore, as soon as I sit down they grab the latest issue of Cosmopolitan or Glamour or whatever other beauty magazine they can get their hands on. These girls were valedictorians and honors students and on full scholarships. But they weren't peeking over my shoulder at The Economist. So when Maureen Dowd complains about being a rare breed, I don't know if I can point the finger at editors right away. Damn, I was going to write about editorials. So it goes.


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