the name for this site was carefully chosen. i didn't elect to name it as i have only because i have always been a picker of things and just happened to have the etymological wherewithal to know the name of my obsession. this journal is about picking at the blights of everyday life.
face it, folks: on the whole, our days are filled with hurdling the annoying obstacles of humanity. isn't that the fodder for every comedian worth his or her salt? who's leaving the oscars saying,
"that chris rock sure is one major negatron bomber. dude's gotta lighten up! look at how, like, rich and successful he is. his material would be much more funner if he talked about how kickass he has it! cheese-and-rice, what a f*cking downer, man! i hate chris rock!"
i love laughing. i love human nature. i love the idea that our perception of everything is absolutely relative to our own personal experiences [mad props to my sixth-grade english teacher, mr. panitch, for teaching me that life-wisdom]. i love that the world is filled with eleventy-jillion varieties of freakshow. you know what else? i love looking at all of it with a magnifying glass, just like i loved looking at pondwater in my microscope when i was little [yeah, i was that kid]. humanity, warts and all, is fascinating, hilarious, and exasperating at the same time. i'd love to master it, to know how to grip its reins and ride it without getting bucked off, but even the best rider gets saddle sores.
on the topic of mastery, there seems to be a no one's perfect motif in the commentary as of late that i wanted to address, too. for the record, allow me to acknowledge that perfect does not exist.
no one is perfect.
nothing is perfect or, for that matter, normal.
we're just all students of the earth, trying to learn as much as we can. i don't sit around, finding ways to decimate everyone's character all day long. i'm sad to know some of you think i do. i'm sorry and i don't.
lastly, consider the journal. whether it be the lowly hello kitty diary with shoddy locking mechanism hidden between the mattresses, the elegant livre which oprah anoints regularly with expensive ink, or a nationally acclaimed techno-snazzy blog, the writer is driven by the desire to expel mindchatter. the journalist feels relief giving thoughts words, just as the churchgoer feels peace reciting prayer aloud and the recovering addict stands before a room of strangers and recounts her last harrowing episode.
if you want to write about how wonderful everything in the world is, how every person you encounter each day touches your life in a magical way, how you were overcome with joy gazing at the reflection that is the glory of your pink puckered rectum in the toiletwater this morning, i encourage you to explore that desire. otherwise, when you find a blog that satisfies your need to read someone else's endlessly warm and fuzzy musings, be sure to send me the link, wouldja?