You may recall that I have observed in the past a certain thing I’ve discovered about blogging — you can either get out and learn stuff and have experiences worth blogging about, or you can blog. There’s not enough time in 24 hours to do both. Way existential, no?
It’s a lot easier to blog from my office, just based on the stream of information that goes by me on Al Gore’s highway in the course of a normal day, publishing editorial pages. When I manage to pull myself out of that rut and actually go out and experience life as I did back in the 70s as a reporter, my mind will be on fire with ideas, things I want to tell everyone — but work that has to be done just piles up, and when I get back I have less time to share those observations than I would have.
And just so you know, I don’t have time to blog at all, whether I go out or not. What you read here is a result of my dysfunction, my obsession, my impulse. A lot of people seemed offended that I asked clinically about the "impulse" that leads to libertarianism (that’s liberanism to you, bud). Don’t be so touchy. I know from impulses. There is little more to me than a tangled mass of such — or so I sometimes suspect.
Anyway, here I am on vacation (which is why I didn’t post yesterday), and I find myself sitting in a more-or-less deserted, out-of-the-way coffee house where the Internet access is free (unlike some places I could mention) — a place that is actually a front for another business entirely (I’ll explain if you like, but I think I’ve mentioned it before), which is why they don’t care that I’m the only customer right now — while my wife and granddaughter are out wasting their time on the seashore (pah!), picking through some video I shot the other day.
So here it is.
Maybe it’s not quite enough to win my vote at this point in the contest, but Hillary Clinton at least got my attention by being the first presidential candidate within my memory to mention my hometown — which, of course, happens also to be Marian Wright Edelman’s hometown (Sen. Clinton’s context), and Hugh McColl‘s, and all sort of other people we are more or less proud to know (sorry, I couldn’t find a good link to something about Jack Lindsay for the word "less").
Now, I think I might wander back to the family compound and see what’s in the fridge… and then I might do something really important, like watch that final episode of "Firefly" that never aired. I’ve been saving it, knowing there will be no more after the cancellation, and the movie not being that big a hit, but I’m going to watch in anyway. I’ll let you know if I learn anything bloggable from it.