Lost in the blog fog
The great horned owls in the ponderosa pine trees outside my bedroom window were tuning up at 4:30 this morning. They were hooting, "Who, who, Romney or Gingrich?"
Reminds me of the whippoorwills of the Ozarks, except they were saying, "The end is near. The end is near. The end of your sleep is near."
The only thing between us and that stark raving mad whippoorwill was a thin layer of gabardine — or whatever tents were made of in 1990.
The hooting owls gave me an idea for one more entry in my blog: the importance of sleep —and ear plugs — to fitness.
Welcome to the blogosphere. It’s a great place to visit, except for too many poets.
Blogs today are all the rage. They cover everything from aardvarks to zoology. There is tons of great writing. And tons of garbage. It’s the most writing ever committed that has never been read by anyone outside the author's immediate family.
Being a compulsive writer, I have two blogs going somewhere in the nether reaches of the blogosphere. The first blog is on my second chance at romance — and how to get things right this time. The second blog centers on my challenges in the Younger Next Year program, a sort of Fountain of Youth for old boys and girls obsessed with hearing the waterfall of death somewhere in the distance.
A blog is like a diary. My great-aunt, Lolave, gave me a diary when I was 8 years old. I loved that diary and wrote stuff like, I played Mike basketball. He won 3-2. Then we tried to eat slugs.
My blogs today are more sophisticated. Sure, there is still navel gazing. You can write as little or as much as you want, or even do the blog version of “War and Peace.”
Some blogs have caught on big. Take “The Daily Coyote,” for instance. A 20-something photographer moved to northwest Wyoming and adopted a coyote pup in the middle of sheep country. Every day she’d take a picture of the coyote pup and tell of its antics — and her difficulties in keeping him safe.
“The Daily Coyote” took on a life of its own, with more and more viewers, until finally it was published as a hardcover book.
I told Wonder Woman, my wife, that we should adopt an opossum and report on its antics, possibly get a large following and come up with a bestseller.
She was not amused. She thinks opossums are ugly. So “The Daily Opossum” is not likely to be in my future.
Still, I blog away, collecting words the way other people collect stamps, or bird sightings. The blogosphere is a lonely place, however, without a pet opossum or whippoorwill.