More Indiscriminate Blustering

I've got too many blogs. It's the result of some mania (among many) that I've failed to reign in. Anyway, some of them are just going to disappear. Not the domains. Not my crime blogs. But, I've started some other blogs that I just can't devote my energy to. Political blogs. If I get political, I'm not going to devote a whole blog to it --at least not now. I haven't even updated this blog in nearly 4 months. And this blog, this is just a brain dump. Not that I keep all of that matter contained in one tidy place. But, I guess I'll keep this blog. But, some of those others. They've got to go. I've got domains I haven't updated in years. There's photos of me on some that don't even look like me. So, I might update that stuff someday. Or not.

I'm trying to write a novel. I started it back in 2003, maybe 2002. Then bad stuff happened. I didn't pick it up again until just recently. I was surprised at the eerily prophetic nature of some of the imagery in the chapters I had written back then. Not the plot. Not the action. Some of the scenes were just ominous in a way that scenes I have seen or pictured since have been. I know that doesn't make any sense, especially since I'm not revealing what I'm actually referring to, but it's true. I think that it has more to do with geography and other common themes than any precognition. People who grow up in rural areas live in very much the same way. Their experiences are bound to be the same in little ways. They say one's first novel is autobiographical. That may be true in some ways. I have put a lot of myself into the characters. The book takes place in familiar territory. But, it's not about my life. I'm not that great of a sharer when it comes to my life. (And, in case you know me: You're not in the book. Don't interrogate me. If and when it's published, you can buy a copy. I might even sign it. :) )

I started the Facebook thing a while back. I'm trying to be more interactive with the thing, and not be such a gadget snob. I don't understand all these apps. Flowers. Candy. Virtual stuff. I mean, I wouldn't give you this stuff in real life. And you wouldn't give me this stuff in real life. So why are people I don't even know sending me virtual gifts? I don't get it. I've also discovered that some of those that were kind enough to extend their friendship don't get that I don't get it. So, I get virtually "dumped" as a friend. It's very disconcerting. Of course, they may have dumped me because of an obnoxious joke. I do have a way of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Sometimes I say the wrong thing at the right time. it really doesn't matter. It's as if I've discovered a whole, new way to be socially awkward. I can make people dislike me, even if they've never met me. It's not intentional. I'm not refusing to be social. It's just that I limit my social interaction to things I am comfortable with. Things like words. I can understand words. They're familiar. The note things. The quizzes. The other stuff. O.K., Once in a while, quizzes are actually fun. I mean the note quizzes. Not the stuff where you have to sign up to some app or something. I mean, and I can try to be friendly, but I really don't want to complicate that interaction with technology and surrendering my information to third party service providers. Paranoia? Yes...

So, now I sound all whiny and snobbish. Why would anyone bother to "friend" me on Facebook, anyway? I don't know. I'm not trying to be a snob; I'm just trying to not be someone that I'm not. I like people. That is why I do what I do. That is why I write about crime. I know that there are people out there that care just as much about what happens in this world as I do. I know that there are people that believe in justice and people that care about our children. So, while I might not send you a virtual cupcake, I'm glad that you chose to "friend" me on Facebook, and I appreciate that you thought enough of me to do so. The same goes for Twitter. I don't want to be in the "Mafia." But, I'll read your twits, and maybe you can read mine. And another thing: I don't have over 800 followers because I'm a popular, outgoing kind of guy. I followed people back and some of those happened to be twitters that were on twitter just to follow people back. So now, it's extremely difficult to keep up with the people I'm actually familiar with, as they can become lost in the jumble of marketers and gurus and web-weirdos that have accumulated due to my follow-back policy. Well, that policy is being reconstructed. I don't want to spend my days vetting twitters to weed out the porn stars and spammers.

Michael Jackson is dead. When I was a kid, I thought his music was cool. Billie Jean. Thriller. But, then he went around sleeping with little boys, and then, the magic just kind of died. I don't care that he was acquitted. He admitted that he had pajama parties with little boys. I don't care if if that's the only thing that made him happy. It's not about him. It's about the kids. And their kids. So, I'm not crying. For me, Michael Jackson died a long time ago.

Farrah Fawcett. Every boy in the world was in love with that chick. She was an American icon. There is tragedy. Life, and the people in it, can get the best of you, no matter who you are. Goodbye, Farrah.

Ed McMahon. You never did know on my door. That beware of dog sign. That was for the burglars. I guess you'll be sliding over on that sofa now, making room for more guests. Those nights as a kid, staying up to watch the Tonight Show. Those were the days.

This month also saw the death of Ko Ko Taylor, the Queen of the Blues. To me, and to many others, he was the female version of Howlin' Wolf. I bet she pitches one hell of a Wang Dang Doodle.

That's it for now. I've shaken as much loose stuff as will fall out of my cranium. The rest is still hanging on by a thread. Maybe I'll hit this blog again in 3 or 4 months.