read (read red)

I don't have many readers for this blog. I don't really care about that, either.

There are a select few people who know this is in existence - despite its being searchable, but nevertheless, my enormous vocabulary and irresistible wit have drawn a few readers along the way.....one of whom I don't necessarily understand or want in my vast fan base.

Now the funny thing here is, the person to whom I refer, shows up on my stats with startling regularity. Sometimes three or four times in a single day. Why? We don't speak, nor do I have the desire to, and it skeeves me out every time I see the path name. So why, I wonder, does said person still check in several times a week, to see what I've written?

Perhaps this is the occupational hazard of the burgeoning author. I don't know, I've never penned anything of significance to anyone. I suppose that along the way in an author's life - or any person putting something out for general consumption, there will be people with whom your path has crossed at some point, who found your platform either by invitation, resourcefulness, or chance, and from whose eyes your words cannot escape. 'Cause once it's out there, it's like a fart in the wind. Gone. You can never really keep people from feeling like they know you, or trying to maintain some sort of loose tether to your life.

The saddest part about this is, there is probably someone for whom this is not intended, who will take it personally, by mistake. The actual message however, despite the number of times the blog is checked, today, tomorrow, or next week, will probably not get through for various reasons.

Either way, welcome to the discomfort of abject popularity and rising stardom.

O man, that just cracked me up.

eat, ate, ought

I just returned from London. It was my first trip to the UK, as when I resided in Europe, I always chose to take myself south, to warmer climes, than up to the rain and dreariness that England is known for. Of course this trip was scheduled for October....a month notorious for its sunshine and gentle, embracing breezes.

No matter though. I vini'd, I vidi'd, I vici'd. One thing struck me as insanely curious however. I thought this sort of phenomenon was indigenous to the red states of middle America, but I was stunned to learn, that even though the Brits have a reputation for bad food, the problem is far, far worse than I had originally estimated.

As I have come to understand, the whole of England is fed primarily from two staple ingredients: mayonnaise and bacon. Sometimes together. I cringe even thinking of the food I saw there. Mind you, I did have a few very good meals during my time abroad, however they were meticulously selected from a menu that had been sifted through slowly and carefully. Otherwise, I pretty much just didn't eat. You want a breakfast sandwich? Bacon or Bacon, miss? Lunch? How about a large vat of mayonnaise with some scarcely identifiable bits of "other things" (laced with bacon) in it on a "flaky", butter-soaked roll of some sort? Dinner? Well we've got a nice big pork sausage wrapped in bacon and served with some mayo on the side, with a side of coleslaw topped with bacon bits. Mmmmmmm.

I seriously think this must have been why the whole 'models not eating' thing started with Kate Moss (who is British). She didn't eat because she couldn't, lest she wind up looking like a portly, red-faced tube worker. Adds a whole new spin to how that whole problem started. Between the beer, the mayo and the bacon, the slightest frame could pack on fifteen pounds in a week! No good.

I'm considering changing course completely and moving to London to open up something like a Mexican restaurant. Or maybe just a catch-all kind of place, but with prominent placement of a "no bacon, no mayo, no problem" sign. Yum.