rip allegory

(When in doubt name your blog post after a lo-fi rock song, is what I always say. Or what I say right now. Fwoar.)

So this evening I was biking around, like I do, and thinking about all the crazy smells I encounter on my bike rides, and how I should really start a blog of the crazy smells I encounter on my bike rides, because maybe somehow it would be informative or entertaining or at least as informative or entertaining as that blog where the guy enumerates his sneezes, which I found very diverting that one time when I was home sick. Then disaster struck and my favorite hooded sweatshirt with a screenprinted octopus that allowed my friends to recognize me from many yards away was cruelly torn out of my bike crate and abandoned to the mercy of the elements! RIP, octopus sweatshirt. You are probably sinking in the river or squished under a bus into a thin, matzo-like shirt-wafer now.

In addition to the loss of the octopus hoodie, I just found out that I lost all the content on my muxtape, which I’d finally almost finished. If I do not decide to cast the internet aside in a fit of despair after finishing this post I may add to it tonight, but more likely it will remain blank for some days. Really it was just starting to get pretty good.

(Oh and today, in case you grew curious, the crazy smells I biked through were the Blommer chocolate factory and the Gonnella bread factory somehow intersecting so it smelled like brownies and yeast. Usually they are too far apart; I bike by both every day and have only smelled the two together this time. In my house now it smells like burned oatmeal, because I’m trying my hand at homemade granola and it browned sort of unevenly.)

In other news I still have a blogger’s identity crisis, which is to say I never know what I am writing about here or who I am writing for, which is why I don’t write very much (or, I reckon, very well) here. Also there are a lot of barbecues (which is Midwestern for “cookouts”) and some traveling and some shows and plenty of knitting and biking to occupy my time. I also read a novel for the first time in I’m not even sure how long. It was this novel, and it was excellent.

But and so all that is to say that I would always love to hear about what you would like to see here. I could put more crafty things or photos or rants about how I love indie rock and Chicago or stay the course with vague and dull life-musing. I had a conversation today (online, naturally, although I still feel it should be clarified) about the supposed need of my generation to make itself known in personal weblog form. I’d like to think it goes a little beyond the basest “hey, look at me” type of sharing when I get all up in my wordpress, but I don’t know if that’s quite true. I don’t know if that’s a problem: I don’t want blogging fame or fortune; I don’t want to be that girl (who sort of incited said conversation and whose NYT magazine follow-up Q&A I am linking instead of the original article because I find it more readable and incisive). Basically I do not want to take myself too seriously, here, but I don’t want to quit writing some words into a text box on the internet occasionally, either.

Oh, the internet. It is a magical land where I can find this nonsense to console me for my sad hoodie loss and existential blog uncertainty. It is also a land where I can wish Fred a happy birthday in a semi-public forum despite his being in Russia. Fred’s birthday is this weekend, and he is pretty great. I hope he drinks many a delicious and inebriating beverage to mark the happy occasion.

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