back alley

Across the street, somewhere between the 24th and 26th floor of the western side of 6th avenue there is a lady who eats too much. I am not a peeping tom, and I don’t really know this individual. In fat, our paths have never crossed though I am certain that if they did on the street I would recognize her by the way her entire face is stretched back with a pony tail that is far far too tight for any human face.

I an most certainly not judging her. I mean, what right do I have to judge her? after all, if she wants to keep eating herself to death, what business is it of mine? if she really feels like her life would be far more complete with the cupcake making it’s slow, lumbering metabolic journey from her fridge to her ass, what is it to me?

I am just stating that there is a fat, obese, disgusting lady across the street. And that when I sit down to write I find it awfully distracting that she keeps making that short journey from the couch in front of her TV to that fridge. I mean, for fuck’s sake, if you are going to make that trip every 20 minutes, and if this is really the only form of exercise you are going to get throughout your day, would it not be just as simple to move the fridge to the living room and avoid the hassle altogether?

Anyways, that is not the point. The point is that I am here to start my first entry in a whole new blog, which is a rather significant task. I mean, I have posted on blogs before, so I realize the crucial element of getting a good start. Every blog needs a direction, and the first post in a blog could really be the first step towards virtual obscurity or phenomenal success. but with that said, would you not be bothered by a women who sits across the street in some Chelsea apartment and wastes away the perfectly good opportunity of living a meaningful, significant, productive life? of being an integral part of society? of stepping from the sidelines and actually taking part of the game?

I know…I know you must be thinking that it is completely pretentious of me to judge her. I know you are thinking that this cliche understanding of life as a gift we are obligated to experience rather than a quality we can afford to waste has been done and stretched and chewed over more times than an outback rib stake. And it has! Which is why it is frustrating to see people who still spend all of their time in front of a silly box with flashing lights trying to interact with the world without ever leaving the house or actually speaking to anyone but the reflection of themselves in the stainless steel door of the fridge. Right? Right!

Well, back to the original point, which was the writing of a first entry in a new blog. I always felt as though a blog is a clear and true representation of one’s self. After all, when expressing one’s thoughts, aspirations, dreams and perhaps even fears you are subjecting yourself to the judgment of the rest of the world. Of people you have never met and probably never will. Of Joe Shmoe in Bumblefuck Alabama who is tired of shooting beer bottles in the back yard. Of some bleach blond barbie who is recovering from the latest in a series of surgeries designed to make her look even more barbie-esque. Of some lady in Manhattan who seems completely disinterested in the outside world and who’s sole existence and connection with the outside world rests in the flimsy hands of a 16 pizza delivery guy. Seriously…what is theis lady thinking? you read about people like that, who die from cardiac arrests and are only found three weeks later because some neighbor passed by the door and got a whiff of the rotting flesh that in the meanwhile has been eaten by her five cats. Of these people who spend their entire days cooped up in the cardboard boxes that are NY apartments either waiting for the apocalypse, wishing for the apocalypse or planning the apocalypse. Regardless, there is always an apocalypse involved with her type, and that is never a god thing.

Crap, I am off the subject again. Right- writing your first entry. Well, there is really no science to it. I guess the trick is to find something that binds people. that connects them. Something that will be translatable to anyone and everyone who may or may not read or want to read what you have to say. And that can be anything, really. One can write about sports. About cars. About global politics and the demise of the patriarchal family structure in traditional Islamic states of central Asia. About chicks. About the economy. About computers, coffee and the bad combination that is the van diagram of the two meeting. I find that the best blogs are about nothing and everything. That the most interesting things come from people who are creative, talented, multi-faceted and eloquent. Most of all, it comes from people who are aware. Who have a different point of view and are talented enough to share it with others in an inciting, original way. Who understand the minutia of life and who care about expressing it just as much as they care about life changing affirmations, CNN headlines or late night epiphanies that reveal themselves when you are all alone in the dark.

Those who write about their cab ride. And how their team sucks. And how looking for a job is a nightmare that involves constant compromise and never ending malaise. Of traffic and the Iranian nuclear threat. Of anything, really, which includes one obese lady who is now staring right back at me from across the street.