The house is quiet today. I plan to make up for that by posting my longest single entry to this blog -- up to today. Who knows. Some pressing matter might require gargantuan space in the future.
Part One -- Clay Outlines His Self-Referential Aims
I'm going to be adding to the post over time, and publishing at intervals. I realize that somehow violates the sanctity of the single post, the single long post, but I can't risk losing the entire thing because my browser has been inactive for too long, or something trivial like that.
I also don't want to compose the entry in Word, because that's lame. Actually, so is the entire concept, but why should I let that stop me?
Am currently reading a story about something vague and financial. It involves development funds. I'd say that since I started my life in journalism, about a third of everything I've read has involved development in suburban communities and related craziness.
I'm sure these sorts of things matter to the folks who live next door to "The Oaks at Wingate," or whatever unimaginative name is affixed to a building project. And newspapers do them a service with comprehensive coverage of such sprawl. But otherwise ...
Part Two -- Clay Muses on the Cosmic Importance of Receipts
Pay no attention to the "Parts" dividers. They serve no purpose other than breaking up the trail o' text.
Oh my God. The vague and financial story included the term "millage." Pardon me while I fall asleep.
[Clay makes faint burbling sounds and has a pleasant dream about Pokemon.]
OK, done with that. Next step: Caffiene.
Mmmmm. Nothing like a liter of lightly chilled Diet Mountain Dew. That should get me mildly excited for the evening's activities. Oh, I haven't finished the liter yet. No sir. I've only just started. It should last me for the next hour or so.
I've started drinking these liter-sized jugs o' drink all the time. At one point, I was ingesting way too much caffeine. I would have two or three of the liter jugs, topped off with some 20-ounces, a can or two, and a shot of Diet Red Bull. It pretty much turned me into a shaking, stuttering wreck.
I've cut back, but I'm still drinking the liters. They mean I don't have to visit the drink machine that often (except in awakeness emergencies).
Part Three -- Clay Travels to Ancient Egypt
The books on my desk:
Florida Almanac 2002-2003
The Synonym Finder
Lapsing Into a Comma -- Bill Walsh
The New York Times Almanac 2003
The Careful Writer: A Modern Guide to English Usage -- Theodore M. Bernstein
Words on Words -- John B. Bremner
The Associated Press Stylebook -- 2001
The Associated Press Stylebook -- 1977
The Copy-Editing and Headline Handbook -- Barbara G. Ellis
Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 10th Edition
Webster's New World Dictionary, 4th Edition
Part Four -- A Scandal In Bohemia
So you're asking at this point (as is some dark, frothing part of my brain), why even bother with this? It's clear you're just stringing together what would be a bunch of separate posts on any other day.
And I respond (as does some sunnier, more drug-affected part of my brain) that I'll do what I want. Thanks.
I still don't understand my phone at work, though.
I was given a poorly photocopied sheet of instructions when I started at the Tampa Bay area daily newspaper, and I suppose the expectation was that the poorly photocopied sheet of instructions would give me all the information I needed to work the phone. Which they didn't and they don't.
They're still there under the phone, over the bay, taunting me as I sit here at home, insinuating I'm not enough of a man to comprehend their poorly photocopied truths. They may taunt me, but I will not rise to their bait. I will not allow poorly photocopied directions to run my life. Nossir.
Yet the phone persists. It still has a greeting from the previous person to have my number. Sometimes, people leave me messages. I can't listen to them, of course, because they're in this previous person's voice mailbox. The little red light on the phone telling me I have a message is still lit, though.
It will stay lit for several days, then go out. The message will float off into the ether. And I will be happy.
Part Five -- An Investigation into the Medicinal Qualities of Herb Extracts
It's about 8 p.m.. In a bit, I'll start my evening rounds of the neighborhood. But before then, some random comments:
The dog chewed up my cell phone antenna a couple of weeks ago. I have restored it with tape. It does not look just like new. It does not look new at all. It looks as though I have wrapped tape around my cell phone antenna.
I have created an anthropomorphic copy editing mascot named Prickly, the copy editing porcupine. He will shortly star in his own Saturday-morning cartoon show on the WB.
Meat Loaf as a dish is much less overwrought than the singer.
I have always sort of wanted to ride in a hot air balloon. It seems as though it would be neat.
Part Six -- Paradise by the Dashboard Light
Things have been busy today. I intended to devote far more time to this monumental post. However, that seems like so many good intentions, pipe dreams, and other such cliches right now.
I'll include some more random observations to finish it all up:
Who is this guy, and why should I care?
Stress is good food.
I always liked the Transformers. There's more than meets the eye with them, you know. Plus, their movie had Eric Idle and Orson Welles in it.
Subjectivity and objectivity are both pretty boring.
I believe in plastic.
Part Seven -- Clay and the Wizard in Oz
So was this all worth it, in the end?
You know, when you add up the columns of little numbers and see what result they give you. Did the conceit pan out? Was the result truly a product of the effort?
Admittedly, my long-form prose work varies. This is from a guy who wrote a novel when he was in middle school. It's true. I did write a novel when I was in middle school. But it wasn't overly gripping.
An excerpt:
"Pete sat at his desk, feeling nervous. Today was the day he was supposed to trip Kimberly. He didn’t know why he was mixed up in all of this, but he really wanted out. How could he leave it, though?
"Jeremy appeared in the classroom doorway and walked towards Pete. Pete glanced around, hoping a trap door would suddenly open up and he could escape through it. No trap door opened.
"Jeremy stood next to him now. Pete looked up and smiled weakly. Jeremy gave a small, cold grin. “In four minutes,” he said, “you’ll be by the water fountain. Eventually Kimberly will walk by on her was to class, and you’ll trip her. Got it?”
"Pete began to change. The doubt that had collected inside him for days changed to anger, anger that Jeremy tried to control him like this."
Yeah. So.
Maybe this whole "longest blog thing ever" thing was a mistake.
But perhaps it was a brilliant meta-blog thing thing.
It's all a mystery. In the end.
You know.