As of this writing, I find myself in something of a malaise; a by-product of the approaching holidays, another case of writer's block and my own surly nature. But fear not, lone stalwart reader, for this too shall pass. In fact, I may very well follow this post with a flurry of excitable dispatches, culled from my scattered imagination and vast reservoirs of pocket lint. Or not. Whichever the case, know that this silly little web address is never very far from my mind. Neither is it the unavoidable blinding light that it once was. I guess that makes me a pretty typical blogger - one who's been at it for more than twenty-four months now. Back on the 2 year mark of this site, I chose to forgo the achingly introspective anniversary post - lest I repeat the minutia-laden ramblings of my One Year In edition. Now however, I find myself creatively constipated. While I'll lose the digestive imagery in a second, bear with me while I commence with the enema....
On the eve of 2006, I foolishly deemed it "The Year of Fruition". Instead it turned ou to the "Year of American Idol". I suppose I should have seen it coming, but who knew the three locals trying out for this juggernaut of cheese would actually become (temporary) household names? I didn't. Not that I regret it, mind you. Three trips to Hollywood, hundreds of hours fashioning frothy profiles instead of cranking out crime and grime coverage, plus a few new friends made my Idol collusion more than worthwhile. I just wish I hadn't gotten quite so sidetracked in the process. That said, if Bucky Covington ever needs a biographer, I'm a lock!
Another mistake I made going into 2006 was the assumption that blogging would only get easier. Was I wrong. Having already doled out some of my best cocktail party fodder the year before, I found that blogging - er, writing was HARD! Part of the problem lies in my somewhat narrow scope. I wish not to ever fill these pages with political posturing, pet photos or items from my lunch menu. Instead I've tried to frame everything from a photog's perspective, albeit one who abhors police scanners and cargo pants. But I'm also a student of the David Sedaris School of Witty Memoir. While I've yet to earn my degree, I've received much therapy from delving into my pre-TV past. Occasionally, they're even readable!
Far too often, my thoughts are predicated on a certain visual. I guess that's what I get from staring into a viewfinder all these many moons. I yearn to be one of those writers who can fashion whole universes out of nothing but dustmotes, but for now, nothing gets my noodle bent like a good photo to wrap my ideas around. That explains my affinity for the dated broadcaster shot, pictures I regularly search for on the internets. Were I a savvier sort, I'd obtain the rights and assemble them all in one mother of a coffee table book. For now though, I'll keep scanning the web for these priceless shots, until I'm forced to crack open my box of old save tapes and mine my own endless supply of pictures involving old cameras and questionable wardrobe choices.
For every blog post I write, I read about fifty. Many of these sites center around journalism, be it the kind involving emerging media or antiquated news-type. Both harbor great peril for the verbose lensman - as we behind the lens are supposed to speak with our iris and not our prose. Oopsie! Truth is, I savor the chance to comment on the latest gizmo's effect on the media or the troubled state of all those puffed-up newspaper folk. You would too if you withstood their inter-journalistic derision for as long as I. Trouble is, I have a habit of hurling invectives at complex trends and unsheathing my sword on those unaccustomed to being challenged to a duel by a lowly photog. More times than not, I'm just daydreaming while my fingers dictate the spittle of the bored madman inside my head. I'm not apologizing, mind you - just vowing to do a better job of staying on point in the future. Wish me luck!
Speaking of luck, I've had plenty of it this year. Some of my better posts have been picked up by far more traveled sites than mine and sent my site-meter reeling. This has brought me the eyeballs I crave and it has taught me an important lesson: People Read This Stuff. You'd think I'd know that, but sitting here in my upstairs lair, it's easy to forget this magic box on my desk is connected to the world. Boy, is it. More than a few times these past twelve months, I've logged on to find words I only halfway meant ping-ponging across the greater blogosphere. As a result, I've alienated a few people I see on a daily basis with my late night diatribes. I suppose this would be a fine time to issue a unilateral apology to these fine folks, but quite frankly, that notion reeks of horseshit and that's one odor I'm unwilling to foist on the three people still reading this admittedly wordy screed.
In closing, I just wanna say thanks. These inconsequential pixels have helped me deal with countless persoanl and professional issues over the past two years. Knowing that others may take a little time to soak in my bloat is very rewarding. Just don't hold me to every word, wouldya? Nine times out of ten I'm so jacked-up on the wife's good coffee, you're lucky I think to hit spell-check, let alone search my feelings for the unadulterated truth. But that's what a blog is for, right?