QOTD: "Blogs of people who I
read years ago when the online writing metaphor was new
but now just seem to be rehashing their same old subjects
entry after entry: Gone. " -- John
Scalzi on losing his
accumulated bookmarks
That's it exactly. There's only so
much to say about how everybody is blaming the Internet
for the end of western civilization when they should be
blaming a sudden upsurge in gardening, too many SUVs, and
the lack of sidewalks. There's only so much -- even less
"much" -- to say about the 10,000 ways the Red Sox will
break your heart. And what's left to say about kingbirds,
short-eared owls, gull behavior, and the inner lives of
bait fish? There's not even anything really new to say
about war and peace or the New England weather. The only
new thing to say about coffee is how scary it is that now
that Brazil
has decoded the coffee genome
they're working on producing super coffee. There is
nothing new to say about art, and furthermore there is no
new art to be created.
On the expedition to Lowell (there
I go rehashing Lowell) chronicled in the
tale of the lucky tires,
the Hermit Potter and I scoured the art supply store for
the specific art supply that would make us talented. What
happens if you do a socialist realism painting or an
impressionist painting with Expressionist brand supplies?
Does the canvas implode? At least the Hermit Potter has
not chosen photographing New England as his mode of
expression. You see, it is impossible to take a
photograph of any New England subject that is not a
cliché. It's quite possible that's why I have been
so reluctant to pick up the camera again even though I
can in fact hold it steady in both hands now and have
been able to for months. An alien from Planet
We-Don't-Got-Trees could arrive here in the best October
foliage season of all time and yet every photograph the
alien takes will be be a rehash of a rehash of a rehash
of all the images of New England in October ever
produced. Weeping Red Sox fans surrounded by autumn
leaves, ripe pumpkins, and jugs of cider standing outside
a white church and a red barn and a red brick mill
building reflected in the still waters of the no longer
in use canals or where the canals used to be... insert
standard New England image here...
I encountered my cousin in Stop
& Shop yesterday. He asked if I still had my feet on
the ground and still lived in the same condo. "Yeah",
says I, "I've still got my feet stuck in the mud. I'm
having tomatoes for supper." That's probably a rehash of
the same conversation with the same cousin who lives
around the corner from me but I see less and less. He
even plays golf with a former golfing buddy of one of my
brothers. When there are onlyl 437 people in the world,
you're bound to run into the same ones over and over
again but do you have to have the same desultory
conversation with them? All 437 of them?
Two barn swallows just flew by
outside the window , then two more, then another one.
What's new to say about barn swallows?
Online writing is a metaphor for
life in New England. That's it exactly.
