Satiragram

I want nothing more at this point in my life than for people to know I can do things on my own, without so much as a prompt, and you should behold me in the hospital, turning my head and coughing before the physician’s attendant can even open her mouth. It usually remains open, long after I’m redressed and rehabilitated.

I rarely enter contests, not because I disbelieve in them, but rather because I often win. And if you know me, you know that I believe I do not deserve my winnings. Have you ever driven home and in the middle of your daydream one of the characters in your reenactment uses a word, say ‘vanity,’ and it triggers a memory of a wrong you once committed?

‘Damn it all to hell,’ is my usual response in this situation. Uttered no fewer than 5 times each day during my commute.

Guiltily, I must admit I recently won a contest. Don’t get me wrong, I am always extremely grateful when a nicety has been delivered upon me, however undeserved. And I look forward to giving Alex her new iPod Nano, dressed in my BubbleShare t-shirt. Sporting a copy of Robert Scoble’s book (I had never heard of the guy before a couple of weeks ago, when I was suddenly inundated with 1 billion hits from his website.) A DVD titled Startup.com. A backup tee from Tucows.

And a free domain name.

I’ve chosen satiragram.com.

It’s ‘margaritas,’ spelled backwards.

I should have known I would win. Alex’s hands get itchy every time before we turn into some money. And it always works. My hands are usually itchy as well.

But only ‘cause I’ve worked my kidneys over but good.

ON BLOGGING

She and she and she have stopped blogging and my life really is worse for it. I cannot make them start up again, and god knows I’ve got no right to expect this bit of happiness to continue, but I always cut myself a little slack for my past transgressions when they wrote. I don’t watch television. My life is wrapped up into anonymous words. I’ve recently taken up residence inside my head. The view is lousy. The place a mess of books and scratched hardwood floors.

Occasionally, I visit sites whose authors somehow put me off. But I don’t leave nasty comments, in spite of my joking to the contrary. And occasionally, people who do not like me stop by my site and refrain from depositing the nastiness I no doubt deserve. And though we might never be friends, I actually respect these IP anonyms.

More than they might ever know.