ummm.... time delay

That conviction to post more sort of fell by the wayside.

Oops.

But, here I am. A new meandering of thoughts for those of you reading to process. Thoughts running through my head today include:

1. I have a great article idea for a sports writer to take on. I'd write on, but I don't exactly have the resources. Or patience to write it. But I want to read the article.

2. I'm nearing the end of my guitar lessons. It's been great. And I've loved them. But I need to proactively start thinking about a house. I need to put that $100-$125 a month aside and focus on a down payment for a house.

3. I'm proactively thinking about buying a house one day.

4. One late night a few weeks back, I stumbled across Bridget Jones' Diary. I love this movie. I adore Renee Zellweger in this one role. I love Darcy. I love Hugh Grant as Wick.. I mean Daniel. It amused me to no end that Gauis Baltar or James Callis as he is known when not on Battlestar Galactica is in this movie as Tom.
But as I watched the ending, I got angry. Specifically angry with Darcy. When I first read the book I was about 21 and I thought Bridget was ridiculous. I could not stand her. She was everything that was wrong with how women were perceived. Then I watched the movie when I was about 24 and I thought, hmm... there's something here. I mean, yeah, she's ridiculous. But I have had those nights singing aloud in my home holding a bottle of vodka. And each time I've re-watched it, I've found something to relate to. The career blundering. The ridiculous flirtations at work. The concerns about what my place in this world is. The attempt to reconcile familial insanity with own insanity. The failure to live up to familial expectations. The movie has grown on me.
Except, well, I got angry a few weeks back. Why? Mark Darcy read Bridget Jones' diary. He reads her diary. That's just wrong. It's reprehensible really. And, previously when watching I was just like Bridget - "Oh noesss... I can't believe it. He read her diary. And she said all those awful things about him. I hope she catches up to him and they can have a romantic kiss in the street." But this time around I thought - "Who the fuck does he think he is? Just picking up her diary and reading it like that? What the hell?"
It seems so basic. We have diaries or journals. They are private. Yes, my blog is a journal of sorts. But I've chosen to make it public. And as such there is a lot edited out. I don't give my inner most thoughts here. Those are in my journal. Which sits by my bed on my bedside table. Those thoughts are for me and for me alone. Maybe one day when I am long dead and gone, someone can find some cultural significance. But really, I'm not that opposed to the Jane Austen family tradition of burning letters and journals upon death. If anyone were to read my journal without my permission, I would feel so violated. Even if that person was Colin Firth. Even if that person turned out to be my very own Darcy (although frankly I may be holding out for a Captain Wentworth these days), I'd be hurt. And angry. And would probably run out into the street to find him. But not for a romantic kiss in the street. I'd confront him about how angry I was.

This was my big revelation about Bridget Jones' Diary this summer. I'll probably continue to watch the movie whenever I stumble across it. And maybe I'll ignore this minor moment of irateness. It was late at night after all. But for now, it's a little less than awesome.

5. While I understand the cultural significance of Michael Jackson dying, I'm a bit dismayed at how much media coverage has been taken up by it. His memorial service was one of the main stories on tonight's NBC news with Brian Williams. The 3-4 minute segment came right before a one minute blurb about US soldiers dying in a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. That turned my stomach a bit.

6. I am thinking about buying red lipstick. But I don't know if I can pull it off.

7. I love listening to Todd Snider.

and lastly, 8. I need a vacation. Badly.