When I check for reader comments on a blog, I read and reread my own work to see if it could have been written better, or was worthless altogether. The worthless test may be pointless, since a blog is almost by definition an open diary and therefore its own reason to exist. However, so much has been said about self-absorbed soap-boxers dumbing down the web with worthless dribble, one has to wonder if one's actions add to the pap. Then again, does one really care? Merrily I roll along...
How did I come up with those musings from the 15th? Well, the first one is about food, 'nuff said. Oh for the good old days when so many foods were cooked in animal lard, like bacon grease. Eggs cooked in the leftover bacon grease were great but probably the poster child for a coronary (cholesterol, nitrosamines and fat--the perfect storm). Once upon a time McDonalds fries cooked in lard were far better than they are now, and I think they are currently the best.
On reflection, the comment about the bench car seats may be a bit chauvinist. Certainly the times were more chauvinistic. In this case, were the girlfriend driving (highly unlikely for the times) you would never see the guy squinched up next to her. But the scenario also includes my nostalgia for the concept of a "date." I am told most young people don't go on dates anymore, instead opting for group activities and only pairing up if/when they decide to "hook up." If that's true I think it's really sad, and they are missing out on a very special part of life.
The last two musings are related. The Thai kid, whose first name was Pote (long "O," silent "E"), lived across the street from me. When I was 9 or 10, he and I snuck one of my dad's Camel cigarettes and took a puff--it was my first and last thank God. I got to thinking there were 4 kids from other countries and were friends. One of them, the kid from the UK, played trombone, which was how I met him. He was actually a Scot named Becker, and when I proudly told him I was half Welsh, I found out that, in general, there is no love lost between the Welsh, English and Scots. After that he liked to call me "welshie," and not in a complementary way, which oddly gave me a very mild taste of what racism is like--and I didn't like it. Now that I think about it, he wasn't much of a friend.
Anyway, Becker was a trombonist, actually second trombone in the school band; I was third trombone and my friend who took me to concerts, Bob (he of the cute older sisters), was first. In all honesty, the rankings were accurate because I never practiced at home and it showed. But once upon a time... we had to learn the Welsh National Anthem! Feeling some pride, I practiced that tricky piece til I could play it without the sheet music, and quite well as it happened. Our cantankerous music teacher (putting it nicely, he had a temper) occasionally arranged the musicians by pop tests, and he tested us on this piece. I blasted away both Bob and Becker and became first trombone for quite a while (until the next pop test, that is). Bob was a good friend and his family were good people. I wouldn't mind looking him up one day.
So, to be honest, I am trying to blog more often and therefore topics may be weak. Going back to the question of worthless or not, are each of us worthy of a web-autobigraphy? Apparently, the blogosphere says YES!!!
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