Until I can provide a satisfying answer to the question “Why do you want to be a writer?” I will be on hiatus.
Whenever someone asks the above question, the discussion’s bound to get personal. So let me lay my cards down on the table… or, rather, my CDs.
That’s a lot of Bill Cosby right there. When I say I am (was?) a Bill Cosby fan, I speak as someone who never watched The Cosby Show and never considered Cosby to be my, or even America’s, “dad.” What I do speak from is childhood memory. When our family drove 18+ hour trips to a vacation spot, we’d listen to Cosby to make the voyage easier, to make it resemble family bonding time. The tradition set in soon enough— pull over for gas, get McDonalds, eat our meal on the road while listening to Cosby’s familiar, family-friendly comedy bits. For many years, I had every routine from all our CDs accidentally memorized. Even today, our family will quote from The Chicken Heart, or talk about how Henry Kissinger’s from Alabama, just out of habit. Bill Cosby’s the only comedian we have in our CD collection, for the record (that is not a pun. I don’t want to veer off into more politics than I have to, but regardless of what the Second Amendment says, I do believe in reasonable, federally-mandated pun control).
It’s FRANKENSTEIN FEBRUARY! That magical tie of year when I power through a generally shitty month by re-reading the greatest novel of all time! Mary Shelley’s best book is such an accurate reflection of humanity that I learn more about myself each time I revisit the tragic history contained within. And with this third re-read, enjoyed alongside an introduction by Maurice Hindle, I have arrived at a new truth: there is something seriously wrong with me!
Here’s my thought process whenever a media controversy lights up Twitter:
- Something interesting happened!
- I have thoughts about this.
- I’m gonna look online to find out about this.
- Looks like a bunch of much smarter people said everything that needs to be said about this.
- I’m gonna play a video game!
That’s why you don’t see many “topical” posts on Word Salad Spinner— I like to say something unique and insightful, even if “unique” means “the only person to talk about binders full of women in 2017.” I cycled through a lot of possible approach angles when drafting this post, including a version that would start with me blasting a lot of people I respect. Those respected media scholars I follow weighed in on PewDiePie, pointing out how the joke functions in modern society, and missed whom the actual target of the joke was.
As I develop one of my many spreadsheets when editing “The College Station All-Male Feminist Union,” I fight with the niggling worry that I’m putting in too many edits after I published a completed version on my blog. Was I lying beforehand, in a sense? Did I knowingly give you all an “inferior” edition of my story? I’m here to say no, I did not… and even if I did believe so, it wouldn’t matter.
It’s funny how many nice things I can find in my life, when I just examine what I have. I’ve always been bothered by the lack of comments on Word Salad Spinner. I just figured that the participants would eventually show as long as I keep blogging. Well, it turns out a few of you HAVE been commenting… its just that my spam filter kept blocking you! I suppose I’ll have to check on that app more often.