Delete, Delete, Delete

Hey guys,

I'm sorry if you woke up with an inbox full of spam emails from comments on my blog this morning. And one comment from a total asshole, which I've since deleted.

I hate to do this, but to avoid me dealing with my inbox this morning and thinking that I've been the conduit for a bunch of garbage into yours, I'm turning on that stupid verify thingy and content moderation. I'm so sorry about this. I think it's a total pain. But hopefully it's a preventative more than an annoyance. And maybe once the glow from Blogs of Note wears off, I can go back to the way it was.

I used to think it was fine to have a forum here for anyone who wanted to leave a comment on what I was writing about. But now I've changed my mind. If you're a total angry jerkoff with nothing to say and all you want is to get people to read your blog from my blog, with the intent to abuse them once they get there: Sorry, buddy. You're not getting that opportunity from me.

And now, onto our regularly scheduled programming. I am going to eat my raspberry danish and then I'll be back shortly.

***

ps.: If you are an Eddie Izzard fan, then you will have instantaneously recognized the reference in the title of this post. If not, then I may have given you the best holiday gift yet: The Wonderful World of Eddie.

Dig Deeper

"And, everyone who ever had a heart
They wouldn't turn around and break it
And anyone who ever played a part
Oh wouldn't turn around and hate it."

~ Lou Reed, "Sweet Jane"

***

Here I am.

No, Oprah did not call.

No, John Podesta did not call.

Despite my apparent virtual fame (lol), I'm still here.

***

I can see now where those people who were on a season's reality tv show or that poor doofus Joe the Plumber got all bedazzled by some sudden portion of starlight and sunshine. Look at me! You finally found me!

I'm somebody!

Well, truth is that we were all somebodies before the searchlight, right? We all had a life. You don't need 6,102 hits in a day to prove it (truth be told, the vast majority of hits are not readers).

It's nice to think that some of you here suddenly feel like I'm the little golden nugget you found after spending hours in the cold stream, panning through muddy silt. And here I show up in the bottom of the tray, glinting at you. That's cool. But dig deeper. I dare you to read this blog. Not just the last three posts but a whole bunch of 'em if you really mean it. Then you can decide if I'm still golden and if we still have something to say to each other.

And for those of you who've been here with me the whole time, maybe months or more than a year, you know, as with your own selves, you scratch the surface and there's so much more than you can even begin to write. And then there are the things that will never get said at all, but you still hope that people can read between the lines. Or see it in a photo because words just aren't enough sometimes.

***

"If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it." ~ Anaïs Nin

A few types of comments jump out at me:

I'd love to have a blog but I don't know how.
I don't have anything to say.
I'm boring.

For those of us who've been blogging for a while, we've been more than pleasantly surprised that the act is a reward in itself. Our blogs become a virtual studio, an open creative space, and a salon where like minds congregate. There's no impetus to succeed or stand out; in fact, it's a place to get away from all that stuff: Stretch your brain while you exercise your fingers. Manipulate thoughts into words and see if that effort translates into something beyond what you meant.

So grab that brass ring and write and share, for reals. And if the blog doesn't feel like your thing, then go out and do something else. There are no real rewards at the end of the day, just your creativity and your happiness.

***

This morning I made my own infernal music loop (in response to the earworm saga yesterday) by listening to the Cowboy Junkies' cover of Velvet Underground's "Sweet Jane." But this time it's a song I really love, sometimes crave to hear (isn't it funny that you can crave a sound just like something to eat?) so I purposely wanted to hear it as many times as I could before leaving for work.

The Boy had not heard this song before, and we slow-danced in our pj's to it. I nuzzled his neck. Margo Timmins has such a sexy voice.

Before I left for work, he says, "You know what Sweet Jane really is, right? It's heroin."

I figured the lyrics had something to do with drugs, but never gave it much thought. I just like the song. But that's what I mean. Dig deeper. There are little hidden truths buried all over the place. Not just here.

***

ps.: I took that photo a few weeks ago, in the Tenderloin before going to that talk about Benjamin Franklin I told you about. What's really attracting me lately in my photos as I sort through them are the ones that are full of contrasts or contradictions. This image in particular really says more to me than I can describe.

Seriously, you guys are going to get me fired.

First of all, I want to say helllloooooooo to all of you new visitors to tangobaby via Blogs of Note.

I love you all. I'm totally blown away that you're here.

Secondly, I am guessing that this shout-out from Blogger is randomly generated (although I am super grateful all the same) because I don't know what I've done of late to be noteworthy. A year and a half ago, I didn't even know what a blog was. But don't get me wrong, this is cool! Thank you!

Thirdly, I hope you'll come back to visit me again and not just this one time and I'll try to visit you all and not be some sort of blog diva who is stuck up and snobbish.

But fourthly, I am probably going to get fired because of this. I seriously have not done any work today and have been totally distracted and just sent a co-worker out to buy me a BLT just so I could write this post.

***

I have some questions about my being discovered (which is funny since I just wrote something about Lana Turner a few days ago--is this the blog equivalent of being a Sweater Girl? Probably not. I don't think I get to quit my day job). Up until this morning, I was just minding my own little bloggy business and cajoling my friends into looking at my photography on flickr and JPG.

Is there some sort of blog guru who selects us? To whom do I say thank you?

Can I quit my day job now? Does this mean I am an expert at something?

Am I going to have to start moderating comments because now I'm going to get all of these spam comments about erectile dysfunction? I would really hate to do that.

***

Just so you know a few things:

I love my little blog. But it's very very random, even to me. If you can make sense out of the myriad brain stuff here, then I applaud you. I just read over my whole list of tags and I'm covering a lot of bases in a very shallow manner. Although if you love old films (especially noir and silents), dance (especially Argentine tango), San Francisco, photography, eating yummy food until you have to unbutton your pants, quoting Monty Python, Dorothy Parker and Carl Sagan, keeping your passport in your wallet just in case and then once in a while having a philosophical moment, then I think we'll get along just fine.

And swearing. Sometimes I swear.

***

I am having a hard time keeping up with the comments (and was even before this explosion of attention) so please be patient with me (I'm older than you think) and just know that I am thrilled you're here even if you think you hear the crickets chirping on my end. I'll try to write back. I just have to not get fired from my day job until I get a call from my new agent.

Thanks for making my day. Now I don't hate my outfit as much.

xoxo

ps.: If you are a new reader here, then I should tell you that I never have a movie reference on the blog just willy-nilly. There are too many good movies that people don't know about and I'm just doing my share to be bossy and make sure that you see them.

Above is a photo for the noir Fallen Angel, which is a great flick and Linda Darnell is H-O-T. Hot hot hot and so is Dana Andrews. So rent it.