Apropos of Nothing

If there was ever a blog about nothing, this is it. Held up to the show that was about nothing, former Seinfelder's desperate for something about nothing ought to be flocking to the site, beating on their screens and crying for more of less.

But I think that that was a fad that ended with the nineties.

Growing up, there was a kid in school named Glen Ward.

He was perfect. We hated him.

He really did have it all. No, not that his family was exceptionally wealthy or of unique standing (they were a good, upright group but Glen was hardly blood kin to some long deposed Czar of Uzbekistan) or anything material like that. But he had a couple of brothers who were just as accomplished as he was with his perfect teeth so it was kind of like having our own local Osmond family.

Glen just made it all look easy. Consistently good grades, nicely tossled hair, polite, well regarded, groomed, he was basically everything the rest of us ratbags with our frumpled jeans, poor attitudes, meandering academic records and greasy hair kinda really wanted to be secretly but couldn't so we rebelled against it.

He'd knock out straight A's, turn girls down to dance until his choice got around to asking him, looked good and clean cut and lorded none of it over anyone.

He drove us crazy. The blue-jeaned toughs, the ones who showed up in work boots to school, always sat in the back, broke pencils in their fingers and smelled vaguely of cow flop and motor oil would always give a running commentary first day of school as everybody came into home room.

Me.

"Faggot, we're going to kick your ass this year."

Patrick.

"Faggot, we're going to kick your ass this year."

Arthur.

"Faggot, we're going to kick your ass this year."

Michael, who came towing his latest girlfriend in.

"Switch hitter. We're going to steal your girl. Then we're going to kick your ass this year."

Glen.

Long pause.

"Gosh, he's dreamy."

I think we all got over our collective neuroses later in life when one of us found out that Glen had been conceived during a sexual encounter between his parents. That was a relief in that we now knew that he wasn't He and we weren't damned for eternity for that wedgie we gave him in second grade.

I've been reading Girl With The Dragon Tattoo and its one hell of a good book. The only problem is that in my mind's eye, the whole thing is taking place at a giant Ikea.

I see Blogger has a whole new set of templates, fonts, icons, backgrounds and such. I'll play around with them but I'm really looking for the blog that does its own writing.

That's not entirely true, some good ideas do hit me but its usually in the fast lane of the interstate in a rainstorm.

Here's to summer taking away another subject: bitching about the weather.

Bunny on.