Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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Take Stock And Two Smoking Barrels Part Deux: Back To Basics

Yeah, I guess that last post is rather juvenile... but then again, so was her email. And so am I. Juvenile, I mean. Well, sometimes - and I want you to know that I am. I could try to come off all smarmy and bigger person-y, but that wouldn't be a real accounting of my feelings. Lots of times my real feelings are very base and childish. I need to work on cultivating my kinder, gentler side and extinguishing the unsavory, rotten meat chunk of me that secretly revels in the fuck-ups of others, if only to make myself feel better about my own circumstances.

But enough of that. I've resolved, yet again, not to venture onto MySpace. It's all so bizarre. Keeping in touch with friends and promoting legitimate creative endeavors is one thing, but the site has molested the meaning of the word "friend" so people are earning self-esteem through friend counts, silly comments and creating personas of who they want to be rather than who they are. Instead of living life, people are living MySpace. Like a modernized version of the old Sims computer game, except now, you're the star! Even those who are genuinely trying to get people to read their stories or listen to their music end up spending more time than they should adding friends because they believe it will further their creative endeavor. It won't. Oh sure, there may have been a few special cases when MySpace was a newborn baby, a few bands, comedians, that shot to notoriety etc.. But those days are long over. The most you can hope for is to make a few connections in your field or I guess you can try and be a MySpace celebrity.. but is that really something to shoot for? Does that justify the hours people loose tricking out profiles, uploading fab photos, commenting, adding friends, checking stats? Nope. So you can kid yourself that you're furthering your career by adding friends, but your time would be much better spent writing your book or working on your album.

I nearly fell victim to that with this blog. Taking glam shots of myself, posting them... shit, I cringe when I contemplate my evolution through blogging and MySpace. Fucking idiot with all the Look At Me! photos and shit. All I ever wanted to do was write. I created the blog to write and then the blog turned around and bit me in the ass and I got carried away with design and readership and photos and comments and all the unimportant stuff. It's back to basics for me. That's where the smoking barrels come in.. from the metaphoric gun I've used to shoot that misguided idiot in the head.

I want to stay truthful in my accountings of my life.. insofaras I don't tread on the toes of loved ones. Some bloggers, and mind you, I don't consider myself a blogger - a blogger is trying to generate readers so they can advertise and make money from their blog, I think. Or maybe not. What do I know. I s'pose a blogger is just any ol' idgit that taps out words on a template, which, of course, qualifies me as a blogger. Either way, I could give fuck all for that. All I want to do is to practice writing and get out the shit that sticks in my craw trying to choke me. Where was I? Oh! Some bloggers, while professing to be honest, tend to turn every life incident into a hilarious anecdote. They leave out the bits that shed themselves in an unhumorous, unsavory light. That's the bit I'm most interested in. I want to be honest. With you. But more importantly, with myself. The internet is strange. You can loose yourself in it. You can pretend to be whoever and whatever you want. That's why I blog under my real name, not a pseudonym. I want to be accountable for what I write. And write I will.