Will's Coffee House

John Dryden, Dramatist, Critic, Poet Laureate, and my ancestor, frequented a coffee house called Will's almost daily, where he would hold forth on sundry subjects with great wit and aplomb. Same deal here, only without the wit or aplomb.

Location: Large Midwestern City, Midwestern State, United States

I am a stranger in a sane land...

Friday, November 25, 2005


I suppose there's nothing less interesting than the obligatory after-Thanksgiving blog entry about how much one ate and how one is "really feeling it today." Yet such it is.

(By the way, I've noticed an unpleasant trend in this blog for a self-deconstructive tendency--a persistent attempt to turn this into a blog about blogging--to question the rules of the narrative genre as one engages in them, which is both A. unforgivably faux-hip, B. appalling redux--one shudders to think how many "anti-blogs" and such self-amused idiocies trammel up the online paths we tread, and C. such a pathetic rehash of my g*dd**ned dissertation that one just shakes one's head at me the way one would at one of those guys who can't talk about anything other than how there was a second shooter on the grassy knoll, and a third station one floor below Oswald, and how it's all a conspiracy of the local Meatpackers Union which had been infiltrated by members of the Illuminati and the Order of Elks. [Oswald acted alone, by the way. Deal with it.] Well, I scorn such attempts at neo-academic "wit"--so to hell with it. One either writes a blog, or one does not, and if one does, then one is blogging, so knock off the post-modern crap and tell us about the fight you had with your mother-in-law and what kind of herbal tea you've switched to this week, and in what new way you've realized that Dick Cheney is being a scumbag. Dammit, you're a blogger--you can't exactly hold your head high, because, let's face it, we're all kinda sad--but you can still invest the humble task in which you toil with a maximum amount of dignity. End of exhortation.)

(Oh, crap. I just realized that in giving an exhortation about not blogging self-consciously, I was blogging self-consciously. Sorry.)

(Oh, s***. I just did it again. And I'm still doing it. Even now, as each letter comes out onto the screen, I'm perpetuating the very activity I'm attempting to condemn.)



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