Pug Overlord vs. Saxophonist

I started a blog because I needed to write - all the time - often about the most ridiculous shit.  I guess somehow all the stuff in my head needed somewhere to go.  Somewhere that wasn't back down my throat and into my stomach to sit for days making me nauseous.  So I started a blog to write it all down.  Or vomit words.  Or at least annoy the vast internet instead of my husband, friends and colleagues involuntarily.

At first I thought I'd have a theme - you're supposed to have a theme, right?  On a blog?  But then, themes remind me too much of bridal showers and baby showers and all those other showers that should be eliminated from the face of our society forever.  Because everyone hates them.  Like, with a passion.  Because they are the most moronic events known to man. 

So, no theme. To be honest, more often than not, I wake up and the only thing I have on my mind to write down is no more complicated than, "I like ponies" or "Coffee is good". 

So I started to think about all the things I wouldn't write about.  Politics, for example.  If I get started on the current state of our nation politically, economically, socially...this blog would contain nothing but four-letter words.

Stereotypically "female" stuff is another one.  I often wish I could be more girly or feminine, but the truth is, I hate weddings and big dresses and shoes and shopping and, above all, the color pink.  Mom and Dad, are you reading this?  I really don't like pink.  No, seriously.  No more pink, okay? 

Sports stats is also a waste of time.  I can write about a game or a race or a match, but, seriously?  Because so-and-so has such-and-such an average and has performed at such-and-such a level against so-and-so and what's-his-face, his odds of winning are blah-dee-blah.  Really? Um...that's a person.  And a person has good days and bad days and those numbers really tell you jack shit.

But it's a blog, right?  I can say whatever I want.  So why am I worried about all the things I can't say?  At some point I just have to start with something. I suppose this is the something.  Maybe I'm more worried that I don't have anything to say.  Though, I'll admit to at times finding myself quite fascinating.  I'm a runner, dancer, and artist - all selfish breeds, so I guess it makes sense.  I'm a headcase and the first to admit it.   Perhaps people will find that amusing.  As I sit here writing, I'm making Muppet noises every time I make a typing mistake.  Actually.  We're talking Swedish Chef caliber noises.

I could write about interesting things that happen on a daily basis - I live in New York, after all.  On Saturday, on a wander in Prospect Park, my husband and I stumbled upon a saxophonist in the woods, just underneath a bridge area where the echo was exaggerated.  He was playing long, lamenting jazz strains.  And the notes reverberated up out of the woods and into the park, and started to play tag with the kids all the way over in the baseball fields.  And it made me want to cry.  Something so tiny and beautiful and seemingly intimate.  He was sharing that with us.  With me.  Specifically.

I have a blind dog who is also deaf and half-paralyzed from a stroke.  She walks in circles.  Her name is Gabby.  She's a pug, so she'll eat anything not nailed down - and a few things that are.  The older she's gotten, the more she's become our overlord here at the apartment.  I'm convinced I should invite people to come have their minds read by Gabby the Great - so invincible and ridiculous is she.  Surely she must be a soothsayer.  Most precious of all things to Gabby is her "POD", aka a round, poofy, leopard-print dog bed.  It's like her throne.  Recently, I took it to the laundromat to get it cleaned, and there was no end of shrieking about its absence.  And if you've never heard a pug shriek, think about the sound a two-year-old makes when you take away her/his favorite toy, and combine that with a couple of mating cats.  That's about right.  It's completely fucking insane.  And hilarious.  And very oddly human.  Sometimes I think we're all a little more like Gabby than we readily admit.

So maybe this blog is a cross between the saxophonist and Mrs. Gabby.  Intimate, sad, and at times beautiful, with some sheer, baseline hilarity on the side. 

I don't know yet.  I like ponies.