So I broke down and opened up a Twitter account. If you want to follow me, I’m at twitter.com/stallioncornell. I don’t know how or why I’ll use it, but there it is. The first few days, my updates consisted of such one-word entries as “poop” and “Clytemnestra.” If that turns you on, then sign up to see what other nonsense I’ll come up with next.
I’m quite enamored of Facebook – I enjoy connecting with people I know and seeing what they’re doing. Twitter, I don’t really get as of yet. Near as I can figure, it’s just like this blog, except every entry has to be 140 characters or less, and there are no real long-term discussions. Is there an advantage to this that I’m missing?
One thing I like, though, is I can post Twitter updates via text message. That’s so easy! Now if only there were something worthy of posting. And if anyone cared. Because I don’t. But I now have the option open. Perhaps I’ll use it effectively. (And I didn’t want Languatron to register my name over there.)
The entire Internet seems to be moving in a Facebooky direction. That is to say, every news article now allows you to “comment,” which usually means people get to facelessly rant and insult people. Blogs like this one feel like they’re a dying breed, which led me to reconsider whether I wanted to restart this at all or just focus on my Facebook page instead.
Part of the impetus for revisiting this blog was the discovery, by the lovely Mrs. Cornell, of my personal journal, which extensively covers a time period from Christmas of 1980 to May 28, 1985, with a depressed, angst-ridden rant written as a postscript in October of 1986. (I’d tear that page out if I could, but that would destroy the preceding 1985 page.)
Rereading the journal is painful in the extreme. It’s saturated with adolescent melodrama, and one would get the impression that I spent my entire adolescence well nigh unto suicidal, when such was not the case. But I didn’t write in the journal when I was feeling cheerful; I wrote when I had some drama to expunge, which makes for very turgid reading.
Some representative excerpts:
“I am not particularly attractive, and my constant stupidity is the main factor in prolonging my agony.” – August 19, 1982
“I tend to be obnoxious. I also feel like I’ve accomplished nothing. I’m extremely lazy, and everything I do is mediocre.” – October 21, 1983
“All the way home on that abominable car ride I fantasized about jumping out the door and splattering all over the freeway.” – December 24, 1983
You get the idea.
But even in the midst of that grunge, there are wonderful people and events that I had forgotten that are now recorded forever. Some more pleasant excerpts:
“We heard the Gay Men’s Choir of LA sing. They were all gay, but they sang well.” – January 23, 1983 [Note: I know this is not politically correct. I was only 14, and attitudes were quite different back then. I think it’s impressive that, while I had to derogatorily note their sexual orientation, I gave them kudos for their talent.]
“Our current hobby is harassing a radio pastor [Dr. Gene Scott] over his toll-free hotline.” – October 21, 1983
“I got two detentions from my English teacher for harassing a substitute. Brett told me to break dance, so I sat and spun on the floor in the middle of the class.” – December 1, 1983
“The Summer Olympics have begun, and the entire city is caught up in the magic of the Olympic year. My brother and cousin Steve (as well as his friend Rob A.) are taking an active part. They have signed on as official security guards for the XXIIIrd Olympiad. It keeps them off the streets.” – August 6, 1984
“The next day was my birthday. At 8:00 AM in the morning, I went to the DMV to take my driving test. Much to my paranoid mother’s chagrin, who broke into tears once while I drove the car to McDonalds, I passed with flying colors.” – August 22, 1984
“I told an overblown story of how I bumped into a stoner, was chased by the narcs, grabbed and frisked, and implicated in a drug deal due to the stoner’s small bag of marijuana in his sock. I escaped in the nick of time after lying about my name (Mike Jeffries) and what my wallet was doing in my crotch. I told the narc ‘that’s my d—, and I’d advise you not to touch it again.’ “ – Feb. 4, 1985
Perhaps not the stuff that will appear in the next Mormon Journal in the Ensign, but fun to remember.
Which is why I’m going to keep going with this blog. This has become an online journal, and its public nature will keep me from indulging in the more adolescent, embarrassing stories that make my teenage journal such a chore to read. I can’t count the number of times that I have referred back to an entry of this blog to clarify or explain my thinking.
So I’m going to press forward, undaunted. I’m game if you are.
We put our German Shephered to sleep on my birthday in 1983.