My young blood relative Finn swats a piÃ±ata at her second birthday. It was at this very party that various opportunistic microbes chose to jump from some sick kid’s nose into the guacamole that I eventually ate, forcing me to take to my bed for the past 5 days. Pictured on the piÃ±ata are The Wiggles, Finn’s great obsession. The Wiggles are kiddie entertainers, the result of a tragic transporter accident wherein four Australian dorks from Starfleet Academy attempted to beam up with The Monkees.
Have you ever wondered what your opinion would be if you knew more?
This is the question put to me by Margaret Mason, author of No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog. She asks it in the 55th idea, “Take Sides.” Some merry prankster sent me Mason’s blogging manual a while back, thinking to poke joke holes in my devout belief in one of the fundamental human truths: that everybody cares what I had for lunch. Anyway, this morning, as I was languishing around the Twisty TempurPedic fighting off two or three infectious diseases recently contracted at a tykely birthday party, I spied this book poking out from under a pile of MIchael Innes mysteries.
“Well,” I said, although not out loud, because my throat looks and feels like roadkill, “I’ve got writer’s block. What the hell?”
I have already, somewhere in this bloated oeuvre, made fun of No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog and its outrageous titular premise, but this morning I picked it up to actually get an idea for my blog. I’ve got writer’s block, see. I haven’t written a post since about 1947.
Mason intimates gently that perhaps I wouldn’t feel so stupid if I just spent an hour on the Internet doing “balanced” research on some “big topic.” After weighing the pros and cons of, as she suggests, “religious freedom” or “human rights” for 60 minutes, I should be sufficiently informed to enlarge on the chosen issue with lucidity and voluble passion.
It took a moment for my appreciation of this crystalline genius to jellify. An hour’s worth of Googling would soon put me right! It was all I needed to transform myself from blogaphasic slob to published authority on a big topic. And I could do it all with my iPhone, without having to so much as coax my fever-wracked physique into a sitting position. Didn’t I tell you guys that that goofy
gadget/tool of the patriarchy would come in handy? This project was gonna be a snap.
It got even snappier when I recalled (with some effort) that I already have an opinion on religious freedom, and so could skip the tedious Google step altogether. That opinion goes a little something like this: keep your creepy crucified misogynist mystics out of my face already.
Then I blew my nose, ejecting fragments of my brain that contained the opinions on the Bush administration and whether little girls in Halifax should be forced to go to glamour camp instead of fishing camp, so I had to do a little reading up after all. It turns out I’m against both.
And then I sneezed convulsively for the 567th time today, and it felt swell, which led me to the biggest topic of all: the great Sneeze/Orgasm Debate. Spasm for spasm, all untoward social ramifications aside, what’s the diff? Pleasure is just an electrochemical reaction. At least with sneezing, nobody gets oppressed or conceived. Although that “bless you” thing that everybody does afterward kind of creeps me out.
Anyway, thanks, Margaret Mason!
Incidentally, my lunch today consists of penicillin, Mucinex, diflucan, Advil, and a thermometer. Which is nothing to sneeze at.
[Glamour camp link courtesy of Slashy]