Wednesday, January 5

Neither a secret handshake nor an IQ prerequisite

Last night, I managed to not watch TV at all. Ridiculous to be proud of such a minor accomplishment, but it's the little things, people. Instead, I paid my bills and read "The Only Meaning of the Oil-Wet Water," a story by Dave Eggers reprinted in my new Best American Magazine Writing 2004. (I'm such a dork, but I love these anthologies.) I'm not sure how I feel about the story -- it walked the fine line between interesting and pretentious. I think that fact that it's got me thinking so much about it, however, is probably a good thing.

I mentioned the story to a co-worker, who promptly responded with her dislike of Eggers. She thought his memoir, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, was self-involved. To which I replied: It's a memoir! Of course it's self-involved. That's like telling a blogger her blog is self-involved. Of course it is! It's about me! I've actually been thinking I was a little too self-absorbed lately, what with all the pity parties I've been throwing myself online. I haven't even mentioned the tragedy in the world, mainly because it is such a tragedy. My blog feels about as shallow as a puddle right now. But then I thought, you know, people know where CNN is. They don't come here for deep thoughts. They come here for me. Or they don't come here at all. And that's just the way I like it.

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