If there’s anything patently lamer than a post apologizing for not having posted much lately, it’s one that eschews both apology and actual content for introspection and analysis. So, apologies, and I promise to make it up to you soon with more thrilling stories about dinner.
In a nutshell, it’s like this: we’ve gotten boring. I guess that presumes we were interesting at one point, which I’m really not too comfortable asserting. Whatever novelty there was to our life — to our living together — has since turned into habit and convention, and lately, there just doesn’t seem like there’s much to talk about. The last time I posted, which was in the current calendar year, but just barely, I expounded on the phenomenon of my facial hair. Sarah’s posted three times since then, the last time about the hair on our cat. What are we, eighty?
Truth is, there have actually been some interesting things going on in the last few months. We went to Wisconsin to cross-country ski, Mexico to relax and snorkel, and Charlotte for a friend’s wedding. Somehow none merited the effort for a full blog post. The primary cause is laziness, but that laziness has an enabler friend, and her name is Twitter.
I’m not going to get into a froth about Twitter right now — it’s been done a bajillion times over — though I’m happy to echo the refrain: It’s great, and you should try it. I will say that I think Greg is right on, it’s a cancer on long-form blogging. The story of the last year of my life, for what it’s worth, has all been told through 140-character tweets, and at the expense of posts here. What they lacked in depth they more than made up for in breadth and quantity. So, no 500-word treatises on the sounds of our radiators, but, had you been following, you would have learned about my suffering from a Whirlyball injury. Fair trade? Don’t answer.
In any case, neither of us want to see the blog die. So we sat down tonight to formulate a plan. The deal is this: we each have promised to write six posts over the next six weeks. (One down!) If we succeed, we each get a prize: for her, a manicure/pedicure. For him, a massage. If we fail, well, um… we go on living our lame, boring lives. Isn’t that punishment enough?
If your answer is no, we’d be happy to entertain ideas of what you think would be.