Misquotable Mementos

Bad comedy sketch - The Flipper Family: Similar to the 80's travesty "The Dinosaurs," have people dress up in dolphin costumes and live anthropomorphically, with every joke incorporating some form of "I did that on porpoise!" It's horrid. And probably appearing on SNL this weekend.

Once again pondering the reason behind doing this blog. It isn't that I need the justification - heck, my following has expanded at a pace that should reach infinity by infinity. But why would someone search out this particular blog? The title, while brilliant, doesn't really describe the content. I'm not consistently writing fiction, nor how-to advice, nor enough comedy to qualify as humor. I'm amassing a strange collection of essays without any common thread beyond the author. Yet, if someone Googles "Jim Becker blog," I don't pop up on the first page of results. (I'll leave it up to Curran, my crack research team, to figure out if/where I appear.) On a whim, I tried "Nash Becker Blog" and discovered I'm not even alone in that field.

As much as anything, this is a quest for meaning. I've outlasted my expectations, and while I'm not yearning to type in my latest post, I'm also not dreading the monotonous chore of developing a thought into a half-dozen paragraphs. So what is The Hypocrite's Refuge... that's funny. Minor faux pas: while I was typing in "Refuge," I mistyped "Refuse." The Hypocrite's Garbage. Considering the cornucopia of content squeezed together here (and rotting), it may be pertinent for me to alter the title.

Are Freudian slips always supposed to have some sexual connotation? I don't know whether they're as misused as the concept of irony; if so, how ironic would that be? (Answer: not at all.)

I could always post my blog updates on my Facebook status, which would give me something to do with my own profile (as compared to Gilthe's). Or I could do commentary on my "friends" status updates. Better yet, I could do theme weeks. Like the Discovery Channel, except mine won't involve elephants procreating or the predators of the deep.

For someone who detests the idea of writing for the internet, I sure do a lot of it. (Ah yes, there's that title again.) It isn't like I'll be walking up the street (as most people walk down it) and some stranger will recognize me from this website, then pay me $100 for my autograph. For the six of you reading this: if you can convince some stranger to pay me $100 (that didn't somehow come out of my bank account to begin with), I'll happily give you a percentage. A finder's fee of sorts.

I know the answer. This blog is something people will dig up after (1) I get famous and/or (2) I die. Hopefully the former won't require the latter.