This is me blogging

Do you get what this blog is named after? I'll tell you at the end. I really cracked myself up.

In an effort to be more like a "writer," I decided to start "writing" this blog. I was given this advice by many a writing professional, ranging from those at conferences to my dear senior thesis advisor. In case you [the audience] haven't figured out by now, I don't mind the blogging life. Perhaps you caught my adventures in Italy blog. So I said to myself, "What better time in my life but now--unemployed,  under motivated, and definitely not in Italy--to act under the assumption that other people want to know what I'm up to?" I think the answer is clear. Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, FourSquare, LinkedIn, and Flickr don't provide enough detailed information anymore. We need WORDS. 

(FourSquare legitimately scares me, by the way. And, as I sit here, I am nearly certain that the FourSquare satellite can see me writing shit about them.) 

I did get a Twitter, though, which was really painful at first. By "at first" I mean a week ago when I signed up for the account. I'm not super into it. #not that into it. #that's what she said. Whatever. The other bit of advice given to me by the writing professionals was to get a Twitter for the sake of networking. Which is awesome because, you know, I always make the most of my 140 characters and I definitely show off my best flash fiction via mid-day Tweets. I'm always mature and inappropriate messages are never sent to me. On Easter Sunday my then 88-year-old now 89-year-old grandma asked my brother and  me what Twitter is. I explained that it's basically just people posting random thoughts for all to see. My brother pulled up his Twitter account for her to see what we were describing. She read one aloud. It was a classic "cuddling with my dog, feet up on the couch, life is good" kind of Tweet. My grandma's reaction:

"Oh, who the hell cares!" That's been my argument for as long as I can remember because, well, who the hell cares? I know it's a cynical way to think of the harmless thoughts of others but SERIOUSLY (and you know who you are) tone it down. Actually, no, don't tone it down. You're entertaining. And who am I, a "writer," to discourage anyone from "writing"? So pipe up, babies! Please give me minute by minute updates of your day. Tell me what you're eating. What you're wearing. Who you're sitting with. I might as well be the FourSquare satellite. 

I hope this brief introduction is somewhat enticing. Also, I just noticed that Rahm Emanuel is missing half a finger. As a "writer," it's important that I "observe." My post graduate life is not going to be like Lena Dunham's, if that's what you were hoping for. And even if it were, she already stole the thunder of all liberal arts college English major women. I'm not even saying that I would want to write a TV show, but if I did, I can't now. (But for real, Charlie and Marnie are obviously going to get back together, thank God, because even though he "smothers her" with kindness, I think he is just the dreamiest.) 

Sometimes I joke about writing Game of Thrones fan fiction. It's half a joke. I also wrote "An Open Letter to People Who Take Pictures of Food with Instagram." I might post that one. Spoiler Alert: If you take pictures of food with Instagram, this essay is not praising you. Just a heads up. 

Oh! And the blog's title. I wanted to go with "Where I'm Blogging From" but when I googled it, approximately 79 matches popped up. So I moved forward in my mental Carver anthology and there it was! One of the saddest stories I've ever read ("A Small, Good Thing") and yet I love it because it's Ray. So don't read it if you consider yourself to currently be in a "dark place." OR, if you like that sort of thing, go for it!

READ A BOOK! 

@markovichsays to hear what I'm eating for breakfast and what I'm wearing!