OK, so I was invited to join this craziness by my BFF Mrm.  (Miriam to many of you, but only I get to include the "BFF."  I've had it copyrighted -- don't encourage my rath!)  I'm not sure what to expect from this, but since everyone else on the blessed (that's pronounced "bless-ed", not "blest") planet is blogging these days I thought I'd give it a try.  I'm nothing if not a follower. 

So then the question becomes -- how does one choose what to 'blog' about?  Is this like an online diary?  Something like this:

"Dear Blog:

Today was such a great day.  Timmy Spencer totally looked right at me in the halls!  I almost died!!  Totally!!!  And then I tried out for the drama club and totally got in!  Christina said I was totally the best one there -- she's so cool!  Gotta go -- Real World is on."

...hmm.  Possibly not enough exclamation points there, but you get the general idea.  My issue with this concept is that isn't a diary, by it's very concept, a private thing?  And is there anything less private than publishing it on the internet?  (yes, you're right, I could air it on television, but I think Tyra Banks has already cornered that market.)  So I'm thinking that's not the way for me to go.  (totally)

I could do like some other friends I know -- a daily log to share the comings and goings of their life.  But I live my life, and I happen to know that with some exceptions there isn't much worth reading about.  Here's a good example of a day in the life of BJ -- Tuesday, February 7th, 2006:

-went to work.  worked a bunch.  I have to hire a new assistant, so I reviewed a pile of resumes, found some that seemed promising and called those for interviews.  For the others I sent the nicest rejection letter I could compose -- I've been there too many times to not be sympathetic.

-after work I headed home to finish my college math homework and have a fabulous snack of home-made potstickers.  (don't be impressed -- these are store-bought, frozen jobbies from Costco.  But I took them from their frozen prizon (i.e. ziplock bag) and cooked them at home, so they are home-made)  I call it "college math," but people, it's algebra.  I admit it -- I am not math savvy.  But I'm literally giving it the old college try!

-went to class.  I'm pleased to report a decent score on the first exam -- 94 percent; Not the "A " I was shooting for, but not the "F" I was fearing, so a very reasonable result.  I'm going for the "A " next time (now I know what to pay special attention to, mistake-wise) to see if I can balance things out in the end.  And still this math makes sense -- I can't believe it myself.  Secretly I believe that I have some kind of embellism pushing on a spot on my brain, the side-effects of which include math smarts.  Though it's working in my favor for now, the eventual explosion and death are going to be a bummer.  I hope finals come first.

-Finally I came home, watched TV (Gilmore Girls, Scrubs, Love Monkey, Daily Show -- judge me if you must), ate dinner and did my math homework.  I did a load of laundry, some dishes and WHY ARE YOU STILL READING THIS?  Is there nothing better you could be doing with your life?  Really?  REALLY?  That makes me sad.

...so you see my problems with that avenue.  I don't want my blog to make me or anyone else sad. 

Then there's option C:  The rant space.  The pedestal or soap box from which to vent my own spleen.  (because believe you me, if you don't vent them things they get ripe!)  I could blast and wail and even do a little teeth-nashing on any topic I want.  Really let the world know how I feel. 

Just as soon as I come up with something I feel really spleen-venty about.  But as is always the case in pressure-cooker situations like this, I got nothin.  Oh I could tell you exactly what I want for Christmas right now, because the pressure's no longer on in that area, but with the entire internet-surfing world out there waiting on me to find a topic upon which to bust-a-rhyme (oh god, does it have to rhyme too?  Gah!) I am failing to be inspired. 

I'm sure that half-way to school something will strike me as very fitting.  I'll think about it as I drive, sure I'll be able to write it down once I stop driving.  But then the topic will morf into another idea, and another, and it's gone by mile post 20.  Like so:  "I know, I'll write about ego plates that are impossible to decypher.  Man, I hate that!  What's the point of putting a message or name on your car if no one can understand it?  You have to get right up behind the car to even read what it says.  And that's tailgating, which is illegal.  Oh yeah, I have to pay that speeding ticket.  Can't believe that guy was parked on that side street.  Never even saw him!  Hey, where IS my saw?  I haven't seen it (saw it?) since cutting the bottom off of that excellent Christmas tree.  It really was an excellent Christmas this year.  I am still enjoying my fancy gourmet spatula.  What makes something gourmet?  And where does that word come from?  Probably french.  Why do we use so many of their words anyway?  French Toast, French Fries -- ooh, I really want some french fries.  Screw aerobics class, I'm headed to McDonalds!..."

Get the very tragic, embarrasing and all too familiar picture?

So I'm still thinking about how best to use this, my little corner of cyber-space.  If anyone has any thoughts/suggestions/ideas send them along!  For now I'll keep checking my spleen for a build-up of pressure.