Pre Mid-life Personality Crisis

To post or not to post?

That's the question I've been posing myself these past few days.

There's too much nonsense going on for me to keep up with.

I'm unsure where my writing style is going for now. One day I want to go all vulgar and medieval on everyone and the next I'm pondering the decline of Western art. One moment I'm into writing bits of nothing, the next my ambitions want me to save civilization. But I have no cape. Or leotards for that matter.

Then I shrug my shoulders, grab a piece of fruit and watch curling. What seems so painfully obvious to me is not to the case to the regressive semi-conscious organism breathing heavily next to me.

This blog is many things to many people from many places. To the Eskimo it's a taste of urban intellectualism gone mad. To mothers everywhere it's a reminder of a boy they once knew. Maybe even of eroticism? To the homeless person it's proof that something does exist without knowing, seeing or feeling it. To the Magyars it's the smell of anger.

True story. One day in high school, a substitute took over our geography class. Naturally, we paid no attention to the man who looked like Boris from Rocky and Bullwinkle - I don't 'zaggerate. As we performed act after act after verbal vile act, the vociferous villain lost his mind. A fellow rabble rouser finally asked, "Sir, what's that smell?" To which the good teacher, decked in a loud red shirt and belt boasting a buckle with a red ruby - answered, "It's the smell of anger!"

We laughed. Oh , Lord did we laugh.

He followed this sequence with a question of his own. "Which junior high are you guys from?" "St.Paul's," someone replied. A sudden moment of quiet realization overcame him. "Yes. I heard about you guys."

Yes. I was what was termed a "troublesome" student. Nothing evil or violent; just a restless kid with an over-active imagination. In fact, the gang, though terrible students (except for a couple of guys), were quite appreciated by teachers "off school time." We'd spend quite a bit of time talking about physics, art and music, politics and history and host of other subjects we had a strong grasp on. It frustrated teachers because they believed we should have been not just good students but great ones.

I don't know why we were never able to get our act together. Still, as a whole, the gang turned out to be pretty successful. They became engineers, financial analysts and foreign services officers. Me? Let's just say I'm still a work in progress. But we won't get into that. I still haven't figured out how my mind functions exactly.

A modern axiom of business - indeed anything - is to find you niche. I hear this about blogging a lot. Do you get the feeling things are over-niched?

Which I guess is a good thing. There's something for everyone. Of course, it can lead to a personality crisis. Or pointless posts.

It's claimed that punk began with the New York Dolls: