O, to Be a Blogger

One of the things I've noticed since I started blogging is that the whole thing is primarily about attention. I'm habitually checking my blog to see if anyone has visited, or even better: commented. You see, I'm a comment whore, I live for the comments. It's the main reason I even bother to think up this drivel. My girlfriend recently started receiving comments on her blog and in a surprised tone recently admitted to feeling the same way. It's as if one goes into blogging with the completely innocent motive of expressing oneself and soon you are waking up at 3 in the morning to see if anyone has left a new comment. But then again, perhaps I'm just speaking for me.

This develops into a vicious circle where you feel compelled to write interesting and/or entertaining posts to keep people coming back and leaving more posts. The strange thing is that it doesn't really matter after a while whether people are writing nice things or just correcting your grammar. All that matters is that someone, anyone, is paying attention.

I do my best to post as often as I can but there are many times when I sit down in front of my computer and there's just nothing, not even the usual inane stuff that I put up here. I doesn't help either that I imagine (because it's certainly my imagination to think that anyone actually cares what I write on MY blog) people shouting, "make me laugh, clown!" when I'm sweating it out to come up with something to write. Perhaps someday soon, a clever grad student will write his or her thesis about the unique psychology of bloggers. On that day we'll all learn that the whole thing is tied to not getting enough attention as children, or searching for intimacy in the relatively safe environment of cyberspace because society is becoming increasingly more alienating. Hell, for all I know someone probably already has.

The point of all this is, (damn what if there is no point....THE HORROR) that I don't feel especially put out by these feelings, I just would like to have entertaining and humorous posts bloom in my mind like so many spring crocuses. It's........ a dream I have. (editor's note: last sentence to be read with a wistful intonation).

Plus, it would certainly be a boon to my skills to be able to write without all of the parenthetical additions, mostly because I haven't mastered all forms of literary device at this point. Now where am I going with this?

Something, something... sweaty, pot-bellied clowns rubbing ruttabegas on their bums, something, something... dirty, stinking apes chucking poo, something, something else.... midgets in spandex holding hands and singing "We are the World" and........... I'm spent.

Feeling Minnesota

Uff-da, that's a lot of snow. For those of you don't reside in the great state of MN, we just had nearly a foot of the powdery white stuff dumped on us, and I'm not talking yeyo, that's a Miami thing.



"The ghetto, uhn, is everywhere you go

They say in Miami that it never snows

Now there's snow in the palm trees

Snow on the sand

It snows all day for fifty dollars a gram"

-from "Vice" by Grandmaster Melle Mel



Regrettably, this is not a post about Bolivian marching powder, I just couldn't resist putting that in there. But speaking of 'uff-dah' and other Scandinavianisms, even after living outside of Minnesota for almost a decade, I still know the lingo. In my travels I've found that Minnesotans are known for two things outside of our borders. The Mall of America, and the accent. Jesse 'the body' probably comes in at a distant third, but I think I speak for us all when I say that's a topic we are trying hard to forget. Chalk it up to long winters fueled by binge-drinking combined with a Nordic penchant for alternative political parties (who doesn't like a good party?) and you get one hellava gubernatorial hang-over. And perhaps hotdish, out-of-staters like to make fun of our hotdish.

The accent though, there's no getting away from that stereotype anytime soon. Popularized by films such as 'Drop Dead Gorgeous' and 'Fargo' (notice I didn't include 'Feeling Minnesota' because frankly Keanu Reeves never sounds like anyone other than a stoned California surfer dude no matter what the part is, and Cameron Diaz has about as much acting skill as my big toe) the trademark accent that is characterized by emphatic, drawn-out pronunciations of the long 'O' as in "Don'cha know" and "Minnesota, but also by such linguistic gems as, "what'cha doin' there then?" and the proverbial "Yaaa."

When in casual conversation it came out that I grew up in Fargo, the invariable response was, "Like the movie Fargo? Do people really talk like that?" To which I would have to respond in the affirmative. Then I would deploy my best Minnesota accent and tell the story of how, in 1971, Robert Asp built a Viking ship in a potato warehouse near Hawley, MN. Unfortunately he died before he could consummate his dream but his family sailed it all the way to Bergen, Norway in his memory. People were usually pretty impressed by that so I tell them if you ever find yourself in the Fargo-Moorhead area stop by the Hjemkomst Center and check it out.

Now all you Twin Citians (Twin City-ites?) are at this point saying one of two things to yourselves. Either you're in denial and your thinking, "people only talk like that in the bucolic parts of the state, we city slickers have no discernible accent," or you own up, have a good chuckle, and say, "damn that JC if he isn't spot on (again)." You know who you are.

I've been told time and again that I don't have a Minnesota accent, but fill me with copious amounts of adult beverages and/or put me amidst my kinfolk and it will come out heavier than a snowstorm in February. In fact, in these instances I'll often exaggerate for effect. The reality is that I'm quite proud to be a Minnesotan even though it's very un-Minnesotan to display one's pride publicly. Something to do with good ol' Scandinavian humility don'cha know.

...Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-Jigg

At the behest of several known criminals functional lunatics friends, I am triumphantly returning picking up where I left off once again edifying the masses with my rapier wit banal sarcasm dignified observations and erudite commentary.

Having said that thanks to those who have patiently been visiting my blog over the last two months only to be greeted by the same post about my departure from the land of the Bog People. Truth be told a part of me does miss their guttural language, patronizing attitude toward buitenlanders, and of course, stroopwafels (see “My Take on Dutch Food”), but all the same I am moving on nonetheless. OK… I’m being a bit harsh, I bear no ill-will toward the friendly giants (statistically on average the tallest people on earth and getting taller apparently) of the marshlands and I enjoyed my time among them tremendously. Incidentally my theory about this is that they are so tall precisely because they live on top of reclaimed land. It’s a bio-evolutionary compensation for attempting to keep their heads above water for centuries. But that’s neither here nor there, and I’m here, not…you get the picture.

The most common question I’ve been asked since my return is, “is it strange being back?” The answer I usually give is very emotionally complex, deep, and trenchant, but summarized here with “no.” Would I rather be living in Europe? Yes, but I feel no reverse culture shock, as it were. OK maybe a tiny bit when I drove to Fargo-Moorhead for the holidays, but I always feel a bit strange there anyway. Kind of like trying to put on clothes that I’ve outgrown. The reality probably is that I’ve been too eff-ing busy since I’ve back to do much reflecting. Thankfully the stress of relocating has for the most part subsided and now I’m concentrating my energy on finding a job.

It’s been nearly a decade since I’ve lived in Minnesota so the whole cold thing sucks a bit. Everyone tells me how it’s been a really mild winter, but I know that’s really just a coping strategy. Let’s just face the music… it’s freaking cold. That, combined with the fact that I don’t know too many people in these parts yet has made me a bit of a home-body, but at least I can smoke in my apartment.

That’s about it really… and to think you’ve waited all this time for something enjoyable and entertaining to read. That’s life kids, get used to it.

I’m getting to know my way around Minneapolis a bit better these days. I need to find a favorite local watering hole (preferably within stumbling distance of my apartment) and an unpretentious coffee shop (an imaginary place) but these things take time.

In short, life’s good, hope you are all well, and thanks for checking in from time to time. I will attempt to post more regularly now, but please don’t thank me, a check will suffice.