Right to Left

OK. This is the last one, I promise. Number six. The final beginning. You can only make one first impression (as you'll see, if you keep reading).

The fifth attempt was a disaster.

I've always been better at finishing things than I have been at starting them.

When I played football at school, there was a good playground taunt for people who were unable to score goals. "He couldn't finish his dinner!" they'd say.

Because in the football terminology, "finishing" is scoring a goal. So the metaphor works by suggesting that - though the context is different - the player in question would be unable to finish something (dinner) that should in theory be quite easy to finish.

That's what the taunt meant.

But there's always an escalation in playground insults. I took it to the next level.

Whenever someone missed a good chance, I'd say "He couldn't start his dinner!"

They'd question me. "What?" they'd say.

"He couldn't start his dinner," I'd repeat. "He's so bad at football, that he... it's not that... I mean... he not only couldn't finish his dinner, he couldn't even start it! That's how bad he is! At football, I mean. He couldn't even... er... his mum couldn't even go to the shops to buy the... constituent parts... to make his dinner! The dinner wouldn't even exist in a sort-of embryonic form. In fact, the mechanic that built his mum's car couldn't even finish making the car! So she couldn't even drive to the shops to purchase the ingredients to make his dinner, which he wouldn't be able to start, let alone finish! Or his dad. You know, if his dad does the shopping instead of his mum. ... That's how bad he is at football. He's rubbish."

By that point, it was usually the end of lunch break and everyone had gone inside. Which is good, because my zinger was still electrifying the air.

Yes. This has been a proper opening to a blog post. This will go on top.

Except for a photo of Brad Guzan.

***

I just made four attempts at starting this blog post. This is number five. The first was depressing, the second sarcastic, the third derivative, and the fourth nonsensical. I'll just move them down the page and start properly here.

The internet seems to be very slow at the moment. Maybe I should have stuck with one of the original openings (as the actress said to the gored bishop).

Oh, OK. We've just had an email about it. "Internet connectivity issues." It's not just me. That's a relief.

I'd better just ride it out.

You don't need to know any of this. I need to learn to keep my thoughts to myself. Just because I'm typing, it doesn't mean that I have to channel all of my thinking through my fingers. Sometimes it's best to keep your monologue internal. Not all information is of equal value. There's nothing "authentic" about a stream of consciousness - it's just obnoxious.

Yes, this blog is a window into my inner life. But a window doesn't indiscriminately let everything through. There's a pane of glass there. You may be able to see me undressing, but you can't smell my perfume. Less is more. If the reader is partially kept in the dark, they'll be all the more astounded when I whip out a candle.

***

I just made three attempts at starting this blog post. In the third one, I explained about the first two, and also talked about Lou Reed.  But I realised it was too obvious to write about Reed. Many people have written proper things about him, and are proper experts on his life and works. My observations lack conviction, so I'll just move that blog segment down the page and write something here about cowboys.

I'd quite like to be a cowboy. You can make your own schedule. It's like being an ice cream man.

I could sleep in as late as I wanted, as long as I didn't have a showdown to attend. I'm not big on drinking or whoring or gambling or riding horses, but I do like the idea of wearing a belt. Just imagine...

I think I'd mainly like to be in the Old West if I still had knowledge of the future. I'd do much better than Marty McFly. I don't think I have any descendants with terrible accents living in cowboy town, so I'd avoid paradoxes.

It would be really fun to impress people with my knowledge of the future. I could tell them all about avocados. They'd dismiss me at first, but then I'd convince them with my specific knowledge.

"They're a fruit or vegetable!" I'd say. "They're only ripe for a day, and even then they're all bland and slimy. Future Folks refer to them as 'the avocado pear'".

Then I'd take out a photograph of an avocado to prove I was telling the truth.

"You can make a dip that we call 'guacamole', which is quite nice," I'd say. But I'd pronounce it "gwak-a-moley" because they wouldn't be able to understand Spanish.

They'd probably make me mayor, or at least give me a job at the mayor's office, where I could use my futuristic filing skills and astound anyone who came into the mayor's office.

"The avocado pear." I'd use hand gestures to paint a picture.

***

I just made two attempts at starting this blog post, but realised that the first was too depressing, and that the second (which was intended to provide a positive counterpoint to the first) just came across as really sarcastic. So I'll just move both of them down the page, and begin with something else.

Lou Reed is dead. That's a real shame. He wrote a lot of good songs. Also, it's really fun to impersonate his voice. It's basically just talking in an American accent, but a bit more tuneful.

Here's one of his songs. It's about a whale.



I wonder how many songs have "battery acid" in the lyrics. Not enough, I say.

***

I just made a start on this blog post, but realised that my observation was too depressing. So I'll just move it further down the page. Instead, my beginning will be unqualified positivity! A spoonful of sugar helps the misery go down!

What a beautiful day it is! The big storm has come and gone, and has left a clear blue sky and lots of sexy leaves everywhere! There were three "ands" in that sentence! Awesome!

***

I get older every time I look in the mirror. As long as time keeps going forward, that will continue to be true.

Not only that, but every time I look in the mirror, I'm even older than my reflection indicates. It takes the light some time to reach my eyes, so the image that's processed by my brain is of a younger me. I'm older than I look, and I'm older than I can see.