I Think I Rate At Least As Many Cursors As Billy Corgan

Aw, only two cursors? That smarts.

For the last few days I’ve been trying to get a hold of the new Chicago magazine because I knew they had a bit on me in a piece about Chicago blogs, and call me cranky, but I think they missed the point on a few counts. I offer my original mission statement for the bert from day one, which I think I’ve held to, for better or worse:

“If you’re looking for something serious, you probably won’t find it here, unless you do.
Things you might find here:
Observations and opinions, arguments and pleas, notes, lists, and tables, appreciation and gratitude, questions and guesses although maybe not so much in the way of answers, but, at the very least, text and images. Nothing about Leonardo diCaprio.”

As such, I don’t think this blog really warrants any sort of a rating. I’m not out here trying to get approval. I’m just talking about stuff. I'm just trying to connect.

That said, this whole writing career thing continues to teach me tiny little lessons. In this case: if I’d known this was a review, I might have mentioned the nature of my blog. And I might also have pointed them to some more interesting bits than the one about surfing with Clooney, which is the one they quoted. I can concede that they’re not all winners, but there are some way better ones than that.

And also – a passion for celebrities and crafting? Passion? Crafts, ok, kinda maybe. Passion probably isn't the right word, but fine. Celebrities? Passion? No. Interest, yeah, in the “There is a horrible, bloody, six car pileup right in front of me and it's particularly riveting because the cars are somehow defying the rules of what is considered ordinary car piling up in such a way that I can not look away,” which has lately transmuted into “There is a horrible bloody six car pileup in front of me and usually I can look away but once in a while (I’m talking about you, Brandon Davis) I get sucked back in long enough to remember why I haven’t been looking lately.” It is my sincere hope that someday, someone will say a name, any name, one such as Brandon Davis or even Jennifer Lopez and I will say "Who?" But I suppose that would involve never looking at the internet, or a magazine rack, or um, the nightly news. So it may not happen.

I swear, I’m really not even cranky today. The sun is shining and I have a new big long article by George Saunders (in GQ) to look forward to reading.

But I am hurt. I like my little bloggy.