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Add one part satire to two parts sincerity. Sprinkle on a couple of rants. Stir liberally.
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Daily Blah FAQ
Who are you?
I'm the newly-appointed Future editor at Business 2.0 and the former San Francisco correspondent for Time Magazine.
Wow, so does this mean everything you write reflects Time Inc's opinion? Or do you perhaps have some sort of standard disclaimer to the effect that it doesn't?
Naturally, the opinions contained in this blog are not those of my employers. In fact, some opinions may be the polar opposite of my employers. Some may be the same, for all I know. Hey, it's not like I ask my employers their opinions about everything in the news, okay? Let's just say that if this were a Venn diagram with one circle marked "my opinions" and the other one marked "my employers' opinions", there would doubtless be some overlap. But neither I nor my employers are able to pinpoint exactly where that overlap is.
What is this Daily Blah thing?
An experiment for a column I wrote about blogging back in December 2001. All these years later, I haven't been able to kick the habit.
If it's called Daily Blah, how come you don't ... hey, wait, you're writing every day!
See? Told you I'd try harder.
Mister, you talk funny. Are you one of them furrners?
Why yes I am, as it happens. I was born, raised and educated in Great Britain. I've been living in the U.S. since 1996 and identify as British.
I say, old chap, you forgot the "u" in "colour."
No I didn't. I may identify as British, but I am also an American journalist writing for an American audience about mostly American issues. These two different sides of me are a constant source of tension. Nevertheless, Daily Blah will adhere to American English grammar and spelling.
Praise for Daily Blah:
"It is fun to watch the author's navel-gazing joy." - Sunday Times (UK)
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"Better than Xanax." - Lessley Andersen, journalist
"Dude, lay off the crack pipe." - Souris Hong-Porretta, gamesmith
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Daily Blah for... Thursday, June 26, 2003
Of Bugs and Bowling
Out tonight at sunset, tilting at cliff tops, blasting the Beach Boys, eating burritos and being eaten by mosquitoes. The sun sank into the ocean, taking what seemed like forever, and my friends debated whether it was because of the Earth's axis or a period in its rotation where we happen to be closer. Myself, I keep an open mind. It may well be both.
My poor northern European skin can't take much more of these bloodsucking bugs and their anesthesiologist ways. I am told that the large ones are mosquito eaters, and therefore earn the same swat-protection status as spiders in fly-heavy climates. Trouble is, I can't figure out which ones the big ones are. Where does an obese mosquito end and a size-challenged mosquito-eater begin?
To round off the night in a small-town California way, we go to a classic 50's bowling alley steps away from the beach. I can't bowl, never have been able to, but I thrive on games, treasure every random roll of the ball, and do a war dance of frustration every time a hungry gutter sucks one in, which is often. As with much in life, I end up wishing for twice the practice time.
And then we step out, inhaling the salty air, savoring a rare balmy night. Somewhere out across that ocean, another friend is starting a new life in an ancient country. The sun is rising in Tokyo. Life is good.
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