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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.
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Daily Blah for... Wednesday, April 07, 2004
Neighbors From Hell
Well, that was an interesting way to wake up. Our neighbors' terrier Max -- a mangy, badly neglected little mutt whose only purpose in life seems to be to create as much noise as possible -- once again rose me from my slumber with his incessant yapping. I took a walk up to the back deck, which directly overlooks theirs. Yep, they'd left him out in the yard again.
My neighbors' yard is a sight to behold. Where all the yards around it are leafy-green, this one is barren. It contains concrete, dead weeds and a shed that looks like a fallout shelter. The house itself, shabby and Victorian, bears a strong resemblance to the Bates Motel. The family fit into this environment perfectly. The grown-up son can be seen wandering among the weeds, idly slicing them with a scythe. Our predecessors in this house saw him taken away to a mental institution after many nights of talking loudly to himself; they did not believe he would be returning. The mother I've never seen -- very Psycho -- but she has a loud and blood-curdling voice when she yells the terrier's name: "MAAAAAAAAAAX!" By comparison, Max's yelps have an air of desperation: "get me the hell outta here!"
I went out front, and to my surprise the neighbors were actually home. They were having their rugs cleaned, and rather than take the dog out for a badly-needed walk, they simply abandoned him in the yard again. A blonde-haired woman, apparently the niece, was supervising the cleaning. Conversation was not her forte. When I said "excuse me," she barked back: "who are you? Who are you?" Refusing to discuss the matter, she suggested it was perfectly acceptable to allow one's dog to bark in the yard all day, and that if I thought differently I should call the police. I can tell you, a confrontation (or non-confrontation) like that is a good way to get the blood rushing in the morning. Better than coffee.
Neighbors from hell are nothing new to me. When I lived in New York, my upstairs neighbor managed to crack and leak the thin ceiling with a washing machine she refused to put on blocks. What saddens me is that they should exist here too, even in Noe Valley paradise. I could understand if this were the neighborhood from hell, but they are surrounded by gentle neighborly types with vibrant gardens and happy-to-help smiles. Don't you think that would rub off a little?
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