I’d like to say that I’ve been relatively quiet lately because I’ve been bustling busy, being scholarly and cleaning house and such. 




I think the fairest way to say it is that I just ran out of words. Like I’ve said before, I have this calendar of post ideas and the idea is to jog creativity and such. And everything I’ve ever read about serious writing says that to be a writer, you write. You write on days when you’re sick and days when you’re tired and days when you have nothing to say. 


And normally I do. But for the past week or so, it just hasn’t been there. Nothing at all. I’m not depressed or anything, I think I just needed a bit of a break. So I took one. I didn’t Facebook like I usually do. I didn’t respond to emails. I didn’t really tweet. 


This past weekend was pretty lovely, and Josh and I spent most of it geocaching, which is perhaps the greatest thing ever. If you’ve never heard of it, concisely it’s like a worldwide scavenger hunt, and you participate using GPSs. You drive around wherever it takes you (there’s a handy iPhone app), and you usually end up going some pretty cool places. 


Josh and I started geocaching last year, took a break over the summer because damn it’s hot, and then we remembered a few weeks ago…”oh yeah, that’s super fun, let’s do it again.”


So we did. This weekend we went all over North Mississippi/Tennessee/Alabama, following blinking GPS dots, digging in the brush, climbing hills, and – in one instance – trying not to get sucked into the muck of a sulphur spring.


I don’t really know why I like it so much. I have a habit of scanning out the window while we drive, to see if I see any dead bodies in the woods. 


I never said I wasn’t, you know, weird. 

The Reality Is, It’s Not

Reality TV.

Guilty pleasure, total waste, whatever.

Why do we all wet ourselves over the weirdness of famous people? Sometimes not even famous people.

I totally do it too. I watched American Idol faithfully for more years than I care to admit. The Real World Seattle is, to this day, one of my favorite shows.

It’s not just TV, either. When we drive out in the sticks I find myself rubbernecking everything. At night especially – I love getting a glimpse into people’s houses, their nighttime life lit and framed in the windows.

Why is that? Why do I even care?

Care is a strong word, though. I know that I have no business looking like I do. My drive by nosiness isn’t invited, the reality tv is. Those people invite cameras in and the normal people I like to spy on have no clue.

I guess the moral of the story is, close your shades.