Ever have an out of body experience? You know, where you’re, like, floating above yourself, watching yourself enraptured in a moment of spiritual bliss or seeing yourself finally getting it and suddenly speaking fluently in a foreign language or watching yourself sitting on the crapper, picking your nose?
Yeah, I had one of those this week. It was surreal, as if I had become another Laurie Anderson clone
I came home today
and both our cars were gone.
And there were all these new pink
Flamingoes arranged in star patterns
All over the lawn.
Then I went into the kitchen
And it looked like a tornado had it.
And then I realized I was in the wrong house.
Often joking about his lack of readers, Papa Bradstein is one of the best blogs you’re probably not reading yet. His writing style is fun, upbeat and clever. He can make suffering from the flu rip your sides apart with laughter. And if he can’t get his coffee? Well, he’ll lead you on his journey to the mecca of caffeine and you’ll be laughing the whole way there.
I’m sorry, are we talking about the same Papa Bradstein? A quick Googling revealed that there were two others, one who wrote from a wind powered station high atop a remote peak in Argentina, where he’s dedicated his life to the study of lenticular clouds, and the other who squinted through a microscope to etch his posts on the surfaces of the amber beads that roll up onto the Wadden Sea island off Friesland where he lives on the mud flats in his house on stilts, and from which he would walk his posts ashore through the sucking mud at low tide or across the ice in the winter when the sea freezes for the town librarian to translate from West Frisian to English and post in his blog. (The translation may not be necessary, since, “Bûter, brea, en griene tsiis; wa’t dat net sizze kin, is gjin oprjochte Fries.”)
When both of them found out that they shared a blog name with me, however, in a strange coincidence, they both took down their blogs, asked Blogger to send them the drives their blogs had been stored on, burned the drives, then paid NASA the required fees to launch the ashes of the drives into space and propel them toward a black hole, where they will disappear forever, crushed by the gravitational force of 28 solar masses.
So, that leaves me, I suppose. But seriously?
Papa Bradstein is somewhat of a cult classic. He’s like a Starbucks in Seattle before it went viral. If you’re not reading him you really should be. His writing makes you want to be a better writer yourself. He’s just so darn witty and entertaining.
Starbucks is viral? WTF? No wonder I get sick every time I get a latte. They should flipping disinfect the place if it’s viral. Or at least put some Theraflu in their drinks. Also … “Witty”? “Entertaining”? I’m pretty sure that BBM is referring to some of those West Frisian amber etched posts.
Last night I had that dream again.
I dreamed I had to take a test
In a Dairy Queen on another planet.
And then I looked around
And there was this woman.
And she was making it all up.
She was writing it all down.
And she was laughing.
She was laughing her head off.
Although this all seems like a dream to me, I suppose it is true, although the credit really goes to Barky, who pens all the funny posts. I just shoot the photos and videos–his single dewclaw can’t work the dials on the cameras. I’m glad to hear that he makes BBM laugh her head off. As I told her, she is one of my favorite moms and bloggers.
She makes me laugh on a regular basis as well, often from recognition of something we’re experiencing, and sometimes nervously in anticipation of what lies ahead of us.
Dad always started reading the newspaper on the comics page, which he called “the heart of the paper.” I’ve realized that’s true not only in the sense that it’s the center of the paper, but it’s also the emotional heart of the paper like the front page is the cerebral head of the paper. I tend to get caught up in taking things–life, for example–too seriously. As a reminder to myself to let go a little bit, I make a conscious effort to start reading with the heart of the paper–or the heart of the blogosphere, which is where BBM’s blog resides for me.
And to say that it’s at the emotional heart doesn’t mean that it’s not thoughtful, but that it’s also sensitive, compassionate, and wise.
And seriously, thank you, BBM.