I don’t think I need to extol the virtues of keeping a journal to anyone who reads or writes blogs, but every once in a while something will happen that reminds me why it’s a good idea. We’ve been cleaning up the house in anticipation of selling it and moving to Chicago. I finally got a lot of my crap organized, including all my old journals.

I’m in the middle of transcribing one now so I can throw it away and lighten our load. I was reading one of the entries from March 1993, which I’ve reprinted below, when I realized I had absolutely no recollection of the event it describes. It was a mundane and largely insignificant moment in my largely mundane and insignificant life, but it made me wonder how many other little bits of my life I’ve forgotten completely. I mean, I really do not remember this episode at all. I had assumed that the version of my life that I maintain in my head pretty much had all the details down. Shit, man, what else have I forgotten? More important, how bad is it, who remembers it, and what’s gonna happen when they find me? I feel like I must been on Quaaludes for the past 40 years. Well, I hope it was fun and nobody got hurt too bad.

Rereading this entry also brought home to me what a condescending jerk I was, even at the relatively advanced age of 29, still assuming the rest of the world existed only for my entertainment. Rest assured, I’m much more grown-up now.

By the way, did you know they write books about how to keep a journal? Jesus H. Christ, I think I’ll write a book called How to Wipe Your Ass. In other words, keep whatever kind of journal you want. If your entry for June 9, 1987 is “Fuck,” then so be it.

One more thing: I still hate MySpace, but one sort of neat thing they let you do is let folks know what music you’re listening to. Right now, I’m listening to Shake a Leg, which is pretty much my favorite AC/DC song.


The two black men who installed the washing machine amused me. I had given them a bottle of soda water because they had worked so hard carrying the machine up the front steps and into the kitchen, not because it was unusually warm for the last day of the year, but because they made me laugh. I heard one of them screaming on the street outside my house after they had finished their job. I imagined that he must have opened the bottle too quickly, causing the soda water to erupt and spray out all over him.