Tuesday, June 18, 2002. Entry #165

It's funny how hard it is to convey tone when writing for the web.

When I sit down to write, my fingers simply transcribe the ongoing monologue in my head, writing down the exact phraseology and terminology, yet somehow completely missing the tone.

Let me throw a metaphor your way. Take this classic bit of comedy:

"Who's on first?" "Yes." "I mean the fellow's name." "Who." "The guy on first." "Who." "The first baseman." "Who."

People who have never heard the full Abbott and Costello routine would read the above much in the way a radio reporter reads off stock reports. Those who have heard it, on the other hand...

When I write, I can hear the internal soundtrack of my mind that gives my words the real flavor. In my head, I'm some kind of favored son of Oscar Wilde and Mark Twain, spewing out wry commentary and hilarious anecdotes to a crowd of fans roaring with laughter who go on to contemplate the deeper, hidden meaning of my words in the days to come. In my head there's a John Williams soundtrack playing in Surround Sound, and the images are being flashed across the back of my eyes in glorious full-color panoramic view.

I can't say with certainty how you, my dear readers, hear me in your heads, but I'm fairly convinced it isn't exactly like that.

(And if my prose does rebound in your head like the THX promo at the IMAX, you may need to move away from your computer for a while.)

That's okay. I can deal with that. My ego is not so huge that I believe my every word will ring loud and resonantly through the annals of history. As long as I can give you some amusement from time to time or get you to understand something deeper about myself once in a while, I'm content.

I do find myself distressed with my difficulty at expressing more root elements, such as sarcasm, or self-deprecating humor, without it coming out as moroseness or depression. The point of yesterday's missive was to hint at how hard it is to write without dwelling on the few bad things in my life. And, according to one of my oldest fans (my sister), I missed the boat entirely.

(My sister is the queen of the succinct reply. "Get a grip," were here exact words. "Suck it up and write something funny.")

I've occasionally contemplated adding a new entry to the sidebar like, "Tone of this entry", but since most days it would read "Tongue-in-cheek sarcasm", it seemed kind of redundant.

Instead, let me try again to get my point across.

I am happy. I'm deliriously in love, I have a job that I enjoy, and I have dear friends I would not trade for the world. I have all my appendages, and they all work in the manner they were intended. I have both eyes, both ears, and all the important bits between them. I do not live on the street or my mother's basement (for which she is eternally happy). Most of my family is still alive, and we all share warmth and affection easily and often. I have books to read and shows to watch and games to play and people to do all that with. And if all that wasn't enough, the sun sets in a spectacular display every evening, and reappears in a glorious show on the mornings I'm up early enough to see it.

So when I complain here about the ache in my wrist or the ingrown toenail on my right foot, please excuse me. I am just a normal human, and it is much easier to gripe about the bad than remember the good.

But if you are one of those people who really do care about how I am doing, be assured that I am doing very well indeed. Hey, remember the big secret key to how well I'm doing: If I'm posting, I'm just fine. I can't write a word when I'm down.

And hey, thanks for caring. All of you.

One Year Ago Today: I was still on hiatus, but in 1977, the Space Shuttle test model "Enterprise" carried a crew aloft for the first time, while afixed to a modified Boeing 747.

Mom Rating: 4 out of 5. Mom was concerned enough at yesterday's entry to call me and make sure I was all right. And to ask me to mow her lawn while she was on holiday.

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Take me home, big fella