Nothing to see here

In an effort to find blog configuration and content inspiration I often abuse the "Next Blog" button on Blogger's navbar. (Just look up.) It takes you to a random blog, with no regard to nationality, geolocation, or linguistic comfort zone. It is especially ignorant to reader interests and, with no confinement of subject matter or membership exclusivity, Blogger unveils a spectrum of drudgery that I had not believed possible.

There are blogs dedicated to farming, sneakers, and sewing. There are merchant sites, selling

Image via CrunchBase

clothes, bedspreads, and purses. Then there are the endless sites about people's pets and/or their children, which seems like an incredible waste of Internet real estate. Now, while none of these sites hold my interest, I am glad to know that anyone can have a voice here. Everyone has the right to express their opinions and concerns with the world. If they don't have any gripes they have the right to just share their hobbies with the world. If they are completely vacant shells they can visit the retail blogs and continue their flickering existences as mere consumers, as we all have the right to make money from the insignificant. Most importantly, I am glad that I have the right to spurn and chastise all previously mentioned groups within my own blogging sovereignty.

Of course the real question is, do other blog cruisers see value in my written word? It is conceivable that not everyone would enjoy my particular flavor, but at least then they would have an opinion. They could then blog about their opinion, moving themselves immediately up the ranks of those constituents here who actually contribute. It's a win/win scenario either way. Well, I suppose that doesn't address those whose eyes glaze over when they show up here. For them there's always "Next Blog."

Putting your best Facebook forward

Despite my hermit-like avoidance of social networking sites, I land on a few from time to time. None hold my attention for very long, but I do thumb through the pictures despite the often

Image by Getty Images via Daylife

shallow and redundant content. Cameras can now take hundreds of pictures which should greatly magnify our ability to capture rare events and brief moments in time, yet the majority of online photo albums feature the same predictable scenes: friends posing as if staged for a portrait, holding up their drinks, flashing their "victory" fingers or wagging their tongues (how happy the day will be when this trend dies).

The background, foreground and context are ignored and candidness apparently goes without consideration, unless of course it's in catching someone in a compromising situation. This raises the real point of concern.
When teens through twenty-somethings are documenting the unruly, experimental, law-breaking, party-dedicated experiences of their youth, what kind of photographic legacy are people leaving for their children?

The photos I have of my relatives are respectable scenes, depictions of civil social gatherings. I don't have a picture of my grandfather doing a keg stand or my mother hanging on men who were not my father. I know they were all young once and went through similar experiences, maybe made similar mistakes, but the world wasn't watching then. Their was no chance their embarrassing situations would end up on YouTube.

When generations down the line are assigned a genealogy project for school, they'll compile their ancestral information with ease by simply plugging our names into Google. What sorts of images will they find?

The window treatments to the soul

Image via Wikipedia

My attraction for women is not always founded on baseline physical attributes, meaning a well dressed woman or one that takes the extra time with her hair can be equally as attractive as one with well formed curves. There are many variables in play as to what might peak my interest in any given woman. Some of these variables I acknowledge and understand as obvious reasoning or perhaps having cross-related areas of pleasure.

One such example is my affinity for waitresses. There is no struggle for logic here. It is a woman who brings me food and drink upon request. She is beautiful in my eyes. The added flirtation that has worked its way into the food service industry is just a bonus element, holding parallels to well established "dance" clubs and houses of ill repute. It consists of women feigning intrigue for a man with the end goal of slimming down his wallet, a lifelong exchange of money for coquetterie. This is a condition for which both men and women are at fault and both are worse off with its perpetuation. Women monetarily win out in the short run but ultimately lose, having continuously failed relationships and finding it hard to discern why men don't take love seriously.

My less transparent attraction enhancement, in both rationale and reality, is when a woman wears sunglasses. Every woman, regardless of age or physical makeup, is slightly more of a woman behind those tinted shields. Within a world of fading mystery, there is little left untouched or beyond comprehension or examination. It is silly, but in plastic eyeware I can find a bit of wonder again.

What color are her eyes? Green? Brown? Red with tears?

Is she looking off into the distance or staring at me?

The eyes reveal so much about a person and stripping this essential insight into one's humanity causes my imagination to churn. As a character in my mind, her depth is endless, but the fantasy proves time and again to be better than the tangible truth. All good stories have a sad ending depending on when you stop reading, and eventually the glasses come off. The majority of the time, like with the bras of today, what was covered looked better before, and the thrill subsides. Every once in awhile though the mystery woman is as she was supposed to be, a reflection of projected perfection. It's then that the world seems right and my day is better for it.