There’s nothing like binge-watching an hour of Joey B. Toonz to head-kick you into reevaluating what stupid shit you are sharing on social media. While my blog isn’t promoted on social media per se, it is my version of social media for my wife and me along with whoever might accidentally stumble across some post here. So I scrolled down to find out how guilty I might be of posting narcissistic bullshit: GUILTY! Who cares how much dish soap we use or that we are cleaning out hoarded stuff and believe we are doing something altruistic by giving some of it to Goodwill? Guilty. Meanwhile, I’ve been doing some backfill entries that don’t appear in the current scroll meaning, based on old photos I scanned, I’m putting together some dusty old memories, embellished with the fog of time, about my escapades in the red light district of Frankfurt. Here I go again, bragging about a period of nearly 1000 days in which I would have gladly exchanged my parents for 20 minutes with some prostitute, and towards the end of my sojourn in carnal depravity, I was looking for a Thai Surprise, butch Italian woman with beefy dildos, or that woman whose boobs had to weigh in at 40lbs each (she was big and smelled funny, but that didn’t stop me).

Makes me consider that, at one time, my life was real or a different shade of grotesque. Have I really been reduced to filling the pages between travel photos with how much toothpaste I’ve used in my lifetime? Sure, I tell myself that this is all for some future anthropological study 200 or 300 years from now when people will want to study our current time more in-depth, and I’m supplying an aspect of that, but maybe I’m just providing more ammunition for others to reel in the pain of how profoundly stupid we all were. Even those of us who thought they had a clue. Then I think about the masses from 200 years ago or 2000 years ago, and I’m afraid that they were also as dumb as a box of rocks, and I’m simply carrying on the tradition. If it weren’t for my oversized ego still believing that I have something to share and it might yet turn out to be relevant, I’d have to stop this nonsense and realize that these missives into the ether are going right where they belong, into nothingness.

After reading this to my wife, she consoles me that at least I don’t include mukbang sounds in my blog entries about dishwashing, tooth brushing, or eating a whore’s ass.