What's three months between friends?

So...oops. I wandered off and have had a hell of a time finding my way back here. How've you been?

When last we met, I was positively overwrought by poor Tess of the D'Urbervilles, to the point that I poured forth nearly 1300 words about it. I'd like to say that the whole experience took a lot out of me and that I've been taking the cure in a clean and quiet room in Switzerland ever since, but if we base our relationships on falsehoods, where will we be?

I got distracted. Also I am lazy. I beg your pardon. Please come back.

Really, in February and March I was just in a fever of anticipation about my far-off beloved's return to my country, my town, and, indeed, my very neighborhood. It was all I could think about and any news or droll observations that came my way went straight to him. And then he came back! And I was distracted by that. And then...we broke up.

Believe me, that was not where I thought this was going either. I mean it's not quite a Tess-level tragedy, but it is painful nonetheless. And now I am distracted by that. In this instance though, "distracted" means sad and lonely, which I'm afraid may go on for quite some time. My strategy has been to apply back-to-back episodes of "House" to the situation (fortunately, there are eight seasons available on Netflix). It has proven a good palliative, but it is hardly a long-term solution of the "growth and change" or "embrace your life" or "reach out to those who love you" sort. Rise above television. That doesn't seem like such a lofty goal. So here I am: a little weepy and embarrassed, slightly plumper, not as funny as I'd like, and with bugger-all to say, but showing up. Hi.

Etymology

I am by no means familiar with his entire canon, but even the scant exposure that I've had to the works of Thomas Hardy makes me confident in my conclusion that "hardy har har" does not derive from his name.

Thomas Hardy, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I probably wouldn't have invited you to any dinner parties. You're kind of a downer, man.

When I was a teenager with an enthusiasm for Pride and Prejudice and A Room with a View, I remember getting Tess of the d'Urbervilles from the library, thinking it would be right up my literary street. I abandoned it soon thereafter, rather ashamed, having found it to be inpenetrably dull.

Fast forward a few decades. There I am on my sofa, under a blanket, wine in hand, settling in to watch a glossy BBC miniseries of the novel. (Here, I feel I should warn you that if you have been saving Thomas Hardy as a special treat and you wish it to remain a treasure trove of surprises, you should avert your gaze.)

It's raining; it's pouring

That's an exaggeration. It is decidedly not pouring, but we have a STORM WATCH in effect for tomorrow. I'm quite excited about it. If ever anyone needed a STORM WATCH it was the the dessicated, brittle inhabitants of California. To say nothing of our plants. Our plants are giddy with excitement.

So, what we have here is a meteorological special occasion. I thought I'd celebrate by actually writing something here. As you can see, the Blog Bully has been otherwise occupied ever since he got hitched, so the blogging enforcement has gone all to hell. Self-discipline isn't my strong suit. Well, I say that, but I haven't yet killed any of my upstairs neighbors, nor have I had any chocolate cake since early January, so perhaps I am maintaining a more rigorously Spartan lifestyle than I give myself credit for.

For my next trick, I shall transcribe something from my very own notebook (oooooh), which is made of paper (aaaahhhh) and ferried about in my purse in the manner of our ancestors who thought they Might Need to Write Something Down.

Is it a cheater move to steal month-old material from yourself? Quite possibly. However, as I have already explained, there is zero enforcement around here. It is a lawless state. Let the self-plagiarism continue, say I.

Testing 1,2,3

Not unreasonably, a friend has asked for me to link my blog to my Facebook page so that she doesn't have to pull out a star chart or use telepathy or just plain guess when I might have taken it upon myself to write something. I understand that there is a thing called a Publishing Schedule that fancy bloggers employ so that they can create a harmonious relationship between content and readers.

Ha.

Well, maybe I'll get there someday, but, for now: ha.

I have been strangely reluctant to wave the "I wrote something today" flag. My relationship with this blog vacillates dizzyingly between "Oh! People actually read it!" to "Oh lord. People actually read it?" I am a nut job, apparently. As my friend sagely queries, "If your blog falls in a forest, etc."

However, for the convenience of my lovely friend more than because I've decided you all care about these alerts--otherwise silent forest notwithstanding--I'm giving it a whirl.

This post is the one in which I determine if I even know how to "push content" (that's what they call it, you see. I never thought I'd be a pusher, but here goes nothing.) After this, there will no longer be a need to be all meta about it; I'll just write here as erratically as ever, quietly push the big announcement over to Facebook, and continue whistling casually down the lane without so much as a backward glance.

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This Sunday

I have longer things to tell you, but I keep wandering off and foolishly doing other things, but really, if you can't use your own blog to promote your own performance, what has the world come to?

Now, I know the 49ers are playing (are you impressed I know that? If I am completely honest, it's because someone just said so in the lunch room) and "Sherlock" season 3 is premiering (obviously no one is surprised that I know that ), but surely you have the technological wherewithal to record that sort of thing, no?

Come to The Vent and hear me and several other delightful people tell stories about much procrastinated things that are finally OH-VER. Don't pretend you can't identify with that. If you are a human, you can identify with that.

Please come. It's so much more fun with an audience.

The Vent
Sunday, January 19
7pm
Stage Werx Theatre
446 Valencia (oh so BARTable)

Get your tickets right here.

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Kari Kiernan