Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
American Digest: And I like this from "The Blog That Nobody Reads", because it is -- mostly -- about me. What can I say? I'm on an ego trip today. It won't last.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Dr. Melissa Clouthier: Morgan Freeberg at House of Eratosthenes (pftthats a mouthful) honors big boned women in skimpy clothing. The picture there is priceless--keep scrolling down.
Exile in Portales: Via Gerard: Morgan Freeberg, a guy with a lot to say. And he speaks The Truth...and it's fascinating stuff. Worth a read, or three. Or six.
Just Muttering: Two nice pieces at House of Eratosthenes, one about a perhaps unintended effect of the Enron mess, and one on the Gore-y environ-movie.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
The Virginian: I know this post will offend some people, but the author makes some good points.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
Dating Amy
This blog calls itself “The Blog That Nobody Reads” because, by design, we kind of don’t really care who’s paying attention…kind of. But occasionally, we do react to it, to extend gracious notes of gratitude to some of the huge fish in the blogosphere pond, and actually to the miniscule guppies as well, who link to us. And, we do keep an eye on how people get here, and what interests them. When we turn up in a Google search, we pay attention to that which was searched.
Let’s get down to brass tacks. A lot of you aren’t here for the windy political manifesto. Sheri Doub and Erica Chevillar with their teeny-weeny bathing suits, are more your speed. Hey, you have more in common with us than you think.
Well, while you keep that ear out for the boss’ footsteps so you can wiggle your mouse around and look busy, you can read Amy’s Diary over at Dating Amy, the website reporting on the adventures of a lovely unemployed LA-to-Seattle transplant serial-dater, as she talks about her fifty dates. Click on the pic of Amy’s friend, Chad, to go there. You remember the dating world, don’t you? Sure you do. Well, here is Amy’s intro, word for word:
Hi. My name is Amy. Since I became a writer, whether I’ve worked for a dot-com funded by billionaires or an established business presence, you can often find me with tears in my eyes and a cardboard box in my arms. I’ve been laid off several times, of course through no fault of my own, and it’s the lucky city of Seattle that gets to swagger around boasting to its locker-room pals that it has me every day and every night.
One year ago today I balanced my checkbook and realized that I hadn’t had a nice income in quite a long time. I was an entertainment reviewer and before that a music journalist, but really, how many ways can you describe the interior of a fish restaurant? How many bands can you critique before you want to pull your hair out strand by strand? (My personal answer to that is 1,000, by the way.) When I was laid off by the gargantuan media corporation I was writing for, I thought it would be the perfect time to switch to writing about one of my favorite causes: dating. In addition to noticing my own unemployment, I also observed that there was no answer when I shared the news of my new career tack with my boyfriend, as I didn’t have one.
Then I got what seemed like a good idea at the time: Why don’t I look for a boyfriend and document it on the Internet! Stories about a person’s descent into madness are always popular and people will probably want to send me money.
DatingAmy.com is the result — my literal labor of love. I’m going on 50 dates and I’m taking you with me� but only if you promise not to whine “Are we there yet?”
Oh, one more thing. Dating Amy isn’t supposed to be my name. It’s supposed to be like: “Hmmm. I wonder how great and/or awful it would be to be dating Amy. It’s especially disturbing because people from my real life have started calling me Dating Amy like I’m a superhero or a cartoon or something.
Fair disclosure, I’m not dating anyone. I did date, serially, and one of those dates just happened to work out. Since then, I get to laugh my ass off at dating stories that I probably wouldn’t think were that funny if I were still available.
I was dating for ten months from February to December 2004. At the beginning of it, I came out of a committed relationship that lasted a decade, and at the end of it I went into another relationship that happens to be the one I’m in now, and will last an eternity. Relatively speaking, my most recent exposure to “the scene” was like the blink of an eye. But I know how to notice stuff…maybe I’ll write about that stuff someday. For now, you’ll just have to burn that company-time on Amy, who is much prettier than I am, and better at that whole “brevity” thing anyway. See that picture to the left? That’s Amy. Not me. I’m an ugly dude. I’m not dating, and if I was, you’d have to wait a long, long time for me to go on fifty of ’em.
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