Gummi bears, bouncing here and there and everywhere . . .

Over the last week or so, I've been reading the personal, private diaries of L.M. Montgomery, famed author of Anne of Green Gables, Emily of New Moon, and A Correspondence and a Climax (that last one will be the name of my autobiography, I think), and man, do I love reading the intimate details of other people's lives. She kept a diary for years and years and years, so there's a lot to go over. "Man," I thought. "This is terrific stuff. I should give this a go, this keeping a diary business. Why haven't I ever done this before?"

Then of course, I remember that I had, that they're called "blogs" now (three years into "blogging" and I still motherfucking hate that retarded word, hate it so much that I refuse to use it without the doubtful quotation marks which call into question its right to exist), and that I have actually had more than one. Right. And maybe if I'm sooo inspired to write out every detail of my life, I should just go set up a new journal like I've been telling everyone I was going to do. So here we are.

Over these years of random journals, I've developed a few philosophies for the journal:

1. Tell the whole story, or at least most of it. Nothing makes me quite as cranky as the random emo post suddenly appearing on someone's blog after months of silence only to whine "If only this festering life would come to an end!" and then back to months of silence. If I decide I want my festering life to come to an end, you will by God know every single reason why I am wholly justified in this wish, what steps I will take to fulfill it, when you can view the scene live online, and who's job it'll be to post the video to YouTube. EVERYTHING. Words you will never hear come out of my mouth: "To make a long story short . . ."

2. Except when telling the whole story will violate someone else's privacy or maybe when it'll just piss them off. I know you guys want to read about every sigh and moan in my many, MANY sexual encounters, but in those 2% of encounters which actually involve another living creature, I think we can afford him some privacy. (Note I say "him." If I ever do indulge in some hot girl-on-girl action, I think we will all want the tiniest details preserved for posterity.)

3. I'd really, really, really like it if you'd put a name on your comments. Any name. I just want to know if the comment is coming from a family member (eh, nice), a friend (oh, hi!), or a total stranger (OMG, SOMEONE I DON'T KNOW IS READING! MY EXISTENCE IS JUSTIFIED!!!!1!). Sure, I've made a bit of a science out of identifying commenters based on the signature tells demonstrated in everyone's writing style, but at the end of the day, that's still guessing. I hate guessing.

4. Regular posting makes everyone happy. I know I've been a sporadic poster in the past, but I also know that the journals I like best are the ones that have new entries everyday. I'm going to give that Entry-a-Day thing a whirl. We'll see how long that resolution sticks.

5. Labels are stupid.