For years, I have cultivated a critical eye and a quick tongue – blame it on my adoration of Twain, O’Connor and Wilde. Those close to me know that I’m very loyal and devoted, and they might, in their charity, describe me as charmingly acerbic, endearingly wry, even cleverly caustic (or they could just say that I'm a shit and not very funny - I hope for the former). Lately, though, I’ve started to worry about my disposition. At what point do you cross the line from bitchy to bitch? I’m afraid I’m close. Now, I still think that a well-aimed barb is at times entirely appropriate (nay, necessary!), but it concerns me that a preponderance of my expressions, words, thoughts, and actions could be described as “withering” or “mordant” (or maybe just mean). It’s not that I worry about the feelings of others (See! I’m practically misanthropic!), but I do worry about the effect that all this snootiness will have on me. It’s very difficult to be truly interested in anything if your primary motivation for interaction involves discovering and mocking the faults and foibles of others.
So, the blog. It’s a venue for me to try to be witty and interesting without being a total ass. Please help.
Speaking of, we watched Withnail and I last night, and I learned an excellent new verb: to asshole. As in, “He’d assholed himself on rum by the time we’d arrived.” Fun, no? Look at me, rejoicing in the handicraft of my fellow man. I’m practically a humanist already.