Why yes, hello, thank you! I'd appreciate it if you take my coat. Thanks. You have a lovely home here. Just lovely. Oh- wow- thank you for the drink! Yes, coffee is great- I love coffee- any old sort. So, that will be just- what? Oh- oh yes- Yes- I am sort of new here to the blogging world. Certainly a newbie to the Blogspot itself. Well, I mean, I wrote a blog on my own website for a little over two years in the past. Like an open diary of sorts. All those entries are up on www.hollylong.com/blog-2 if you're interested in my...what? I'm--- oh- you mean- (are you still talking to me?) Oh you must move on. Of course- hostess with the mostess... Well, um.. thanks for the invite. I'll...just...be..uh. I'll be right. ..Over. Here.
(Stands off to the side of the foyer. Sips on coffee cup. Glances around expectantly. Moments pass.)
Man, I hate to be the one at the party who knows no one. Alone. And yet, here I am. Here I am anyway. Yet another new member of the zillion member club of bloggers out there ("Over ___ billion served. Yum. McBlogald's.) Another voice adding to the cacophony of this beauteous wacky chorale- this Handel's Messiah of virtual connections and overflowing information brought to us all by us all in glorious technicolor crochets of 1s and 0s.
And to be fair to myself- as a writer I've been honing this voice for quite some time. I'm a musician- you see- if you don't already know me. (Which I hope you don't- because then it means you are a new reader and I have yet another chance to create another connective spark in this cyberland with a new pal in the playpen.) I'm a songwriter, and a singer. A performer- a pianist and guitar player. Used to be an actor. Am still an overwrought poet at times, and also a bi-polar comedian. Sniggering at the frailty of my own humanness, and celebrating just those threads that tie us all together. I'm a mom and an artist and I bend toward liberal politically and I love all kinds of music and I drink too much wine and watch a lot of cable TV shows, and I read historical fiction I find in the airport and I love clothing and vintage everything. From Patsy Cline to your grandmother's fur collared cashmere sweater- which I now own. From my funky owl salt and pepper shakers to my Sex Pistols Tshirt from the early 80's.
You read me- you're gonna hear a lot about anxiety and aging. A lot about rock and roll and maybe fringe fashion and probably caffeine and writing and how mothering is the loose macrame bag that holds all of this stuff together for me. You're gonna read a lot of swear words and about how many things confuse me or piss me off or crack me up. You will be awash with opinions. You may laugh occasionally. And you may even stop, put a finger or two upon your chinny chin chin and go... "Hm." You know- those Things That Make You Go Hm.
I am hopeful my experiences can allow for that for you, dear reader. I hope we can dance this virtual waltz of affection by trading back and forth the little black icons upon the white page that try so desperately to synthesize for us our true authentic moments. Just tryin to keep it real over heah, y'all. Trying to Represent.
Please write me back. Comment and enlighten me. Give me suggestions- blogs, books to read. Music to hear. Tell me what room at the party I should be inhabiting-- who are my peeps? Are they smoking on the upstairs back porch picking fuzz off their thrift store sweaters? Are they sipping champagne in the pantry under the counter and grasping each others' hands because they all just suddenly got the same joke? Are they admiring the knick knacks in the bathroom? Or the residual food on the dishes in the sink? Because I just got here. And I just finished the cup of coffee our gracious hostess bestowed upon me.
I'm caffeinated up and ready to go. See you here- same time, same place.
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