Category Archives: Niche-tastic

This is not a diet blog part 1: How to win friends and throw shit parties.

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Around two months ago we threw a party.  Or rather, we attempted to throw a party. Or rather, we attempted to throw a weekend long festival of whimsy and delight at our home. It was going to be completely, mind-blowingly awesome and totally relaxed all at the same time. A kitchen so full of smiling faces making brownies it’d make you sick, friends coming and going at all hours, pissing off the neighbors with their banjo led gipsy strummings at 3 in the morning, drinking long into the balmy evening and celebrating the delightful stroke of fate that brought us together to be young and on holidays.

The reality was much different. We started strongish with a lovely evening spent consuming shit loads of salad and performing various spoken word pieces (including a dramatic reading from the Kardashian novel) and musical numbers.

Saturday was altogether a more lonely affair. The very lovely Sarah did come over to make the aforementioned brownies and later on there was a solid craft and Community session but by late afternoon the friends had petered out and after several hours wandering from room to room I found myself playing mini-golf in the hallway with my housemate, his sister and our one unfortunate guest.

A few more people came later on and I had some laughs and smoked a cigar and pretended I was enjoying myself but all night I was inwardly saying “fuck them. Stupid jerky jerks, fuck them all” as I glared at empty rooms and huffing as another totally excellent song came on the playlist I actually put thought into that was now wasted just like the playdough I bought special and my joy and my soul and any expectation I ever have for anything ever.

I gave so much of a crap about how few people came to the weekend. We usually throw good parties. Like, reasonably excellent ones where people fill our house (inexplicably they’re mostly drawn to our stupidly long laundry) and laugh and drink and smoke moodily outside.

What’s worse than how shitty I felt about the lack of interest shown is that in justifying the vastly empty result of the much overplanned weekend (I had made a festival line-up and all), despite the fact that I knew there were a lot of people away and another party on the same night I at one point thought

“It’s because I’m lame and old now.”

Look– on the whole, 30 has been radding all over the place.

(I got a wee bit ramped about the whole 30 deal. Which is good, I think, on account of it means I’m not UN-ramped about it. And it is good, it feels good, it’s going well, I’m talking mortgages and investments (lies– but I have taken steps towards being a lipstick wearer(!!)) or more accurately I’m embracing me at an age that I can do nothing about and am deciding to celebrate the possibilities of me at this age instead of panicking about it).

BUT, when faced with the reality of dead air on my first not in my twenties party, I was, for a time, convinced it was because I was now an elderly person, senile enough to still believe her younger friends want to hang out with her.

It was my first real “holy shit what have I done” moment.

I felt naff and decrepit for days. Even though I knew that there were other parties on. Even though I knew a hell of a lot of people were out of town. I would focus on those who I knew weren’t, and glare at them inwardly, muttering about how relieved they must be to not have to hang out with me.

Poor, sad Carlynne.

Now just so you know how pitiful and stupid I actually am, a small highlight reel of some things that happened after I turned 30, before the weekend that made me Miss Havisham:

  • I had not one but TWO nights out with friends for my birthday, one here and one in Adelaide, both of which were stupidly excellent and populated with people who have proven consistently that they don’t find my company naturally repellent.
  • Danced like a mo’ fo’ four times, once at a 21st that I put together the music for (resulting, gratifyingly, in a floor full of mad shapes, stank face and hip hop throw downs the likes of which Carlton has never seen)
  • Road tripped with dear ones
  • Partied with dear ones until 6 am
  • Totally stuck it to the man with a permanent marker and a drawing of a rainbow (on a wall)

I tell you this not to impress you (Because you know, several parties in one month– , someone alert Perez Hilton cos I’m the new Peaches Geldof) but to lay out the very normal and undramatic and multiple reasons I have to accept that I’m not entirely naff and do in fact take part in non-aged facility related activites so you can appreciate just how much I can ignore in order to feel sorry for myself. 

Geez grrl. Get it together.

Part 2 coming. Wha’ whaaa?

Sure, birthdays are stupid, but I like them anyway

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I am 30 now. It’s like, official, and stuff. I got a letter from the Queen, man.

That’s not true. But you’re allowed to lie when you’re 30.

So, a couple of horrifically self indulgent posts coming your* way. Post birthday’s fault. Blame the birthday.

* I love referring to the internet like it’s actually a person reading this, and it’s obsessively watching my every move, nodding and saying “uh-huh, yep, yep” when I tell it my ridiculous tripe quota for the month has just doubled. And it maybe has a picture tacked up on its wall of me, and sometimes when its house mate isn’t around it kisses the picture. Yes, the internet is in love with me. What?

Things I’m average at no. 24: Talking to strangers.

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I’m on the nine pm tiger flight to Adelaide. My tray table is upright, my knees unbearably close to the seat in front, my lower back humming with the beginnings of the almighty ache I will have when I disembark in an hour and a half. I have the aisle seat, we’ve just begun to taxi.

Seated to my left is young man, probably 24 or so wearing thick framed glasses, a white tee and dark skinny legs. He is fiddling with his phone. I have buried myself in my Stephen Fry bio immediately after boarding but as I read a part of me remembers something.

No. 35: Talk to Strangers.

Dang it.

I’ve noticed he has begun to use his phone as a mini skateboard and is doing little flips and stuff off his lap. I should talk to him. I will talk to him. I will put down my book under the pretence of having a drink from my water bottle, and then I will say “So what brings you to Adelaide?”. Aw yeah.

The plane has come to a bit of a stand still when I finish my chapter and serenely close the book, wondering if there’s any way the hipster next door could anticipate the verbal fireworks that are about to explode right in his face. I reach down, clasp my water bottle, unscrew the lid and take a drink. I put it back in my bag. I gently nudge the bag a little bit more under the seat. Now nothing stands in the way. I look at the pouch in the seat in front of me. Now it’s just me and you, little man.

We idle lazily on the runway.

I stare at the back of the seat.

I look slightly to my left, then to my right. I look down at the book closed on my lap.

talk talk talk talk talk you can do it what brings you to Adelaide what brings you to Adelaide whatbringzzyuutoadelaaaide

I study my fingernails for a bit.

The guy’s phone does another trick, a spectacular mini spin in the air over his right thigh.

I clear my throat slightly, then move my head to my right.

We move forward slightly, then come to another halt.

I pretend to be interested in the cement I can see out of the window, as though I need to visually verify that no, we haven’t taken off yet.

He looks downward, at his flipping mobile, adjusts his position slightly.

talk talk talk what brings you to adelaide what brings you to adelaide say it say it what are you waiting for? what is he going to do? rip your face off? plunge his phone into your eye socket?

I summon my courage and open my mouth. I close it again and look out the window opposite.

We are still on the ground.

The guy is reading the inflight menu. For the second time.

I feel physically ill.

I have now thought the words “what brings you to Adelaide” so many times they have lost all meaning.

Stephen Fry is smirking consolingly at me from his book jacket. Yes you can smirk consolingly. You have to know him.

The guy is looking out the window as well. Probably confirming we’re still on the ground.

I look back at Stephen. My heart pounds in my ears.

talk talk talk taaaalk TALK FOR CRAPS SAKE YOU UNHOLY AND RIDICULOUS COWARD just OPENYOURFUCKINGMOUTH!!

Dude pulls out the in-flight emergency instructions.

He begins to read them.

He needs me.

The plane is still not moving but is now making a loud buzzing noise from the rear.

A sweat breaks out on my forhead and I turn jerkily to my left. In a voice that is aimed at casual but probably hitting strangled and teary I say

“doyouthinkthatnoiseisnormal?”

He looks at me and shoots back in a low and slightly awkward voice “Yeah, pretty sure it is”. He is attempting to be reassuring.

“right right,” I say “it’s pretty weird though..”

He again assures me in his short, deep voice that all is well, clearly thinking that I’m on the verge of hysteria.

Loud buzz continues, sounding like an elephantine mosquito has landed on rear of plane.

Anxious, now that we’re off to this magical start, to make sure he knows my intent was relaxed convo not mindless panic I spout brightly that I’ve never heard that particular noise before at which point he looks at me sharply and asks if I fly a lot.

“Oh yeah, loads!”

Dude now looks as concerned as he thought I was.

Smiling manically, as though alarming young men on stalled flights is something I’m quite cheerful about I happily trill “Oh but, like, I’m sure it’s not a problem. hahaha!”

We are still on the ground.

I shouldn’t talk to strangers.

steak, steak and more of steak

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I am vurrry tired. I should be in sleep town, hitching my horse (he’s a lovely cream colour) to a post at the local inn (it’s made entirely of pillows, save the skirting), tipping my hat to the local barmaids (am I a man in this scenario? Possibly) and hitting the old sack, as they say.

A couple of things first: This guy. Seems funny. I’ll let you know when it’s confirmed, apologies for the simply awful font. Also, this film = great. If people are telling you, and you’re all “oooh but it’s just about a speech, right? How good could it be? No one ever made a film about my speech in third grade”-you’re right, they haven’t, it’s cos you’re boring, but more importantly read this review (serenely ignoring the spelling mistake in the second to last paragraph) which says everything I would say if I could be assed and wrote well and someone hadn’t written it already a million times or just GO AND SEE IT NOW.

NOW.

Thirdly, have you ever stopped to think how scary it would be if people, and, I suppose dogs and budgies and guinea pigs, could turn invisible? Could sneak and swarm and slither their way about with only the faintest of stirrings on a nearby bush and their insidious creakings and the scrape of their demonic feet to betray them? No? Think that over before bed time, yeah?

Perhaps not the budgie one. Or the guinea pig. The dog, I guess, would find it frustrating to not have people greet him with a “ooojuuusagguuudbooyyeeejheessjyoooaaah” whenever they saw him. So he’s not so scary after all. But the people, the shuffling, creaking and I’m assuming vastly unattractive people? *shudder*.

I’ve been reading a little Stephen Fry lately, and I want to be a friend of his. At least an acquaintance who could feasibly shake his hand and perhaps illicit the occasional well meaning titter in a public forum. Ah well.

I was angry recently, very much so, and it was bad for my health. For reasons both vain and entirely unrelated to aforementioned anecdote I’m cutting out the carbs for a week, to see how I go. I anticipate much broccoli in my future.

To bed. Rest well, friends.

x

Ps, though, don’t you hate it when someone comments on your blog, right, and they don’t actually leave a name? and like, you just have their naff little code name that means nothing to you at all, like mine is my girl betty, and that’s because of a painting on the wall of our lounge of this big old naked chick called Betty that my mate Jess painted for me, but no one outside of, well, me would know that. Consider this a hint, oh Last Comment Leaver of Myst-ery. Thanks for reading and seeming to enjoy, though. Good of you.

Also, has anyone else realised that Gran Torino is a Western?

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I’ve been doing some reading about genre, right, for two essays that I should be writing at this very moment, that will pop round and soundly kick my ass later in the week.

Firstly, genre is a fairly fluid thing. I mention this only because after reading so much I don’t want to give the nerdly overlords of the interwebs the idea that I think genre is really easily summupable. Early genre theorists would have us believe that there is a like, five or six definite genres, and the lines between them are clear and the point of them is either to help audiences clarify their expectations, help advertisers and such promote shows and films appropriately or to help establish the quality of a certain text, as compared to others of its genre. But the idea of genre is reasonably complicated.

That isn’t exactly what I wanted to talk about, but reading this article about how genre can be obvious from any number of things, setting, characterisation, casting, plot etc gave me an idea. It mentioned the hero in the Western. He (sorry for the gender crap, but that’s how it goes) is traditionally removed from the society he unwillingly exists in, but at some point fights to save this society, then rides off into the sunset* because he is forever at odds with the man, or the establishment. Or prairie living or some such.

And I realised that Clint Eastwood’s character in Gran Torino is EXACTLY THAT HERO. Which, I think, is a nice little remix on the traditional western.

*the article mentioned death as another possible scenario here, the main point being that the hero is removed from the scene.

Does My Blog Look Big In This?

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So, as with any of my entries, one about design is a bit of a fine line. My blog is essentially about the idea of being kind of ok at stuff and in general. But it’s also a blog that I wouldn’t be violently opposed to people reading. So when making the design choices afforded to me by WordPress, I could choose something to go with the “average” vibe of my niche, or I could make my blog all fancy pants so unsuspecting readers are lured by my shiny shiny background and clean, crisp finish.

Cos that’s what comes to mind when we think of a nice looking blog, isn’t it? It is for me, anyway. Clean, neat lines, not too many colours, a kind of readable but ever so slightly personalized font. I guess I have been brainwashed into the Facebook=good looking camp, standing notably opposite the MySpace=hideous camp, with it’s glittery dirt tents and cat graphed port-a-loos.

Veering back ever so slightly to the subject of my blog in particular, the design choices that I have made, I have done so to line up with my niche. Fonts are of course the stationary lovers dream playground, and I did start to think about what font could properly do my particular brand of self indulgent drivel justice. My blog is about being average, so perhaps a font that seems more handwriting-esque would convey the right vibe, conjuring up images of me seated, pen in hand, tongue jutting out the corner of my mouth as I labour to ineffectively chronicle my thoughts. I however found Typekits fairly difficult to use, and then was distracted by my theme.

Originally I dug the idea of a picture across the top of the page, as I think it looks neat, but sort of stylish and individualistic. I love a white background too, I feel it is suggestive of a blog that doesn’t take itself too seriously and relies on its content to make any point it chooses to. But then I was seduced by a Paperpunch, a theme with nice big letters at the top, and an uncomplicated layout. I made the background a slightly apricot colour so it didn’t look too flat with the large white text panels. And I really like the result. Giggle. Deciding not to worry about the font as it’s nice and readable, I have ended up with a sort of normal font, and sort of normal layout, which I feel is sort of appropriate.

So many things are communicated by presentation. I was looking around my room before, and realising just how much crap I have in here.  There’s colours, and postcards and books and huge trashy framed pictures everywhere, and I love it that way because I think it reflects me, and all of my loud, soft, garish and pastel bits. In every part of our lives we make decisions about what we want to represent, and we also make assumptions about everything we see, based on what we see.  This is the way society works, a lot of the time, and people and blogs are not different.

I wish I didn’t judge by appearances, but its so easy and usually partially accurate. If I ever let an errant gaze wander over to a guy I might think is cute, the first thing I do is look at his shoes. Trashy example? Well how about this?

radparty1 by Jonathon Mayhew.

Some might say this is a tacky gathering of tacky pictures to make a larger, tackier picture. Others might say someone was having a laugh. On appearances, and depending on your viewpoint, either of those could be true. It could also be said that this is an artwork put together using old and or discarded pictures that are often considered tacky or kitsch to make something new. This is actually true. While Jonathan Mayhew’s work is not technically dirtstyle,  it does bring to mind the it’s so bad it’s good vibe that dirtstyle represents.

The whole dirtstyle thing can be approached from either the “oh Lord, why would I want a dancing baby/ starry night background/cat anywhere near my blog or the the ones I love?!” point of view or the “I believe dirt style graphics are an ode to where we once were technologically, and also are cool, as all that once was lame, is now excellent” point of view. It’s all about perception.

And so I could create a page full of bits and bobs and colour and flashing stuff (had I the money and the technical know how), to maybe give more of myself as an author away, or to appeal to those that like the dirtstyle asthetic, but I won’t be doing that.

As stated previously, I prefer a “neat” looking page. And neat for me means no dancing anything,

no huge cats,

and totally, definately no glitter.. as I think it looks like crap.

The moral of the story being, whilst dirt style graphics and retro themes are fun for some and a useful method of expression for others, I missed the first wave of the old www, so I don’t really feel the need to be nostalgic and I believe less is more. In relation to my blog, anyways. If you want to see tacky crap, you can come over to my house.

My mediocrity

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In The Beginning… the word was with Dave

“So think of the things that you’re good at, what you do all the time..” my tutor said, the t’s falling from his words like ash from a cigarette. We were being instructed on how to create our blog for assessment, and encouraged to pick a niche. It seemed like it should be easy, after all, everyone in the world has a blog now, how hard could it be to find something worth writing about?

I thought, and then I thought some more, looked around me in a sort of bland panic, thought some more and within me was birthed the uncomfortable realisation that I am not actually good at anything, nor do I have any hobbies that I commit to enough to write about them in any sort of authorative voice.

I am fairly average, in most ways one can think of.

Just by way of example.. Ahem:

I own a guitar, but am always about to change the strings and start learning

I have a book collection that I am quite enamoured of, but am yet to read half of it, along with any Tolstoy or Woolfe, I’ve never even cracked the cover on Catcher in the Rye

I don’t cook

I enjoy art, but have next to no artistic talent aside from free-postcard-sticking-up-with-blutak, and I don’t even have enough technical knowledge to fill one of them

I love music, but only what I happen across. I read music reviews that are like “clearly this, his fifth album was influenced heavily by the Pixies early work..” and my brain explodes. I think I know who the Pixies are

I write, but not often and not very well

I like movies and I watch them, but have yet to enjoy David Lynch, or attend a film festival of any kind

I maintain a respectful distance from real immersion in anything that interests me that is helped by significantly poor time management and a gold fish’s attention span.

Woe. Woe is me and my too many but too few niches. Woe.

And then it hit me. The reason blogging is such a big deal, and the reason so many people do it, is because you can write whatever you want. And statistically, the majority of blogs are going to be fairly mundane,  pedestrian affairs. And so, perhaps the niche that I can appeal to COMPLETE MEDIOCRITY. I can handcraft the most extraordinarily average blog the world has ever seen!

But of course noone would read that, as would be a piece of shit.

I then decided I could record my routine journeys into fair-to-middling town, for all to read and feel better about themselves by comparison.

The Competition.

Obviously a “mediocre blog” can mean a couple of things, one being a blog that mainly focusses on an inept and terrifyingly boring author chronicling his/her/its daily sojourns to the fridge and or toilet, the other being a blog dedicated to the understanding that mediocrity is something we all face and most fear.

Mylifeisaverage.com is the latter type and exists to show up how much meaningless tripe is fed into the internet daily. As opposed to other humorous blogs, its content is generated by users of the site, who submit stories of their funny/ inane lives in the hopes  of having them read by all the other nobodies. It’s really funny a lot of the time, and some of the stories are actually anything but average. If you hit the MLIA official blog, you’ll find an homage to the wonder of the average. Attention is paid to things like toast, and socks, and how good those things are despite their inate anverageness.

I like this site, particularly the official blog, as it is a celebration of sorts of all that is normal, as opposed to the wonder of freakish parkur men, or Lady Gaga and her bandaidie outfits. What drew me to the subject matter is its necessity, and its often unsung beauty. That and my inability to do anything well. Cough. MLIA.

In terms of appearance it would certainly go against the very idea of the blog if it was anything but average, and it certainly doesn’t disappoint. Mylifeisaverage itself is smeared over a fairly inoffensive and wah grey background, it is easy to find your way around, the font is readable, if a little uggo, and the couple of ads are not too in you face and seem to appeal to a twenties to early thirties sort of crowd who for the most part would be the appropriate audience.

I found another site that seems to be about the everyday, normal stuff (shocking I know, on the www, right?!). It’s called Exceptional Mediocrity, which of course is right up my alley. This one is more of the first type of mediocre blog, in that it the charting of one man’s life and thoughts about the things that occur in it day to day. It is actually well written and interesting though. This blog obviously doesn’t have the same “everyone get on board” appeal as MLIA, so advertising isn’t an issue, and it is a Blogger blog, so it is a fairly run of the mill layout. He uses snappy headings like “Why are drug reps hot?” and “the Gay Dog” which totally gets you reading, the entries could probably stand to be shorter, but they are for the most part amusing and written with intelligence, so one wants to stick with them.

I’ll leave with a look at my fave sort of average blog. It is not average in name, really, or in its aim, but more so in its covering of such a wide variety of things that it cannot actually be a blog about anything except maybe Everything in the Sky. Ryan writes about his job(s) his dad, his walks down the street, his favorite new gadget and music he digs. He basically puts anything he thinks is rad on his site, which of course is the whole point. Ry-ry, as I have started affectionately calling him, does have technical leanings, but there is too much of a peppering of music bits and excellent photo bits to really be a techie blog. What I enjoy the most is that he is funny, really really, I’m fairly jealous of his sharp as a rapier wit, funny– but he can also turn a poised and thoughtful phrase like nobodies business.

And that my friends, is my niche. A bit of overshare, but that’s how we do.

8 Habits of fairly average Bloggers

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Hi! You look great today!

I thought in honour of the subject matter (being mediocrity) and in honor of the media I’m using (being a blog) I would compose my own list in the vein of copybloggers very helpful list of habits to adopt if one wants to be a successful blogger.

Here are some helpful tips to assist you, the delightful reader in maintaining a nice level of average-ness in your blogging*.

1. Get Caught Up Doing Other Stuff

Right now, you could be watching scrubs, sitting in bed, picking things out of your fingernails, going to class, avoiding class, or talking about video’s of three year old drummers on YouTube. If you want to make sure your blog is pretty av’, maybe do one of more of these, instead of blogging. It’s really easy, and once you start you’ll find you don’t want to stop.

2. Be Vague, and Ramble a Lot

I find that nothing keeps people reading like things that are not round-a-bout and are instead of that more getting to the point quickly so you know what the writer is saying real soon like.

I know once, when I was at school, I read a book– boy that takes me back. I had a teacher who was a ukranian gypsy. Loved to play the panpipes, which was odd because he had no lips.. Where was I?

3. Write About Stuff You Dig, Regardless of Whether People Dig It Too

You know the Japanese poetry you write about the differing varieties of house bricks? Or the tally you keep of grammatical errors in Woolworths catalogues? That is dynamite stuff. Write that shit down. The interweb needs you to tell it all of your things you can’t tell anyone else, on account of them leaving you/hating you/setting you on fire to hear something else besides about your passion for smurf lit.

Point three is tricky though folks, if you’re not careful, you could inadvertantly stumble apon or even create a new niche market for those who can’t get enough of Morag from Home and Away. Before you know it you’re on the front page of WordPress, and then where are you? You’re popular, that’s where. Watch out for the long tail, ya’ll. It’ll getcha.

4. Be Distracted By Interests In a Multitude of Subjects

My favorite kind of blogs are those that cover heaps of different subjects.

“A blog about ballet, whiskey, Television, Zinc, and all that comes between”.

I think I like them because my brain works that way, jumping clumsily from one shiny thing to another like a drunken magpie. Some blogs like this are really succesful, too.

So my advice would be to not censor yourself. If someone tells you there’s no discernable link between football and knitting needles, they’re wrong. Well, they’re right, but we don’t care.

5. Post Erratically

This probably goes hand in hand with the first tip, and you will certainly find yourself with a lot of time between posts if you are as easily distracted as I hope you are. Probably the more erratic the better. Readers seem to dig regularity or at least a blogging pattern they can rely on, no matter how long between posts. Try this: when someone says the exact phrase “have you posted anything new on your blog about –insert rando subject here– lately, I will give it a read” , take it as a sign, wait exactly a month and post then.

6. Be Spontaneous!

And you know what else, Cornflakes!

That was an example of aforementioned spontaneity.

I subscribe to the writing school that says WRITE WHATEVER YOU WANT TO. I say, forget planning, forget spelling, grammar and themes and forget paragraphs or numbered points (Oh irony.. my old bunkmate). Structure and meaning are all constructs of a society afraid of what bloggers will do when there’s  NO PARAGRAPH BREAKS AND CATCHY TITLES! YEAH! How you like me now?!

It’s like Napoleon Dynamite and Lizzie McGuire  say. Follow your heart.

7. Don’t Be Afraid to Lose Interest

Look we all know this blogging thing is a fad. You thought it was cool when all your friends started doing it. You thought it’d be fun to blog about fights between Star Trek characters, and who wouldn’t. But you don’t need to hide anymore, we know it’s tough having to write all the time, having to do anything at all.  It’s ok. I’m here. Just let go. Ssshhh. You can rest now.

8. Forget Most of the Time to Do Anything

It’s definately best, and easiest if you don’t have to plan to be distracted, or to write down your erratic thought poo, or to make sure your links between subjects are hazy at best. It’s probably best, and definately best for your very, very mediocre blog if you just forget you even have one most of the time.

For some futher inspiration here are some examples of blogs that are interesting, succint and well planned, so you know what to avoid.

http://techcrunch.com/

Mmm. See how it’s organised? And looks good? Also, the writers seem to know what they’re talking about and have a very clear idea of their target audience. Yup. That suckah’s go’ be read.

http://www.brooklynvegan.com/

Yeah. Same problems as before, plus this blog clearly makes sure it is an up to date source of information for its readers, and therefore posts regularly. Tut tut.

http://jezebel.com/

Straight to the point, short posts that engage the reader and then entice them to post something of their own. Amateurs.

I hope this has helped you start your own journeys of mediocrity, I’ll see you again in a hopefully less smart arse post. Not sure when though, obviously. Cheers!

*hint, these can perhaps be carried over into other areas of your life as well! I know, right?!

Can you dig it?

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Average is obviously a relative term. One needs something they’ve attempted in some way, something presumably others are more than average at, to try out and to feel like they’ve not done real good at (when compared to aforementioned others).  There are so many things one can be average at, so many levels of done-ness, or aptitude to compare to that for the average connoisseur can be difficult to navigate. This will be my attempt to chart my own mediocrity in all its wonder, an examination of why it is we feel the need to excel, and a celebration of the many, many things that I am average at and hopefully a journey into more.

Can you dig it?