There's some wondering and some walls. And dog poop.

I once made a playlist that culminated with "Wonderwall" and Kat commented "[I] have recently decided that 'Wonderwall' is my favorite song of all time, which is strange, because it isn't even my favorite Oasis song."

This makes sense.

Seconds ago, I telepathically surveyed Everyone I Know Who Has Thought about Oasis Enough to Actually Have a Favorite Oasis Song and the results were, as I suspected, unilaterally in favor of, "Anyone who has thought about Oasis enough to actually have a favorite Oasis song would never pick 'Wonderwall'." And yet--"Anyone who has thought about Oasis enough to actually have a favorite Oasis song is necessarily the type of person to need, for completely unmusical reasons, a song like 'Wonderwall'." Thus, Kat's paradox. Thus, welcome to my brain.

On March 5th of last year, I wrote something. It had nothing to do with Kat. Today on March 5th, I present a guest blogger. Last year's post had nothing to do with him, either. If I weren't posting the guest post, I'd be writing about something else. Last year's post could have had nothing to do with that, either.

Last year's March 5th post has nothing to do with any of this in the very same way, or perhaps in an inverse or converse or contrapositive way--really, my logic is very fuzzy when I'm trying to act as if I'm saying something that makes sense--that "Wonderwall" has nothing to do with anyone's actual favorite Oasis song.

Oh yeah, Brandon wrote something. Here it is:

*****
Another sleep inspiring guest post.

I quit my own blog in the hope of becoming a more productive, contributing member of society. I deleted my statcounter, pared down my feedreader and did my best to ignore the daily rote of potential blog fodder that we are bombarded with daily. ("Was that a funny bowel movement?" "Did my co-worker really just order a bottle of 'bukkake'?" "OMG Y'ALL BRITNEY!" "My boyfriend did/said something moderately funny and I laughed." "I was sort of depressed last night, but thank god you all understand." "DRUNK BLOGGING TEH SUXOR." "All your base ad nauseam…").

Okay, but I can't resist dipping back into the pool after so long selling hot dogs on the dry sand. It reminds me of high school when my professional goals in life were to be a second baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals and then hawk Mr. Coffee in Canada in my golden years (Age 35+). One day before a game I decided that I didn't want to DO baseball anymore, so I showed up in my Members Only Jacket and dropped my uniform off to my coach who rolled his eyes and put some sophomore into the lineup in my traditional 3 spot, the nerve! Anyway, later on in the summer, I drove by the field during a summer league game, and the coach begged me to come play because the team was down, and they had an extra uniform and I could change in the back of his El Camino. I struck out on three pitches and muffed the only ball hit to me. I was scuttling.

What the hell, I figure I once imagined my future as a professional blogger, I might as well pull over, put on the old uniform and swing away:

"Wipeless - A Blogger's Return to Glory"

Anyway, the other day I was watching my dog do her business in the yard, and I thought, WTF. Wow. Dogs are so lucky. They never have to wipe (rarely, anyway). And then I thought, wouldn't it be cool to invent a new technique for using the restroom in a way that didn't require wiping? I'm guessing it would take a bit of studying the way dogs do it, and then mimicking those particular motions that seem so effective: down on all fours, pulling your pelvis in as close to your forearms as possible, spreading your hind legs wide, and looking very sad and vulnerable. I could do a DVD/YouTube/DailyMotion release and go all viral.

The best part is that if I got it patented, I would be paid royalties every time someone did it. I think I would call it the Wipeless (c) Method. People would be all talking, 'Have you tried Wipeless (c)?' and they'd be all, 'Yes! It's amazing! I can't imagine that I went without for sooo long!'

The next best part is all the trees that would be saved.

The next best part is being able to use both hands in an Ethiopian restaurant. (/rimshot.exe)

Hello, friends. How are you today?

Later. Love.

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However, I didn't do any of that. I didn't become a contributing member of society. I couldn't bring myself to ignore the daily blog fodder that with any luck an alien race will uncover in a time capsule long after the human race has shut down its last server. And the only thing I 'produced' was a list of the various ways Regina Spektor pronounces the word 'better' in her album 'Begin to Hope':

• bettum
• biddem
• burra
• bettre
• beda
• pida
• bettor
• bodhrr

The irony, of course, is that I remain hopelessly fascinated with anyone willing to put out their rote miscellany into cyberspace, anyone willing to put out their private details with accompanying photos on her flicker (tee hee), frankly, anyone willing to put out, period. To the point that I'm co-hosting a blog meetup in Portland this coming Saturday known as TequilaCon and have been consumed in the past few weeks with reading 40 blogs, 40 mirror sites into the souls of friends and strangers alike, hoping to get back into the swing of things, hoping to avoid making the unrecoverable joke, even though if there's anything I really like, it's cringing at the remembrance of things past, and by things I mean words uttered in complete disregard for the safety of those in your drinking posse. At all of these meetups, there's at least one word said that shouldn't've. One regrettable hand placed in Nether Nether Land. One stare that lasts a little too long. And of course, this is all compounded by the hours and hours of self-doubt, where you are wracked with the conviction that nobody could possibly like you in real life.

This wasn't a problem at the last TequilaCon, of course, because Jill and Kat were there, and I knew that if I were to say the wrong thing, place the wrong hand, or ogle the wrong guy, either one of them would quickly pull me aside and remind me that not every blogger likes to discuss their hoo-has so cavalierly, and then they would laugh and laugh and laugh and put another shot of tequila in my fist. And on Sunday, we would rest and pray to god the airport had free wi-fi.