An old dog

Is it possible to be a "diary person" despite having never regularly kept a diary? I may not have succeeded, but I've had at least a couple compelling failures.

In December 1993, I bought a one-year diary. It had 365 pages (marked Jan 1, Jan 2, etc.), and I was excited to fill them all.* By most accounts, this effort was a failure. Within a year, fewer than twenty pages were touched. I accepted the failure, but refused to accept that the irregularity of my entries condemned the diary. 16 years later, I'm still filling it in. Nothing more ambitious than a few entries a year, but it's become valuable to me.

I appreciated Diasporatic; the name, the people, the shared history. What I really loved about Diasporatic was that, for a time, the blog represented the commitment to stay close as our lives diverge. Some of you are better about communication than I am, but I was born an old dog. New tricks come slowly, and the fact that I posted on a blog at all was huge first step.

Apparently, Diasporatic is dead. I don't suppose that I did much to help. I haven't written an entry in eight months, and haven't actually posted one in twice that time. Still, now that it's dead, I miss it. So I'm going to give this new, unfortunately-named blog a whirl.** If I post too little, cut me some slack - I'm not a diary person. If I post too much, you asked for it bitches.


*For you film buffs, my first entry ("bye bye 1993") was a review of one of the great movies of our time: Beethoven 2.
**Seriously, name change anyone?

dilettante (plural dilettanti or (rarely) dilettantes)

1. An amateur, someone who dabbles in a field out of casual interest rather than as a profession or serious interest.
2. A person with a general but superficial interest in any art or a branch of knowledge. (Sometimes derogatory.)