It all started with a word...

I have no idea how to start a blog.

No clue.

They’re just so hip these days. I mean everyone else is doing it. And, really, it goes without saying that if everyone was jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge, I would too. So, here it is: my first blog. Ok, ok, my second. But, the first was just a school assignment, and as far as I’m concerned what happened in college stays in college.
Agreed?

Well, I guess I’ll start blabbering about my life and hope this thing gets better with age. Like fine wine and cheese... or something. Though let's be fair, eventually cheese is just moldy.

There are all these philosophical ideals about how to start a brilliant work of writing (which, unquestionably, this will be. I heard The Old Man and the Sea orignially started as a blog, by the by):

Philosophical writing belief numero uno: “It all started with one word…” which sure, is genius in its fine simplicity and all, but, what’s my word?

A book I just read – one of those happy-n-tears-a-go-go chick lit novels that makes you cry in spite of your better judgment (on the freakin’ rush hour train, no less! These pink little packages of yarn and estrogen should come with warning labels, I tell you!) – Friday Night Knitting Club, aka Steel Magnolias with a Manhattan Cosmo and lime twist… - used that very sentence, “It all started with a word… “

And that word was knitting.

Somehow, I don’t think that’s my word. Knitting.

I don’t know anything about knitting. Not exactly the floodgate of inspiration I’m searching for.
In fact, I think I know less about knitting than about how to begin a blog. So that’s really no use at all. I do know, however, that knitting, like blogging, is rather trendy these days and all my friends are totally into it. I'm totally not.

Yes, so, maybe I’d jump off the Bklyn Bridge if everyone else was doing it, but I wouldn’t pick up a knitting needle. Guess that’s my line. Bridge jumping = fine. Knitting = too far. But, my friends, man, they love it. I just got my 73 scarf this summer. Not that I’m counting or anything.

Summer, it seems, is prime homemade scarf-giving season. I'm merely guessing here, but I do believe these talented knitter friends of mine start their artistic endeavors in the winter (when a scarf seems like a perfectly pragmatic and endearing gift), but seemingly seem unable to put the final, finishing touches on it until summer hits. Then, it suddenly becomes the perfect August b-day gift for a girl like me.

I still remember the first time I received a scarf for my birthday. I’d just moved to Japan a few weeks earlier and was really starting to believe that the heat mixed with humidity and lack of air conditioning, really, honestly, literally, just might kill me. Awaiting my sweat-soaked arrival was a little care package from the States. And, it cost a mere $43 to send over.

I remember with an intense clarity, standing in my kitchen sick from the heat, my apartment roughly 107 degrees, and finding inside that “care” package a wool scarf (read: Japanese summer torture device) enclosed with a birthday card. I almost passed out from heat exhaustion just by looking at it. In fact, the mere memory of it makes me hot.

“What next, a freakin’ string bikini for Christmas?” Oi

And, that concludes pretty much everything I know about knitting – that wool scarves make inappropriate gifts for mid-August birthdays in hot, humid climates.

Let’s see other philosophies on getting started writing…

Philosophical writing belief dos: “Let it start at the heart and it shall flow from there…”

Well, instead of writing, I had to make my way to the toliet to throw up a little. Who thought that up? How do you expect me to ever keep writing if I’m too busy getting myself sick off shots of fluffy truisms such as that…

Huh, well, take a look at that, for someone with nothing to say, looks like I just babbled on for about a page and a half…

And so we have it, one blog entry down. And, I guess it did all start with a word… I. And, let’s be honest, that’s what this whole blog is about: I, I, I… me, me, me. All Jaclynn all the time. It’s the Tyra Banks of blogs…

Welcome friends, welcome.

Hot, naked cupcake.