Carried by Kerry

If only I could close my eyes momentarily.

Not because I'm tired. Well, that too.

But because, if given the chance to sleep, even for a few minutes, I'll be visited by John Kerry.

The visits started after I saw "Fahrenheit 9/11" on Saturday. Like a good liberal, I made time on the opening weekend -- my fiance and I contributed about $18 to Moore's latest flick's $21.8 million gross.

It's a film you can't say you "liked." Because, if all the bloodshed, treachery and corruption hadn't occured, Moore couldn't have made the movie. It would be nice to live in a world so problem-free that there'd have been no fodder for this piece of work.

But the bloodshed, treachery and corruption do exist -- thanks a great deal to Bush, Dick, Colin and a whole array of villainous sidekicks. So I'm glad for a film that does a better job than corporate media at covering the issue, even if said film is "opinion based on fact." (Moore's words.)

Anyway, back to my Kerry visit.

After my teary-eyed viewing of "Fahrenheit 9/11," I slept surprising well.

And I dreamt.

Okay, it started with a dream in which two engaged friends got married in the middle of a busy intersection in Chicago's south suburbs. But, the way dream story-telling goes, the wedding ended with no collisions and I was suddenly part of a crime-solving duo with John Kerry.

It wasn't Nick & Nora-esque. The partnership was chaste, with nothing untoward taking place. John Kerry was a good guy to have on my side.

I don't know the nature of our investigation.

It could have been The Case of the Missing Jobs. Or, The Mystery of the Non-Existent WMDs. Maybe it was The Curse of the Disappearing Civil Liberties.

I didn't sleep long enough for Kerry and me to actually solve any of these befuddling and disturbing "cases." But I do remember that he wore a long trench coat and didn't talk a whole lot.

We toured apartments and office buildings, gathering clues. At one point, I stepped ahead of Kerry's lead. I nearly fell into a hole of some sort. His reflexes were fast; he grabbed my arm and pulled me away from that drop to a sorry fate.

His arms were strong, but not bulging. His grip was good. I felt oddly comforted. Safe might be the word.

It might have been Kerry's confidence, his sureness. He led without being dictatorial. He was resourceful. He didn't put me in harm's way, especially without checking it out first by himself.

Those are pretty good qualities for a detective. They seem like even better qualities for a president.

I guess I can live with the comic-book scenarios of my subconscious for a while longer. Say, til November 2.

But I would feel a lot better if the president/detective of my dreams got to seize a good grip on reality.

Maybe then, this waking nightmare would end.

I blog, therefore I ... eh.

Just because you have a blog, does that make you a blogger?

I'm debating this internally because the work I could do at my day-job isn't as appealing as this jumble of activity in my brain.

But the question is along the lines of that thing about the tree falling in the forest, no one around to hear it, does it make a sound, etc. It's like, if I sit here and type, but no one bothers to read it, does it really count as a blog or I as a blogger?

Answers to both questions:

Yes, the tree makes a sound. A sound that takes place with no ears to witness it does exist; it's just a matter of the tree falling and the sound it made won't exist in a person's perspective or memory. But certainly the reverbrations the sound releases into the atmosphere eventually reach us in imperceptible ways. So really, we hear it somehow, even though not conscious of it.

As to the blogging, sure I can type away, and my blog exists, but if no one is around to read it, why should I be recognized as a blogger? I could just be typing into a MS document and saving it on my hard drive seeing as I'll probably be the only one to read the things I've posted. But, would the things I write if only I were to read them be of the same subject, content and style if I didn't write them with the notion that someone else might indeed read them?

What I really should start thinking about are topics to ponder here that are far more interesting than these 'if-then' questions?

Next time: Which came first -- chicken, egg or Colonel Sanders' DNA?

Who is imp?

Do you really care?

I'm fearful of creating a purposeless blog. I have blog-envy when I read other bloggers' robust posts in which they devote themselves wholly to a topic of supreme importance.

I will tell you what I'm not:

--I am not a famous, slightly wacky comedian claiming I faked my death a few decades ago.
--I am not trying to raise money for an artistic or business venture, seeing as that would require a plan and plans aren't my strong suit.
--I am not trying to urge you to random acts of kindness in which you throw some dollars my way so that I can dig myself out of debt. I do, however, have debt. But seeing as I got myself into it, why should you dear readers (are there any of you?) get me out of it?
--I am not somewhere important, writing defining insights on the world we are living in. I am not in a wartorn desert, nor am I in the dusty bowels of the U.S. capital, observing the ravages of the current administration. I read the news, so you might not escape a political rant or three, but if you agree or disagree, just realize you're neither identifying nor scorning anyone of real power or influence. (Well, that one vote, which is important.)
--I have no friends in cool, up-and-coming bands, I don't partake in much exciting celebrity-laden nightlife and I don't have contacts in the publishing industry. However, I have good taste in music and friends in several undiscovered and cool bands. I do read celebrity-laden journalism (who doesn't?), and I would thrill to actually make some publishing contacts -- if not to publish my stuff than at least to give me free promo copies of books.

What I hope for imp_perfect is to show what it means to have an imp in one's life. An imp, you see, is mischievious and gets into everything. Maybe imps are a bit fickle, but they never run out of interests and curiosity. This isn't to prop myself up in any way, but more just to let potential readers know that, if they want a day-after-day dissection of subjects that fall into the same general topic area, well, forget it.

Perhaps, too, you'll realize that imps could be a little more dedicated to the task at hand. And they could be a little more consistent. I may piss you off. I may see deep into your soul one day and yammer on about unflattering (not naked) pictures of Paris Hilton the next. I may be a picture of grammatical correctness, well, a lot of the time. But I may be the antithesis of an organized writer. I may prattle on endlessly. Or I might end things too abruptly.

Okay...

I'm starting this thing. It may be the best or worst decision I've made in my lifetime. I don't plan to dissect any one given aspect of the culture, nor do I want to bore anyone with details of my mundane life, any collections I've cultivated or the nuances and hardships of planning a wedding -- something I'm trying to simultaneously do and ignore.

I might devote a lot of space in this blog to things I discover when I should be working, but not until I'm sure none of you can figure out where I work and what it is I'm supposed to be working at. Oh, and to clarify, these things I discover will have nothing to do with actually working.

In fact, I'm about to leave the dayjob, but just wanted to get something out in to cyber space. I hope as my posts continue, they'll grow more insightful or at least more humorous. If any fellow bloggers have recommended reading for me, I'm game to hear about it.

imp