Random thoughts:

In re-opening the blogging adventure, all of a sudden I assess every situation by whether or not it is worthy to write about. This makes general everyday life somewhat more interesting, although I do find myself attaching unnecessary profundity to everything, which certainly isn't an accurate reflection of my daily ins and outs. Further, it's almost exhausting, thinking so much on such minutiae -- who cares what the guy's face was like last night when I was ordering pizza? I need to work on my filter. I think if I were actually a writer, I'd probably go crazy trying to think about everything, and I'd probably miss out on a lot of the things that require actually doing.

Anyway, in thinking about my writing, I was again ruminating on the fact that I've never kept a successful journal, although I've tried plenty of times. I carried a pristine Moleskine around with me in my backpack for a solid two years, but I actually wrote on only twenty or so pages. I think the problem is, I already know what I'm thinking, so why would I need to document it? My journal entries often end up as weird conversations with myself or just quick, concise notes about whatever I'm doing. Without an audience, there's no motivation for me to write, and certainly no motivation for me to write well. So that's the great thing about the blog: even though my "audience" in this case is still essentially just me, at least the prospect of these words being read by someone else is enough to make me use proper grammar and avoid referring to myself in the third person.

It snowed a lot today, as I'm sure everyone heard. Around here we only got maybe ten inches, so nothing like the mid-Atlantic, but it was enough to be notable. I was in Boston at a party last night, and it was neat to wake up this morning and walk down the middle of the roads with everyone else, since there were no cars around. I've always loved snowstorms for the same reasons that many people do, but I think they also appeal to me on some level because of my anarchist tendencies. When there's a ton of snow lying around, nothing works, and yet everything seems to work that much better. In Boston there were plenty of people out in the street -- shoveling, talking, going on walks -- and the city seemed so much more humane without the incessant drone of cars and all of their associated ills. On my walk home (after parking the car down the street to avoid getting plowed in), some neighbors were outside shoveling, and their little kid said hi, even though I've never met him before. When it snows, people stay home, and they actually do things together, and when they do go out, it actually matters -- everything is an expedition, and it is treated with such respect. It seems that after a big storm is one of the only times that people consider just going for a walk to be a worthwhile pursuit. It's always worthwhile.

I also had a good day today because I rode on public transportation, which always puts me in a good mood, even if I'm running late and it's taking a while. There's something very calming about sitting there in public in your own little world -- completely out in the open and yet alone with your thoughts -- with everyone else and their little worlds. Part of it is that you're not in control; the train will get there for you at the same time it does for everyone else, so you might as well just be patient and people watch for a while. The woman on the subway platform next to me had her car stolen this morning ("In this weather?! Are they an idiot?!"), and while I normally might have been annoyed, listening to her detail the problem to her companion and at least two separate phone conversations, the station was outside, the train was running late, and everything was quiet, so it was okay. Better, even, to get a window into her world. Apparently it's the second time it's happened, and she's continually surprised, because even though it's a "high-theft car," it also happens to be "a total shitbox." On another morning I probably would have hoped she'd quiet down, but today the world was muffled, the train was my only mode of transportation, and it was certainly her only option, too. A good morning.