Pretentious? Moi?

I thought I'd pause and take a look around my blog this morning. Given that I tend to choose the lengthiest sentences to convey the simplest of ideas, I'm realizing how easy it is to publish without editing. Perhaps that's part of the allure writer's feel toward blogging. 

The Dictionary of Sarcasm defines a writer as: "A person who is certain they are capable of producing War and Peace and cannot understand why they are getting paid ten bucks a pop to crank out articles on decoupage for some advertiser-supported arts and crafts blog." 


All I want to know is: how do you get paid for blogging?

Spending countless hours crafting an entry, or in my case, cranking out a diary like diatribe early in the morning with my Cafe au Lait would put me in the poor house if this were my primary occupation. I wonder if I secretly hope that someone, someday, perhaps a historian in the far future, will be going through historical Internet logs and come across my pittance, which he or she instantly recognizes was the work of a great mind contemplating the meaning of life. Their discovery is published, and my lost, unnoticed brilliance instantly blazes through the literary world, branding me a permanent page on Wikipedia, whose length falls somewhere between the subject of war and the episode listing of The Simpsons.


Maybe writers are more than a bit dreamy, in my case, delirious may be a more accurate description. In the essence of humor, only a two word joke applies here: Pretentious? Moi? 

Given how dry my humor (and writing) is, Is it any wonder why I'm intellectualizing humor? 


Perhaps my next entry should explore Pascal, Kant, and Schopenhauer's "incongruity theory".