Maybe it’s like dancing, I don’t know. I’m not very good at that either.
Justin, my web guru (whose Green Galoshes is linked down there to the left), sat me a down over a cup of coffee last fall and tried, as he periodically does, to help me improve this page.
He told me to add tags and categories and hyperlinks and I’ve done all that and will continue and I am grateful. It’s not that.
Justin’s main advice, however, was: “Try to post something every day, or a couple times a day.” I did that for a while and the number of views this page gets went up. It makes sense, the more you post, the more tags and categories and hyperlinks, the more likely you are to be run down by someone’s search engine.
I’ll admit, blogging has its upside. Those half-formed thoughts that will never grow into full-on commentaries or bits of ephemera that will be pointless by the time next Thursday rolls around are perfect for blogging.
On the other hand, most half-formed thoughts deserve to die that way. Constantly chattering about the ephemera passing through my mind seems neurotic. A grandfather once advised me never to miss an opportunity to stay quiet. He had a point.
It is nice to have the opportunity to talk out of turn, as I’m doing now, but there’s something about gestating for a week and then trying to bring forth seven or eight hundred coherent words on a single subject. There’s a rhythm to it that works for and against me. I missed a few weeks last month, for the first time in 11 years, and I felt uneasy until I filled in (and fraudulently dated) those gaps.
So if you’re reading this, you’re among the relatively few who will. Hope you like it.

Symptoms
Forgive me. Accept my apologies. For the first time in 11 years, I missed not one, but two weeks in a row. I was overtaken by events and in the midst of the overtaking, I realized this is a signature symptom, perhaps the signature symptom, of contemporary life. So I’m trying to fight against it, in part by backfilling commentaries for the weeks I missed. (If you’re so motivated, you can find them at markfloegel.org.)
Being overtaken, as I have been, feels like being caught in the surf. I was so overtaken – by events, work, obligations – that I had very little awareness of things beyond my immediate scope of attention. This was not altogether bad. I didn’t, for instance, pay much attention to the Pennsylvania primary, which I hear was simultaneously boring and gruesome.
Two things that managed to penetrate my wall of busyness were both about slavery. That they should have caught my attention is not surprising: I’m fascinated by slavery, particularly that it survives in our modern, “civilized” world and that our governments and media seem to have trouble registering outrage over it.
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