Lacey Made Me Do It

Why in the world am I doing this? I have one previous attempt at a blog, and it was (almost) a total failure. The five times I did manage to post were pretty good, but the blog now resides on the Island of Lost Blogs along with the other five million blogs that were birthed and quickly abandoned by overambitious (undercommitted?) bloggers. So why I imagine that I will be able to post more regularly now that I have a full-time job and an apartment to keep up is beyond me. All I can say is that I caved in to peer pressure when Lacey (a fellow member of the Coolest Pseudo Book Club on Earth) showed me how shiny and pretty her own blog was, and convinced me that blogging was, fell, fun. For her to read.

And doesn't blogging imply that I'm conceited? Conceited enough to think that my life and thoughts are interesting enough for other people to follow? Maybe if I was living in a foreign country (as I was during the previous blog attempt), or I had a super cute baby (like Melissa does), or I was a witty and seasoned writer (like Lacey is), it might seem more justifiable. As it is, my only hook is Bailey. Given that he is the least curious (and laziest) cat I've ever encountered-- despite what the profile picture may suggest--he's not going to provide much material. (Well, he at least ought not to provide much material, but that probably won't stop me from exhausting my readers' interest in him.)

So that leaves... my random (and, most likely, infrequent) musings, and accounts of my everyday adventures in Portland. I suppose I'm keeping the blog as a personal diary, more for my own pleasure than anyone else's (a radical concept in this day and age). If you happen to enjoy the blog, either because you know me, or you know Dylan, or you like fat, lazy cats, read on. But be forewarned: I make no promises!