I've always wanted to carry a briefcase.

Nothing says "success" like a smart looking briefcase made of fine leather. At least, not in my mind.

I would walk to work at a brisk pace as evidenced by the rapid pendulum swing of my left arm; my right arm would remain motionless from the anchor of importance and status. Time is money.

My initials, my monogram, would be neatly inscribed on a gold plate with a carefully chosen font to express my subtle, yet powerful identity.

In social situations, I would make it a point to examine the contents of my briefcase from time to time. Perhaps I would shuffle a few documents around or scribble a note before closing the lid and checking my watch. People would undoubtedly admire my Protestant work ethic: "He must be a very powerful and influential man," they would think.

Along my daily route, I would stop to admire the wares displayed prominently in the window of a well-kept antique shop. The little time capsules would arouse my imagination as I reflect on the craftsmanship and care that went into producing them, recreating the historical context of a time lost.

Alas, the weight of my briefcase would bring me back to the present, reminding me of the tasks and projects that lie ahead. I would take a moment to admire the reflection of my briefcase juxtaposed against my naked and bleeding body. Then I would go.

Hey! Look at me!

I can see how blogging can be addicting. You post some random things, and friends and strangers stop by and actually read what you have to say. How fascinating! How novel! Sometimes they leave encouraging comments. Sometimes they leave bitter comments. But mostly it's just nice to keep a public record of your life for future generations and/or aliens invaders. It's perfect for narcissistic attention whores such as myself.

Personally I think of my blog as a Magical and Wondrous toilet, where I can go to empty the fecal material of my brain. Or as a respite from the infamous erBB, where great minds go to wither away into political caricatures.