Last night we went to watch a band play at a July 4th kick-off event. The band was called Sixteen Candles, and played 80's songs. Was pretty fun, and quite bizarre watching 16 year olds singing Duran Duran even though they weren't even born when Hungry Like the Wolf came out (unlike me, who was actually in high school at time - that song always reminds me of a school ski trip we took in ninth grade to Killington, when half the girls in the freshman class got suspended for drinking).

Anyway, when we got home we turned on Letterman, and he was interviewing an actress. The following conversation ensued:

Husband: Who's that?
Me: Jennifer Connelly
Husband: Who's Jennifer Connelly?
Me: She won an Oscar for A Beautiful Mind, she's married to that guy who was in Wimbledon
Husband: What guy?
Me: You know, he has reddish hair, he's foriegn
Husband: She's married to Boris Becker?
Me: Goodnight

Of course I was talking about the movie Wimbledon, not the actual tennis tournament, and the guy I was talking about was the actor Paul Bettany. But this conversation was taking place between two people whose ears were still ringing and who'd consumed enough beer to make a choherent verbal exchange around midnight quite challenging.

The other day I received a funny and unexpected e-mail. It was from an ex-boyfriend I'd included in my 'cheated on boyfriend list' for E. Lockhart's blog. It wasn't a long message or anything, just two lines to the effect of what a small world it is when you discover your own name on the Internet. I had to laugh (and not just because I assumed he'd googled his name, which is kind of like admitting you check yourself out in the reflection of store windows, even though everyone's googled themselves at least once, right?).

When he sent me the e-mail he gave me no indication of what he thought when he read his name on the list - was he pissed or amused? So I sent back an e-mail and asked what his reaction was (and, just for the record, he insisted he didn't google his name, his sister did - should I believe that?). One of his reactions (which ranged from surprise and annoyance, to finding it funny) was wondering why anyone would ever write a blog, no less read one. And I agree.

The concept of a blog is odd. You sit at a computer writing stuff to no one. I've actually met people at events who say they like reading my blog, which is a little strange. To think that someone actually reads this! I kind of went into this thinking that nobody would actually read it, and it was just a fun place for me to crack myself up. I'm easily amused. Sure, I can read a counter that shows me how many people viewed my blog, for for all I know it's my brother (who will always bring up things I blogged about in our phone conversations - like inquiring, how's that new vacuum working out?) and maybe a portion of the prison population looking to kill time between lock downs.

In a way, writing a blog is like googling your own name. It's fun and harmless entertainment. And, unlike looking at yourself in random plate glass windows, you never worry about getting caught and looking stupid. Unltil an old boyfriend e-mails you.