So I finally decided to man up and get a blog. You'll find, with me, that's either subtle irony or a paradox. I like to consider myself somewhat of a writer; not a great one, but I can hold my own at times. However, I have long thought that blogging (and in a prior time, even before when "journaling" became cool) and generally keeping a journal or diary, was basically a good tool for self-therapy. You know, you pour your heart out on the page (in this case a formatted set of text, code and color) and you hope other people read it; mostly for sympathy, methinks. If I may reference pop-culture: remember the scene when Alli Sheedy dumps out her purse on the couch so that Anthony Michael Hall and Emilio Estevez can look at her junk and therefore get a gauge on the life she thought was so crummy. *editors note: I tried to find a clip of it on YouTube...guess not.
Anyways, I suppose most people write down their thoughts with some sort of meaning and people are supposed to read and react to it. Or, by not reacting, react to it. Yeah, I think I confused myself. Moving on...What I'm getting at is that I'm going to pose a fundamental question of philosophy and I want anyone to chime in with what you think.
The question is: Does life imitate art, or, does art imitate life?
I'm sure you've experienced it once or twice. You watched a movie and you could adapt a portion it to your own life experience. For example, however unfortunate on many levels, I can adapt to Dane Cook's character in Good Luck Chuck. *(Unfortunate because of his circumstance and much more unfortunate at how bad the movie was).
So, I want you to throw out your comments and blurbs and I'll follow it up with another post. Fair enough?
