Bruce Toews (masterofmusings) wrote,
Bruce Toews

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The Joy of Babbling

Ask anyone who's talked to me and they'll tell you I have a bit of a tendency to babble. You probably figured that much out from reading these journal entries, or from my journal entries cluttering up people's "friends" pages. Yes, I babble, both verbally and literarily.

Babbling serves many purposes, Right now, quite frankly, procrastination is being served by this babbling. I'll just keep writing on and on about nothing in particular, Hey, it's how I got through college. Pick a subject, any subject. Then sound as if you know whereof you speak. You do that for nine pages, widen your margins just a bit. increase line-spacing infinitesimally, and a really flashy title, and you've got your ten-page essay on 8-Track Tapes: Their Role, Their Legacy, Their Future or House Flies of the World in Peace and War.

Then there are the times I truly want to make a good impression on someone who impresses me. This, my friends, is where babbling can turn dangerous. "Hi, I'm Bruce. ... Oh really? Nice to meet you. ... Yeah, I know, and it reminds me of the time I was in third grade and I was asked to read the Hawaiian translation of War and Peace ..." or something. By the time the conversation's over, the other person, far from being impressed with my vibrant personality, charm and unparalelled wit, is wishing I'd find the nearest bridge and throw myself off of it to the benefit of all and sundry.

I always figured the gift of babble would come in handy should I ever attain my dream-career in radio. But I missed a valuable point. You're supposed to "babble" about something. Memories of "mud puddles I have known in my childhood" don't count as cutting edge news. They want some of this substance stuff. Who'da thunk it?

And now I've discovered Live Journal. A chance to babble and to put it online pretending people read it. Does it get any better than this?

All the above forms of babbling have one thing in common, the utter lack of subject matter. For example, I remember a time when I was twelve. I had no idea what I was talking about, you see, and ... forget it. I'll babble out my childhood memories some other time.

N.B. there was no such incident as the twelve-year-old one to which I alluded in the previous paragraph. It was used to make some species of point, though just what that point might be is something of a mystery>

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