Entering the Blogosphere

In the early 1990s I first encountered people who would ask for my "e-mail" or offer me theirs. I didn't know what they were talking about. I did not own a computer, nor did most people I knew. I still typed up the occasional letter on a typewriter, an IBM Selectric with the interchangeable font balls. I still have it, somewhere. In the basement.

I was helping out at the O'Hare Airport Chapel as the bulletin editor, and one day, computers arrived. One was for me. I remember it was made by PC Craft, and it came with two disk drives, one for the 3.5 inch floppy and one for the 5.25 inch floppy. The DOS-based computer was not connected to the internet, so e-mail and web browsing remained in the future.

Deacon Jim O'Malley showed me how to turn on the computer and access a rudimentary word processing program. It wasn't a very good program -- lots of unnecessary spaces -- and eventually I learned how to use WordPerfect. I recall how gingerly I approached using this machine, as if pressing the wrong button would cause it to crash or blow up. Eventually I got the hang of it.

Some years passed before Windows 3.1 was loaded. If I wanted to scan artwork or a photo, I had to close my WordPerfect program, open the scanner software and scan, save to a file, close the scanner, reopen WordPerfect and import the file. It was tedious. And pretty soon, the graphics were causing the computer to freeze because there wasn't much memory.

Then American Airlines, my employer, entered into a deal with Dell to offer computers to all employees at a special discount. American wanted everybody on-line, in part because it was phasing out hard copy paychecks and pressing everyone to use direct deposit and access pay information from the company website, JetNet. And so, by the end of the 1990s, we had our first family computer and internet access. We had dial-up for awhile, and then switched to DSL through our phone company, Ameritech, now ATT. We each had our own e-mail address.

And now, about 15 years since I turned on that PC Craft, I'm entering the blogosphere. And why not? I like to write, and I don't mind sharing my writing. Let me tell you what motivated me to start this blog.

I get Google e-mail alerts whenever "Thomas Merton" pops up on the web, which is quite regularly. I visited this posting: the Deacon's Bench. Soon I found myself in a discussion with Phil Onochie and Mr. Banno about Merton. As I explored the Deacon's Bench I became intrigued with the possibilities of blogging. And maybe I felt a little guilty about monopolizing that thread.

I had another exchange earlier this year on the California Catholic Daily website regarding a talk by Sister Eloise Rosenblatt on "Systems that Disempower the Laity." I was appalled by some of the nasty remarks and launched into a discussion with one John L. Sillasen.

These exchanges have sharpened my interest in critical thinking and clear writing. However, I am still in a quandry about the exact nature of this blog.

I came up with "Aqualung My Friend" from the the song Aqualung by Jethro Tull. It was not the first Tull song I heard, nor my favorite, but it does have some very strong personal associations. During the short time I was in college at Illinois Benedictine in Lisle - from the fall of 1975 to December, 1976 - I would occasionally "act out" the song at parties, given sufficient amounts of beer and a receptive audience. During this time my hair was long and I wore a long coat procured from a second hand store. The photo at left gives you a general idea of my appearance back then, though it's not a very flattering image. I think I had just been awakened. It's one of the few photos I have from that time.

Here are the song's lyrics:

Sitting on a park bench
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot running down his nose
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Feeling like a dead duck
spitting out pieces of his broken luck.

Sun streaking cold
an old man wandering lonely.
Taking time
the only way he knows.
Leg hurting bad,
as he bends to pick a dog-end
he goes down to the bog
and warms his feet.

Feeling alone
the army's up the rode
salvation à la mode and
a cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend
don't start away uneasy
you poor old sod, you see, it's only me.
Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze
when the ice that
clings on to your beard is
screaming agony.
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
with deep-sea-diver sounds,
and the flowers bloom like
madness in the spring.

There was something about the compassion in this song for a derelict old man that moved me, the clever wordplay, and the driving, harrowing music. For a short span of time I became identified with the song, and friends would implore me to "Do Aqualung." I suppose that short stint of "performing" also had some liberating effect. Aqualung became a persona, an alter-ego. Not a very charming fellow, but still. Actually, I was just emulating Ian Anderson, who I must have seen performing on "The Midnight Special" or some other show. I did finally get to see Tull in concert at Northwestern University's McGaw Hall. Amazingly one can view their entire historical tour schedule on line and thus I can even pinpoint the date: March 12, 1977. This was only a short time after dropping out of school, and twelve days into my first apartment at 4404 N. Kenneth Street in Chicago. I was working at Resurrection Hospital in Environmental Services -- I was a janitor, or maybe a floor finisher at that point. I hated the job. Eventually I just stopped showing up. I recall that I got a call from my boss asking if I was still planning to work for Resurrection. The date was 7-7-77. I said no. Fortunately I was able to find work with the Peacock Northwest News as an editorial assistant and started there August 1st, I'm pretty sure. Again, the wonders of computing - I can go to an online calendar of 1977 and see that August 1st was a Monday. August 2 was Bill's 20th birthday and the fire at the Kenneth apartment. I don't remember if that happened Aug. 1st or 2nd. Maybe I started at Peacock on Aug. 8. Who knows. I didn't last long. I got fired in January right after New Year's - my 21st birthday.

Well, maybe this blog will be a place to start a memoir. I don't know. Who will want to read this stuff? Anyway, that's enough for one day. The blog is launched. We'll see if it goes anywhere.