I love my blog. A lot. I think it’s a relatively accurate portrayal of my life, my friends, my family, etc. As much I love writing, and I love writing a whole lot, one of my favorite past times is reading other people’s writing. I’ve developed the habit of reading blogs penned by men. Blogging comes very naturally to me. I like talking about how I feel, what music I listen to, what I wish I could wear, how much I dread working out, you know, the usual. Men, on the other hand, tend to be much more private. I’m always fascinated by what they’re willing to share.
In the past few days I’ve developed a huge blog crush. It’s quite embarrassing, actually. I know nothing about this dude other than what’s written on his blog (and in the New York Times, natch), yet I find myself irrationally drawn to it. We could not be more different. He attends Society balls and wears tails, I’m a New York Jew spending most of my time in leggings. He posts music I love and pictures of vintage cars that would make my father drool. I post pictures of my ridiculous group of friends (mostly dressed in black). It’s like night and day. I think that’s the main reason I enjoy reading his blog. We inhabit the same city, yet in a completely different way. He spends his Friday nights at the Soho Grand and I’m dancing to a cover band somewhere far more grungy. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life. I think it’s quite fabulous. What I’m trying to say (and not doing a very good job of) is that we’re inherently the same; people looking for big love and big fun in this confusing city.
So, congrats John. I officially have a crush on you.