Could we have a guild?

Last night, at the fundraiser for Ruminate Magazine, a "little magazine" that encourages us to chew on life, faith and art, the speaker talked for a few moments about guilds.  He spoke of how the magazine has provided a space for thousands of artists, writers and readers to respond to each others' work, to encourage one another, and to enjoy the power of words and art.

Since I'm a reader, I guess I'm part of that guild.  However, as an occasional writer, I'd also like to be part of a more intimate guild where others respond to my  ideas and words. Since I don't have a writers' network in place, this blogging world may be the primary place to share writing.  But since I currently only have an audience of two (Hey, Ben and Maria!), I may need to work out a few more details for this plan.  Hmmmmmmmmmmm. . .

Can Seinfeld be in my cloud?

I read an interesting piece in the magazine Ruminate where the author talks about the "cloud of witnesses" who are present in her writing.  Voices, snippets of conversation, emotions. . . it started me thinking about the voices in my head that speak out in my writing and conversation.

Of course, there's Mom's clever use of language, Dad's sparkle in his eyes telling yet another adolescent joke (or perhaps the same one), Jerry's valiant effort to keep a straight face and psuedo-earnest gaze as he says something both clever and understated. . .

To be honest, however, I find that much of my inner dialogue (and occasional outer dialogue as well) has a distinctly Seinfeldish tone.  My response yesterday to a bumper sticker-covered car ("My son is a Marine!  I love the Marines!  Semper Fi!") was to ask with feigned interest to the anonymous (and unhearing) driver ahead, "So, what does your son do for a living?"   Elaine and Jerry chortled with me.

When Seinfeld was first popular, people worried that the show was about "Nothing--how could a whole show about nothing?  Is our existence so banal?  Is there no meaning or purpose beyond existential angst?"

Whatever (eye roll, thank you, Elaine.) 

I prefer to find pleasure in mining the absurd, the comical, the ridiculous, and the just plain funny.  It makes me laugh and occasionally feel clever.  Sometimes VERY clever.  And if my audience of one is amused, all the better. 

So. . . that's it.  No  profound point. . .