|The word "smudge" smudged.|
I don't know if its genetics or what, but I have very oily skin. And not just on my face either, though my face is plenty shiny. My fingers, darn the luck, are just as unctuous. I am more oil than man. Or, rather, I am a blob of oil in the shape of a person. Every couple of weeks, I get a new copy of Rolling Stone, because I subscribed to it once when I was 12 and it's just been coming ever since. Anyway, even though RS is a glossy magazine, my fingers still smudge the pages. You can always tell where my thumbs have gripped a particular issue. And writing something by hand? Shit, forget it. Not only is my handwriting atrocious, but I tend to grip the pen or pencil very close to the pointed end, so my hand rubs up against the paper, and I end up with either ink or graphite on the side of my hand. Why am I writing all this down? Because this blog, Dead 2 Rights, is supposed to be a reflection of my life, and smudges are a big part of that life. They're a component of my daily routine, so why shouldn't they be recorded here for posterity? Someday, I'll be able to look back on this article and think, "Oh, yeah. Smudges. I remember those."
Bonus: Can you name the movie which provided the screenshot at the top of this article?