What's my name?

Certain observant readers have commented that "Graham Berridge Troy" might not in fact be my real name, and not without cause. It is in fact the name of my one-year old son, whose lovely pic I'll post when I get around to it.

I had at first been delighted to set up my own blog, thinking it a wholly liberated space to write as I pleased, "out of all constrictions," as pfunk would have it. And then I read that googling people has become standard practice for managers, hiring directors, and the like throughout the corporate sphere, which means that a space of apparent discursive freedom all of a sudden transmutes into just another place for the superego to lard itself on, a place to reach out and leverage best practices proactively. Maybe I'll get me one of those too where I can burnish the me that gets things done and saves clients money. Not here.

Kerry's comment about Dick Cheney's daughter last night, though inoffensive to me, would appear to have been ill-advised from the blowback we're hearing. As if he had insulted somebody. But the key thing is that he doesn't support gay marriage, which strikes me as craven. People who find the concept of marriage threatened by the spector of homoconnubials would seem to have issues in their own homes which they can't quite put a finger on. It don't bother my marriage.

Song du jour A Rekjavik bildungsroman, methinks