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Launch The new kids on the block. By Damiana (damiana@diarist.net)

Archives Past Launch sites. Submit Get Launched!   Roughly five years ago, the first online journals crawled out of the sea. These were shocking things, these chronicles of lives, these barings of innermost thoughts and feelings right there on the Internet. Putting your private life online? Absurd! That was a long time ago. Now opinions are changing. It seems nowadays that a homepage without a journal is unheard of. The largest journal webring boasts upwards of five hundred members, and the numbers are growing every day. With the constant outpour of new journals, readers are finding it increasingly harder to wade through these emerging life stories. Launch serves to spotlight these journals, the new or relatively unknown. Oftentimes, a quality journal gets overlooked in the tangle of the more established. Here, the "underdog" has a venue. Each week, two to three journals will be presented and given the opportunity to gain new readers into their lives.   Saturday, June 16, 2001 Earthbound Disco Ball Always a sucker for New York journals, I have to say I'm also a big fan of this one, from a young and married rocker/children's counselor. For starters, the metaphors are just fabulous, and it's his gruff, but funny and well-written style that first reeled me in. Right in the middle tho, bam, he went and waxed poetic on the universe. Let's hope he doesn't sink into a hiatus because this one's just dandy. I finally make it to the Dunkin Donuts where I purchase a large (bucket of) ice coffee with milk and plenty of sugar. I take off my counselor disguise (sweater and reading glasses) and head out the door. By the first sip I have already rolled up my sleeves to expose my tattooed ivory arms that are in desperate need of some color. By the second sip the poor man’s speedball has reached its contact point. I am as wired as an undercover cop. Secret Beaver World she doesn't stop, and while she's serious about what she does she doesn't take herself too seriously. Check here for some humorous and well-written insights on the life of a "a 40-ish pagan woman who birds, cooks, gardens and reads tarot. Who looks for wildness in a major metropolitan suburb." Are my readers tiring of my documentation of the rebuilding of a body? Sorry, so sorry folks. This is what happens during a midlife crisis. I could have taken a younger lover, but I didn't. I could have bought a fast red car, but I didn't. I could have left my husband and run off to Monte Carlo with our savings, but I didn't. I could have had a big interior decorating frenzy, but I didn't. I could have gone to grad school, oh you get the message. All those adventures would probably make better stories here in the journal. Well, except for that higher education thang. The West Virginia Surf Report! It's personal, and sometimes it's a daily rehash, but this guy could make nearly anything funny, and he has. Maybe it's because he's been publishing a print zine for years before jumping into the online waters, and maybe it's just because he's just plain hilarious. Expect some notes on beer, chicks and butts, power urination, and then some. On Sunday we took the folks out to some stores, and had lunch, and stuff like that. We were in a restaurant and saw a fat man with a ponytail applying a line of mayonnaise to each individual french fry before devouring it. I couldn't watch. Then I saw a fifteen or sixteen year old girl in a halter top with George Clooney's face under each arm, and that didn't help anything either. Later we were in Old Navy and walked into a heart-stopping fart cloud that was causing a mini mosh pit to form in the middle of a retail store. My dad summed it up when he said, "Sshhew! That thing was still hot when we got to it." God bless America. Monday, February 19, 2001 chaney Boredom-inspired rants, one nearly every day. He can make you hate the world if you're not careful. Well, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. This journal reminds me of why I left the suburbs of Atlanta years ago, never to return. An entertaining collection of observations at the local Subway. She was chewing Wintergreen, the bane of all gum. I've always equated chewing it to chewing cud, only worse. Much, much worse. Well, she was going to town. I mentioned (despite trying to avoid conversation with her as it's like opening a flood gate, only without all the excitement a real floodgate would cause...i.e. some) my feelings on it. "Oh, I know, it tastes like 2000 flushes, but it really freshens your breath". Yeah, that's what I want; breath that smells like toilet water. As if I don't already have enough problems. gossamer Remember when? You will, here. It's honest words from a young singer at a Christian college in Texas, a girl who returns home periodically to explore what happens when you fall in love at fifteen, and then leave. But it always ends in tears. This time was the worst. "You never used to be like this," I say. And then he cries. "I'm sorry. I've turned into every other guy, haven't I?" Yes, he has.