Thursday, April 11, 2002

Early flirtations with blogging has taught me - if nothing else, to be careful about making blogs and blogging into a subject, the: "Why Do We Blog" type posting. Much "blood" seems to have been shed over whether it's a legitimate subject for discussion or whether extraordinary efforts should be made to avoid it completely. Blogging as subject pariah. Not easy when it's a new interest and like most new interests is capable of consuming the thoughts as it elbows its way to the forefront of your mind and vies for supremacy with the last new one.

But it's my latest discovery and I feel compelled to talk about it as a subject as well as using it to fulfil other needs. I suppose if I suddenly took up golf or a study of Victorian railway branch systems, I'd seize every opportunity to talk about them to anyone who showed a modicum of interest. Initially at least. I'd probably continue until I could settle down and stop behaving like an overly indulged and wildly exuberant child overloaded with orange fizz and undeserved praise. But the golf clubs can remain unswung heroes in my terrible loft and the anorak I am happy to report, has never been bought. And blogging is a new interest,so…

Now that I have that out of the way: what does it (all matters weblog) mean to me? Reading them is great. There are so many styles. Some are immediate. "Got up, swept the yard, stepped on a slug (ugh) - the wife did this/the girlfriend that/ my husband is/ the boyfriend does/ the cats, the dogs, the budgies the iguanas, the rows, the splits. A sort of contemporaneous log of the day's activities.

Others seem to open their lives up in theirs and display them in a show of public introspection: this is my music, these are my books, my films, my illnesses, my likes, my dislikes, we rowed, we split we got back together. I love, I hate. I am. This was my holiday. I did this, will never forget that. Here is a fastidiously edited post card: "Wish you were here/there".

Some go for the wry observations of life, inviting whimsical confessions from out of the mundane" When you open a packet of biscuits and the excess crumbs sprinkle all over the kitchen worktop. Do you dust them of with a cloth or wet your and finger jab at them and poke them into your mouth'. Mmmmm!!!!!! Scrumptious!!!!!" (Comments 84) And growing. Or looking for the response - now that is an interesting question. And the answer often is.

This may typify others, a sort of high tech captioned photo album - (interminable tick,tick,tick) "Hi there… I'm Jenny, (tick, tick, tick) and I'm married to my adorable husband Randy; cue: 48 minutes to down load a picture of such domestic bliss you want to reach in through the computer screen and punch Randy on his smug nose. In the background is Jeckles our Springer Spaniel he had such a hard time settling after we moved to Connecticut". (Comments 6). Only those with turbo-charged broadband need apply. (Totally imagined name combination as with all examples).

There's the satiric take - they're good, and then there's "Becky", who today (here if I had a scintilla of skill I would place one of those little yellow moonfaces with its tongue hanging out) "Is like feeling like soooo gross" (Comments 4) (all close friends). Or, (no name) "Here is my well thought out perspective on the meaning of life" (Comments 1)

When read in great chunks they flick and flash and zing in the mind and meld into one great splurging farrago. I've never had such a succession of non-alcohol related migraines. And it's great.

I'm writing far too quickly and carelessly.

And I'm definitely reading too much Julie Burchill.


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