I’ve received the comments, the emails…..the carrier pigieons’ messages with the smidges of bird doodie on the corners .
Why am I not blogging as much, you ask.
Well, kids for starters, I don’t love blogging like I used to. It takes a great amount of time and neediness to keep a good, compelling blog good and compelling and current. I am either fresh out of the desire or just plain too lazy to make the effort. The spirit is gone. So is the need for a “they like me…they really like me” pay off. The reward now, is no longer needing the reward.
You see, when I started this effort in mid 2007, I was a bankrupt soul. Broke, sad, lonely, emotionally corrupt , needy, terribly insecure. I was very angry, bitter and so goddamn vulnerable.
I latched on to the blogosphere and liked it for a while. It filled several voids, especially at a time was I was unemployed, had no where to go and no clue as to where to find it. But I did something I normally don’t do…I joined something. Or rather, I aligned myself with a faction from the seedy, squirrely, nerdy blog underworld, which distinguished itself with with misplaced narcissism and daily pseudo-intellectual battles with rival blogs or those that include different ideologies. Different is another word for wrong with these folks. And they are quick to defend their positions, right or wrong. And they are fierce. No one is picking on them in this cyber playground.
Picture if you will, a gangly pack of socially awkward, knit-trousered, pocket-protected four -eyed lads and lassies, all vying for readership, links back to their sites and the attention of some nebulous female blogger who with the help of a 40 year old thesaurus, uses logorrhea to seduce to the word- starved masses. Word play is foreplay to these folks. Use “ennui” correctly in a sentence and you’ve got three male bloggers, two women and one as of yet gender unknown, all vying for your undying love.
And uh….by the way, the photo used in the profile belonging to that ’hot blogger of the month” who’s claim to fame is growing armpit hair in support for non-unionized garment workers in Latvia, well that pic is from 64 pounds ago, not to mention the fact that it was taken circa 1983. Call me Sherlock, but the funked up Flock of Seagulls haircut was something of a clue.
But, who am I to talk. I was once one of the blogging ambitious. I wrote about things I pretended to adore. I’d claim to love opera and express rabid fandom for Puccini and Verdi, all the while thinking this was actually the name of a new lunch combo at ‘The Olive Garden”. There is incredible pretentiousness among bloggers. I was just as bad, just guilty. But that was before I gave myself a little New Age permission to be arrogant within reason. I have since realized the error of my ways.
There are many bloggers who think what they have to say merits a broadcast. That it should extend beyond print. So, they start podcasts. I abhor these things. THINK: Do it yourself Pirate radio stations on your computer with no edge, just ego. I hated listening to them and I hated being on them. I agreed to panel on a few and always pretended smack dab in the middle of my segment, that my line dropped. I’d just hang up and never explain what happened. And after a while of searching for their own explanations—- the damned dirty ape phone or spotty Texas cell service —they finally figured I wasn’t interested. I was never asked to return as a guest, either.
This blog brought me some joy, it’s also brought me a lot of misery. I thought having it and maintaining it and playing the blogging game with others would embolden me, make me stronger. Nah….it just proved how porous and vulnerable my resolve actually was. And sometimes, vulnerability isn’t such a bad thing. But in battle, its everything.
Iv’e cut back on my Facebooking. I got tired of the maintenance and hearing about everyone else’s perfect children and wonderful spouses, about perfect trips to exotic ports of call, and new homes and new haircuts and latest photos of these people and their uber fabulous lives that really don’t exist beyond the borders of the computer screen in front of them. I mean hey, if you’re happy, right on, live to tell the tale, but can you also please keep some of it to yourself?
I sound bitter, right? I’m not. Everyone should have a chance to sample public adulation, but like everything else, that too eventually gets old. And right now this blogger feels her age, this blogs looks its age. We’re tired. So please note that I appreciate your inquiries, but I’m just following the government’s lead and shutting down, slowly, surely and eventually, we will shut this bitch down completely. Georgie H. sang it best.
I’m not saying goodbye right now. I’ll continue to write, just fewer posts.
Soon I will, as I have for the past two years, produce those weekly signature recaps of American Horror Story which sees Season Three premiering on FX this week. I will from time to time, continue to use this forum to admit what others won’t—that Molly Ringwald’s prom dress from the movie, “Pretty In Pink” was atrocious. That Tina Fey’s once very bright and shiny apple has lust some of its luster recently and while Michael J. Fox’s new show on NBC is well done, watching him act in the throes of his Parkinson’s is uncomfortable. Sorry , it is for me, but it’s not enough to get me to change the channel. This is something with which I must contend. He has to Ttry live with Parkinson’s every day. I should be able to watch him deal with it, and work in spite of it, for a mere 23 minutes (minus the commercials) per week.
Well kids, it’s been a slice.