The Dirty Diaper

“…the key to understanding a blog is to realize that it’s a broadcast, not a publication. If it stops moving, it dies. If it stops paddling, it sinks.”

I found this Matt Drudge quote courtesy of Andrew Sullivan’s enlightening article, “Why I Blog.”

Out of seven pages, he only spends about three paragraphs explaining why he blogs, but he does his best Ken Burns impression, laying out the universe of blogging and why, in my opinion, it’s one of the most fascinating avenues of communication or culture has seen in a long time.

I’m happy that I read it, because I’m sinking.

The main problem with most bloggers out there, myself included, is that we think that other people want to read what we write. We believe that writing can be interactive, that the reader can respond with support or critique, validating our purpose on this planet. I also believe that most writers think that the act of blogging itself makes them better writers.

The best bloggers are original; their perspective is unique, offering commentary that makes the rest of us think, “I wish I wrote that.” The worst bloggers just have opinions. Unfortunately, my blogging is no more than an opinion. I’m putting my two cents on someone else’s right or wrong. Hell, this entry isn’t even original. This is as much about Sullivan’s article as it is my own musings.

“You end up writing about yourself,” Sullivan writes. Sort of. Most of the time you end up writing about your relationship with the world. A diary is where you write about yourself. And there is a difference between a diary and a blog. I have a diary and I write in it frequently, sometimes a few lines, sometimes a few pages. My diary is the play-by-play of my own life, the John McEnroe/Mary Carillo commentary, stating the obvious, explaining the reasoning behind it, and arguing about it. I’m not always right.

And I never share it with anyone.

Why do I blog? Because everyone else does. It’s a confession, a way to tell the whole damn world just what I think. I want to bring another voice to the cacophony of spirited discussion. I want to tell people how right and wrong they are, and I want verification that my argument is valid and acceptable.

I’m the penguin just trying to be me.

But what I really wanted was interactivity. I would post a blog and check my e-mail daily to see if anyone had anything to say about my diatribes.

But my commentary is neither original nor poignant. It’s this schlub’s attempt to write about something that has already been driven through the meat grinder by hundreds of thousands of fellow keyboards. I don’t drive traffic to my blog. I don’t use tags, I don’t add metadata, I don’t practice good Search Engine Optimization, and I don’t offer links to dirty pictures for $3.95 a nanosecond.

I’m a hypocrite. I am afraid to put my real name here because I write about people that bother me, some of them very close to me. They would not hesitate to see my life change for the worse should they learn they are the target of my bursts of anger and disgust. I don’t want to get fired.

I don’t care what the world thinks about my opinions. And if I don’t care, then I don’t see the need to tell the world. (Cue the “cynical” response here.)

I thoroughly enjoy writing. Right now I’m throwing ideas on some paper to see if they stick enough to make a novel. (Betcha 10 bucks I’ll have a pseudonym if I’m published.)

But I don’t enjoy writing if I feel like I have to, if I can be honest with it, and if I can't put my own name at the bottom. I don’t enjoy sneaking around the interweb. There’s no validation in, “Hey, you’re right, whoever you are!”

I see the world only through my own eyes while trying to wrap them around the perspective of others. I work at a big company, have a wife I would run through walls for, two children that hold my heart in theirs, and two dogs that make me vacuum every other day. I am old enough to see the eighth president of my lifetime take office in a few days, but young enough to dedicate a huge portion of my audio library to hip-hop. And that is my life. I have the time to inveigh against society, but too much perspective leads me to think otherwise. My life will be better suited by my motives today than reading a bunch of rants 20 years from now.

Blogging has a higher purpose, but I need to find it. Until I do, two things should happen: Feel free stop by and let me know if I’m doing this right, and please read Andrew Sullivan.

Labels: andrew sullivan, blogging, higher purpose

Today, I got the above spam in my e-mail. We can look at the poor grammar, whatever.

$620.50? Are you freaking kidding me? Have you stupid spammers been watching the news lately? Have you seen what has been happening to the markets?

It's one thing to take advantage of me because I may not know how to spell "forumlar." Didn't the little red line show up under that word when you typed it in your word processor?

But then to completely insult my intelligence. Do you think that $620.50 is some sort of windfall for me? On Tuesday, I lost, like, a gazillion dollars in the stock market. On Wednesday, I got some of it back. BUT WAIT! There's $650.20 credited back to my MasterCharge because the IRS put it there?

Buddy, idiot, whatever you are, the feds need that money more than I do.

Go do your homework, idiot. Then come back and fool me with your spam.

Sheesh