Is it a meme or a mouse? Open letters on major blogs with in-jokes and asides and snarky witticisms (I’m too lazy to spellcheck anything) and now we’re doing backwards Blog masking in which the Bloggers who are doing the Blogging are being Blogged themselves.
So. I was chatting with a fellow Blogcaster last night over plates of barbecued flesh at our favorite meat hang discussing this, that and the state of running your own site (with a higher purpose than self-promotion, presumably, or so one tells oneself) and wondering what the hell you’re doing it for, really. Is it fame and fortune, because if that’s the target we all have a ways to go. Who’s famous? Who cares?
The movement, as I call it, and yes I mean that gastrointestinally, makes nothing important because it’s all so much noise, and it strikes me that all this public discussion is of the same uninformed opinionated ilk that used to take place, mercifully, in the privacy of one’s own head. Now we get to listen to everyone think out loud in reaction mode with little in the way of reflection and the all-important personal editing.
That’s not all entirely bad, and I suppose I should be happier about the democratization of the Web that weblog apps allow. Anyone with a computer and Internet access can now have their very own pre-designed corner of space wherein to pontificate for the masses (or at least the small mass that finds them) about literally whatever the fuck they want to, whether they know anything about it or not.
Come to think of it, we’ve all become politicians, gathering flocks of like-minded individuals to heed our words of wisdom, whether we are wise or not. God damn, I need an editor.
I am not actually thinking of any particular Blogger as I type this, which is probably why it’s just such a pointless and meandering screed. I mean, Andrew Sullivan? Yeah, he can write well, but that doesn’t make him less of an asshole. Am I jealous that he seems to be making a living at sitting in his PJs writing his opinions about shit on a bufugly web site while I have to keep getting up in the morning and going to an office downtown creating loads of crap no one cares about? You bet your ass I am. Fuck you, Andrew Sullivan.
Anyway, Philo and I, we came to no conclusions. It’s a lot like life, as Depeche Mode once sang, but that was about sadomasochism and this is about goddamned blogging, so my point is probably lost but it is this: No one yet knows where any of this public discussion is going. Are we trendsetters or layabouts? Forging the new landscape of entertainment and education and art and sex and life, or wasting everyone’s time writing up millions of words to no real conclusion? In short, what good is all this if you can’t read it while you’re taking a crap?
But let’s just forge on, shall we? If we start to question and pay attention to it all, won’t it just shrivel up and disappear like ashes from yesterday’s book burning? Sure I’m pissed off. Look at me, 43 years old, middle-aged, living in a country lead by self-satisfied liars and self-serving hipocrites (I already mentioned the lazy spellchecker shit, so shut the hell up, I’m typing) who’ve managed to convince a majority of the country that all the fucked up shit they’re doing is for our own good, that we need to be punished for our sins and sent to our rooms without any bankruptcy.
I keep trying to tell myself that this new era of open discussion of gay rights is a good thing, but I also keep feeling that all it does is somehow allow the religious right and the hoards of half-gay homophobes to drum up support for making us second-class citizens not with special rights but rather with limited ones, done so for our own good because we’re like retarded or something, too screwed up to know right from wrong and confused by these feelings we have and wanting, for some reason, to turn everyone else gay.
I’ve got news for you — if you’re worried about “becoming gay,” you already are.
See? I told you this was all pointless posturing. Who do I look like, Ponyboy? At least he’s paying attention to what the nerds are doing. Me, I just look for pretty pictures and videos of questionable halftime shows and fun things to buy. Ah, empty life goals. So satisfying!