Death to Blogs

I have a minute or two before I'm set to read more of "Bridge to Terabithia" with the insane child.

Blogging, RSS Feeds, SEO (Search Engine Optimization), branding, and cross-utilization of all mentioned afore has become my job du jour.

However, I am getting wind of a certain movement. It's in response to the idiots on MySpace. It's in response to everyone out there who figures out that they can have a free blog, and have server space somewhere to host it, and enough friends to keep it alive.

Blogs are goofy. They were made goofy by dumb wanna-debutantes living in NYC who feel that their lives are really interesting to those of us stuck in the burbs. Sorry, Sex and The City fulfilled that need for me, and I don't need anymore, thanks mother.

Blogs are asinine. Reading all of these wanna-be-political opinionistas write about the war, and Bush, and act like they know a goddamned thing about how the US political machine really runs is exhausting and satirical. Everyone's suddenly a expert.

Blogs are sometimes too much. Like photos. I don't need a photo of every gosh darned thing that happens in my life. I remember it just fine. It loses it's specialness if its all there in a million pixels. Same thing with blogs. You don't need to hear how my latest cup of coffee tasted, nor how my most recent spat went. The minutiae of life just isn't that compelling. And there are writers out there who actually make a lot of money writing about the minutiae, and making it compelling. Us amateurs put it on overload and act like it's creative.

Anyway, the idea that blogging will soon become an act of the past distressed me. I enjoy writing sometimes. I keep pondering the idea of putting another blog up anonymously, and writing whatever the hell I want to. So I can contemplate all the things I'm not allowed to say to people I know.

But for pete's sake. I don't even search for other good blog reads anymore. I have two or three I check on, because I like who I met through the text on the page. Somehow, however, reading someone's latest excapade at the Doctor or their comment on Anna Nicole and Britney's head and a pic of what they ate seems like a really bad farce.

I can only imagine what Shakespeare would come up with about bloggers. Or Tim Burton. Or Truman Capote, because somehow I think that he knew how to twist reality around and talk about it and make it seem really insipid.

So me and you just made a pact. I will no longer waste space on the internet like every other fuc&head. I will continue to protest against unabashed internet use, as I believe we are trapped in a box and aren't really living lives anymore.

I already turned my daughter's TV off for good. I can tell we aren't far behind. It's time to turn all the idiot boxes off and come up with something meaningful to talk about. I mean, jeez.

Would Jesus Even Care Enough To Say Something About George Bush?

I think not.




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