You: “Wait a minute, you blog? Oh my gosh, who does that anymore?”
Me: “Uh…this guy, and I’m awesome at it too, so shut your yapper.”
For full effect, download “Old Grand Dad” by Fats Waller and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.
Why do all of you think blogging is some form of ancient record keeping tactic that was created right after the Egyptians start chiseling out their hieroglyphic graffiti? Give me a break people, are all of you just waking up to the digital orgy we’ve been living in since the Clinton Administration? I know, Weblogging is one of the first channels of social media, but just because I blog does not mean the first vehicle I ever owned was a pioneer handcart. You’re throwing out way too many stereotypes here.
You: “I’m so confused, you’re not a stay-at-home mother in her late twenties who writes posts about do-it-yourself garage sale ideas. This doesn’t make any sense.”
You’re right, because when mulling over the terms and conditions that Blogger, or Wordpress or any other blogging site makes you agree to, the title rule says that any users of this program must have a minimum of three kids, have not put on makeup in the past six months, and have the physical and emotional ability to sync up their cycles. And yes, I lived in a household of women. I know what that phrase means. Believe it or not, there are a few male diamonds in the rough who know how to express their thoughts using a keyboard that are given full permission to blog. And yes, I am one of those gems.
You: “Wait, so if you’re not a woman, then do you blog to try and promote the latest fantasy/sci-fi novel/catastrophe that’s never going to be published?”
Does every single potential best-selling writer out there need to be categorized as someone with a blunder of an idea that they’re going to write the next Star Wars trilogy? No, I just like telling you the stories of my life that aren’t associated with a cosmic apocalypse. Like the time I lied about being a schizophrenic on a blind date, or when I fooled my Grandma into believing I was gay. These are the things that make you and me and everyone else laugh. Just because they didn’t happen on a space station or in the not too distant future does not mean it’s a criminal offense to blog about them.
You: “But you actually update your blog, like every other day. Who does that?”
Umm, people who actually care about their blogs, which statistically speaking is less than 8.3% of the worldwide population. I know that everyone else out there gets some kind of mid-life itching to accomplish something in their puny existence, which in turn leads to a rushed jumble of words with a few close-up photos of a beach scene with their husband and kids, only to be abandoned for six months when that mid-life itching starts up again and they feel the obligation to “update the old blog again”. But hey, there are a few of us out there who know what we’re doing, are skilled at keeping you entertained for six minutes, and have more self motivation than a dehydrated camel to update our pages three times a week. Yes, we exist.
You: “Wait, so you’re telling me that you, a heterosexual man born in the 1980’s, who doesn’t yard sale hop in Park City every weekend, who isn’t showcasing the 19th book in his Inspector Spacetime series, who posts on a consistent basis every other day or so, likes to blog? And you’re not piss-poor awful at it either?”
Me: “Exactly. Just don’t ask my Grandma about the gay part.”