In which Kisha thinks about blogs.
Dec. 10th, 2003 10:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
same_skyIt occurs to me that blogs are interesting because of their mundaneness. I mean, I read the thoughts of people I've never met and will never meet. It's not information I cannot live without, but a part of me really wants to know what random strangers have for dinner and how happy they are to start a new job and what they think of Michael Moore and all the other things that aren't really important. And at the same time, it satisfies me somehow to think that someone out there likes to know, for example, what I want for Christmas, my crazy relatives, my wonderful marriage, all about my fascination with key kitchen utensils and the progress of my recent ventures.
Have you seen that old forwarded mail with bad metaphors written by high school students? (like these) One of them, in my opinion, is really quite brilliant, and it annoys me every time I think of it. Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Tall Man." (attributed to Russell Beland). How many times have you met someone briefly and known that they would not play a major role in your life? That friend of a friend of a friend that you meet briefly at a party, then you walk off and forget about her, for example. Four years later, you might wake up in the middle of the night, stare at the ceiling and remember the joke she told, but you can't remember her name, if you remember who told it to you at all. Or maybe that guy your aunt fixed you up with. You both knew within three minutes that it wasn't going to work, so you went your separate ways and told Aunt Mildred that you had a fabulous time but weren't right for each other. You run into him at the grocery store five months later and smile politely, but you don't stop to introduce him to the friend that's there with you. They're just not key players. In the movie, they won't be cast by Angelina Jolie or Tom Hanks; they'll be struggling actors who haven't yet given up their day jobs.
I guess what I'm saying is that it pleases me to think of being Second Tall Man to a number of random people. I imagine that they might read through a few entries, perhaps smile at a funny phrase, perhaps roll their eyes at my occasional melodrama, then close a window and forget about me entirely. No pressure, no longterm committment. No angst. They won't call me up later and ask why I never come around any more. I won't get my feelings hurt when they stop popping in. I don't need to make conversation with them. It's pleasant, comforting. It's also why I didn't last with a friends-only journal. There's not much room for being Second Tall Man in a closed environment.
I've always wondered what it was like to be tall.
Have you seen that old forwarded mail with bad metaphors written by high school students? (like these) One of them, in my opinion, is really quite brilliant, and it annoys me every time I think of it. Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Tall Man." (attributed to Russell Beland). How many times have you met someone briefly and known that they would not play a major role in your life? That friend of a friend of a friend that you meet briefly at a party, then you walk off and forget about her, for example. Four years later, you might wake up in the middle of the night, stare at the ceiling and remember the joke she told, but you can't remember her name, if you remember who told it to you at all. Or maybe that guy your aunt fixed you up with. You both knew within three minutes that it wasn't going to work, so you went your separate ways and told Aunt Mildred that you had a fabulous time but weren't right for each other. You run into him at the grocery store five months later and smile politely, but you don't stop to introduce him to the friend that's there with you. They're just not key players. In the movie, they won't be cast by Angelina Jolie or Tom Hanks; they'll be struggling actors who haven't yet given up their day jobs.
I guess what I'm saying is that it pleases me to think of being Second Tall Man to a number of random people. I imagine that they might read through a few entries, perhaps smile at a funny phrase, perhaps roll their eyes at my occasional melodrama, then close a window and forget about me entirely. No pressure, no longterm committment. No angst. They won't call me up later and ask why I never come around any more. I won't get my feelings hurt when they stop popping in. I don't need to make conversation with them. It's pleasant, comforting. It's also why I didn't last with a friends-only journal. There's not much room for being Second Tall Man in a closed environment.
I've always wondered what it was like to be tall.
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Date: 2003-12-10 10:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-11 01:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-11 02:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-11 01:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-11 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-11 08:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-11 08:32 pm (UTC)Some of the analogies truly are bad, but they're funny at least! ;)
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Date: 2003-12-11 08:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-11 09:18 pm (UTC)I view the blogsphere the same way, but I also know some people who take the inverse view. They start to care very deeply about their readership, about what everyone thinks of their entries. They'll get really mad or worked up over a comment or post that you took to be light-hearted and throw-away. It can get very intense and melodramatic.
I like the light-switch view much better.
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Date: 2003-12-13 04:56 pm (UTC)