2005-12-08 - 2:33 p.m.
I read several blogs on a regular, daily basis. I’ve completely succumbed to it, all of it. I read my friends’ blogs to catch up on their daily goings-on. I read socio-politically charged blogs to get that solid red-hot-awareness-poker-straight-up-my-ass fix. I read travel blogs and random teenagers’ blogs just because they’re strangely fascinating. I read this blog written by an angry artist in California because he’s terribly attractive and regularly posts pictures of himself making crazy faces and references his dirty sex-having habits. I read my kid sister’s blog so that I can get some sort of feel for what she really thinks without having to ask her point-blank, because that would be awkward. I read Jake’s blog because he’s the smartest person that I know, and I read Dino’s because he’s the most charming. I read my ex-boyfriend’s blog because I still like to know what he’s up to even though he’s not mine, and I’m retardedly melodramatic and I like to remind myself of why he’s not mine so that I can get all riled up about it. I read blogs. A lot.
And I write one. I write one because I find it an absolutely lovely concept. I can tell you exactly what I think and it’s under the guise of a private journal. I can admit all of my dirtiest darlings and you, the poor sap who’s reading it all, you are the dirty one because you’ve invaded my privacy and trespassed in my backyard, or, rather, my bedroom. Any uglies I fling are yours’ to catch and hold. It’s hardly my fault for writing them when you are the asshole who touched what didn’t belong to you—unless of course, I invited you to touch it…but then I can say things to you, specifically, and it’s so much easier to tell you how pretty you are when I can type it on a screen and never have to talk directly to you about it. It’s the most passive/aggressive form of communication there is. Slammed doors and pointed comments from another room have got nuthin’ on this.
So, as I mentioned before, I read my ex-boyfriend’s blog. It gives me something to bitch about when I’m bored. And he’s a decent writer. So, a couple of months ago he started writing for a site called Metblogs. He posts pretty regularly, regaling his public with stories that have primarily to do with the city in which he resides (NYC). Everyone else on the site does the same and Metblogs has teams of writers in several larger cities all over the world so you can check out opinions on local color in Sydney if you’re in the mood. It’s actually a fun site to read, and a lot of the writers get semi-personal which makes it all the more interesting.
And (of fucking course) I have my favorite Metblogs writer (who is not, in fact, the ex). He’s charming, he’s hilarious, he’s interesting, and he’s smart as hell. His punctuation is a little off, but, for the most part, I’m totally hooked. I mean, seriously. There’s very little brooding here. Just a whole lotta personality. I don’t know whether to flick my bean or my brain stem.
Which is why I was so disappointed by yesterday’s post. Some 14-year-old blond obviously turned our boy down for his 8th grade Homecoming. Because in this fabulous bloggety world of passive/aggressive agressivity, he has pointed his finger--at the world’s entire female population, no less. Whether or not I “enjoy” or “get” The Simpsons isn’t really the point (although, I do, wholeheartedly, and always have). The point is that now I get to take a bunch of flak for Susie Blueeyes cuz we have the same boxerific equipment—and all because I get a big charge out of this dude’s bloggish stylings and insist upon reading them every day. Which is not to say that I'm gonna prove this douchebag right by taking his pissiness out on my own gender, thereby emphasizing the cold nature of the human female. I mean, we're not dumb, he's wrong, it irritated me, yadayadayada. Women love smart men, I'm not better than the human male, etc.
So, I suppose I probably deserve this, y’know? I mean, the nature of a blog is such that we’re allowed these generalizations, these rationalizations, these sub-divided stereotypes. It’s what the online journal world is all about. And I’ve been doing it myself since I wrapped my grubby little brain around the idea of my very own blog. It, like everything else in my life, including lost car keys, skinned knees, and rotten fruit in the fridge, can be chalked up to karma.
But, just for the record, I’m a smart fucking girl. And the best part about me is that I’m willing to admit that I don’t know everything, that I keep learning everyday. And half the time I’m learning from a man.
My father is smarter than me. Jake is smarter than me. My brother is smarter than me, and Dino certainly has more logic than I do half the time. Cable and LJ are more technologically-inclined than I am, and my boyfriend is wittier than me.
And older men can be just as ridiculous as younger men. It’s not a statement in a geometric proof: IF you are over forty, THEN you are just as smart as all them damn women. It’s a whole helluva lot more than that. Jesus.
So, that’s my rant. Check it out for yourself. The website is nyc.metblogs.com. The name is Michael Orell. I haven’t had a jazzed enough blog in awhile to give you a link—so just go there yourself.
