My Electronic Sherlock Holmes Hat
A very close friend of mine started a blog last week. Naturally, my response was something like “Cooool, right on, what’s the address?” Since I began Unfinished Novellas in November, I’ve only become more enamored with the blog as Democratizing Leveler of the Media Playing Field, Fulfiller of the Promise of the Internet, and Culturally Significant Populist Force for (Mostly) Good. I’ve encouraged several of my friends to start their own, and have stated on more than one occasion that “Everyone should have a blog.” So I’ve been very interested to see which one of my friends would be next to take the plunge.
But there was a perverse twist to this game. She wasn’t about to tell me its address. “WHAT?!” I practically screamed. “Surely, you’re kidding…”
She was not. “I like the idea of anonymity, and if I know you’re going to be checking in on it thrice-daily it will totally ruin the fun for me...assuming there's fun to be had, I am still skeptical.”
“WHAT?!” I emoted again, incredulously.
“I can't embrace your bare-all philosophies, I am ridiculously inhibited and have much to hide...”
Huh. It was like she was speaking a different language. I could understand, I guess, if she didn’t want me to promote her blog on my site, but I couldn’t even read what she had written?
I was quite annoyed.
This led to more thoughts about Why We Blog. Just why, exactly, do I get a mild twinge of excitement each time my page counter increments, while my friend could care less about who reads her, and in fact, goes out of her way to hide?
Obviously our motives are poles apart. I began to question my own. Just why do I feel such a need to foist my inner thoughts upon a public who never asked for them? Why does anyone write anything for public consumption? Am I a (gasp) narcissist?
I took a quick spin over to dictionary.com:
I’d like to think I’m not excessively vain, self-preoccupied, and non-empathetic (though such calls are not really mine to make, I s’pose), so, if I had to be a narcissist, I guess I could settle for definition #4. “Admiration” isn’t exactly the word I would use, but “normal limits” seems innocuous enough, I guess.
Whatever. We do what we do, for whatever reasons we do it. Now that’s some profundity for ya.
I almost forgot. Much to my friend’s chagrin, I donned my electronic Sherlock Holmes hat and found her blog in short order. I wasn’t gonna tell her I found it at first, to preserve her naive sense of web anonymity, but I caved in when she asked me directly. I’m a terrible liar. It’s cool though. She’s still blogging, even knowing that I’m out there listening. And it's good stuff. Quite good. But I ain’t tellin’ nobody.
N/P
Parson Sound – s/t
The Holy Ghost Reception Committee: #9 – Songs for Liturgical Worship
But there was a perverse twist to this game. She wasn’t about to tell me its address. “WHAT?!” I practically screamed. “Surely, you’re kidding…”
She was not. “I like the idea of anonymity, and if I know you’re going to be checking in on it thrice-daily it will totally ruin the fun for me...assuming there's fun to be had, I am still skeptical.”
“WHAT?!” I emoted again, incredulously.
“I can't embrace your bare-all philosophies, I am ridiculously inhibited and have much to hide...”
Huh. It was like she was speaking a different language. I could understand, I guess, if she didn’t want me to promote her blog on my site, but I couldn’t even read what she had written?
I was quite annoyed.
This led to more thoughts about Why We Blog. Just why, exactly, do I get a mild twinge of excitement each time my page counter increments, while my friend could care less about who reads her, and in fact, goes out of her way to hide?
Obviously our motives are poles apart. I began to question my own. Just why do I feel such a need to foist my inner thoughts upon a public who never asked for them? Why does anyone write anything for public consumption? Am I a (gasp) narcissist?
I took a quick spin over to dictionary.com:
NarcissismI don’t recall ever being turned on by something I wrote, or lapsing into the fetal position after a particularly grueling post, so I can safely rule out #3.
1. Excessive love or admiration of oneself.
2. A psychological condition characterized by self-preoccupation, lack of empathy, and unconscious deficits in self-esteem.
3. Erotic pleasure derived from contemplation or admiration of one's own body or self, especially as a fixation on or a regression to an infantile stage of development.
4. The attribute of the human psyche characterized by admiration of oneself but within normal limits.
I’d like to think I’m not excessively vain, self-preoccupied, and non-empathetic (though such calls are not really mine to make, I s’pose), so, if I had to be a narcissist, I guess I could settle for definition #4. “Admiration” isn’t exactly the word I would use, but “normal limits” seems innocuous enough, I guess.
Whatever. We do what we do, for whatever reasons we do it. Now that’s some profundity for ya.
I almost forgot. Much to my friend’s chagrin, I donned my electronic Sherlock Holmes hat and found her blog in short order. I wasn’t gonna tell her I found it at first, to preserve her naive sense of web anonymity, but I caved in when she asked me directly. I’m a terrible liar. It’s cool though. She’s still blogging, even knowing that I’m out there listening. And it's good stuff. Quite good. But I ain’t tellin’ nobody.
N/P
Parson Sound – s/t
The Holy Ghost Reception Committee: #9 – Songs for Liturgical Worship
posted by Jonathan Wright at 11:47 AM EMAIL POST
