Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Bloggers are lonely pathetic wretches who are also plain
Did you hear the hubbub about some book that (according to the report in the paper) claims that blogs are written by loners who live in a virtual world. Oh yeah? well what about people who write books? Fun-loving, popular and gorgeous? Phhsssshhh. Geez!
I'll have you know that I am swamped by social invitations every night of the week from actual people in the "real" world, my phone is ringing off the hook as I write this, and I'm so damned good-looking I'm sometimes afraid to leave the house for fear of causing traffic accidents.
So why do I write a blog? I really just wanted an excuse to write on a regular basis about whatever comes to mind. Not because I don't have anyone to talk to (or write to; I still write letters), but because I've never kept a journal but always wanted to and I thought maybe if I thought someone cared enough to read it occasionally I'd feel some obligation to write. I'd love to write a book. Not some namby-pamby book based on so-called "scientific research" about how other people are so lonely, but a real book about people made up in my head who are remarkably similar to myself. Will I do it? Probably not. Too many social engagements. But if I did? You'd buy it just to stare at the author photo on the dust cover. I'm that gorgeous.
Did you hear the hubbub about some book that (according to the report in the paper) claims that blogs are written by loners who live in a virtual world. Oh yeah? well what about people who write books? Fun-loving, popular and gorgeous? Phhsssshhh. Geez!
I'll have you know that I am swamped by social invitations every night of the week from actual people in the "real" world, my phone is ringing off the hook as I write this, and I'm so damned good-looking I'm sometimes afraid to leave the house for fear of causing traffic accidents.
So why do I write a blog? I really just wanted an excuse to write on a regular basis about whatever comes to mind. Not because I don't have anyone to talk to (or write to; I still write letters), but because I've never kept a journal but always wanted to and I thought maybe if I thought someone cared enough to read it occasionally I'd feel some obligation to write. I'd love to write a book. Not some namby-pamby book based on so-called "scientific research" about how other people are so lonely, but a real book about people made up in my head who are remarkably similar to myself. Will I do it? Probably not. Too many social engagements. But if I did? You'd buy it just to stare at the author photo on the dust cover. I'm that gorgeous.
# posted by becca : 8:45 AM
