On Blogging, &c.
The way I see it, a blogger can either take the world around her, consisting mostly of items on the Internet, link to them, and comment cannily on them. Or she can basically keep on an online diary that's varying degrees of personal. I'm not crazy about either of these ideas. While I read a lot of news and may be moved to comment on it from time to time, because while the news certainly gets me riled up--basically any mention of politics or the environment or entertainment or kittens gets me hot under the collar--I think there are a lot of news-digestion sites that do a good job, or at least tireless job, of lampooning current events.
Then there's the blog-as-diary. Where I write stuff best confined to private emails or cloth-bound notebooks and post it for public consumption. This is in direct opposition to my deep desire to be un-Googleable, to be a private citizen while taking advantage of a public forum. Democracy in action is the right not to blog.
Most interesting to me is a consideration of the totally mundane goings-on of the world or my day-to-day. Who knows what this blog is going to turn into, but if I really wrote what I wanted to today I would write about:
1. My sleep schedule. The later it gets, the better I concentrate, the more I feel like cleaning, working, exercising, reading. I've gotten on the ol' stay up 'til 3 or 4 then sleep until some ridiculous hour. Or not ridiculous. I love this article about the age-old war between early and late risers, the stereotype that people who sleep late are lazy. Does it matter which 8 hours I sleep? Conventional enslavement to the 9 to 5 is so played. From that article, so-right-on Cynthia Ozick:
For late risers, the crack of dawn was a formidable enough benchmark. In today's age of competitive waking, they're made to feel even worse. The writer Cynthia Ozick, who goes to bed after 3 a.m. and wakes up sometime after noon, said she lives with constant disapproval. "I'm a creature of bad habits in the eyes of the world," she said. When Ms. Ozick answers the telephone in the early afternoon, she said, "you're approached in the most accusing voiceâ'Did I wake you?' "
I totally know that accusing voice. I defend my right to get up whenever the hell I want, but I don't care if I was sleeping the slumber of a dead woman, if my voice is phlegmy with night-boogers, I will never ever admit to those accusers that I was asleep when they called. The world often thinks the self-employed are members of the leisure class and I refuse to let the world know how good I have it. I also feel guilty that I can keep weird hours and still accomplish. It doesn't seem fair to people who don't make their own schedules--I think we all agree it seems unfair, which is why I put up with the accusing tone of early callers, with the assumptions that I'm free to do favors or hang out in the middle of the day...I'm somehow complicit in my own indictment. Because I feel guilty. Look. You try not knowing when you'll be paid next and footing the bill for your own health insurance and then you tell me it's not fair that I get to go to work in my PJs.
2. Lance Armstrong. I'm secretly in love with him. I'm glad he's been cleared of doping charges. He's super-human. Who else on earth has that much visible sinew?
3. Hillary Clinton. She supported the war. She's having a fundraiser thrown for her by Rupert Murdoch. She's my state senator. I'm conflicted. Am I her base? I heard a segment about her yesterday on Brian (the rebroadcast in the middle of the night, of course, because I wasn't up to hear it live, fyi) and someone said Hillary doesn't need the Democrats who think she's too conservative. I want her to need me. I want to believe politicians will suffer without my vote, or at least with my fluctuating allegiances.
4. Crest Whitestrips. I'm on Day 4 of 7. It's a full-time job. I believe that a combination of whitestrips and a Sonicare toothbrush are going to transform my smile and make me look 10 Years Younger. I have clearly benefited from my one week of cable TV during my recent stay at my brother's beach house.
There. See? This is what I want to blog about. Things That Matter.