Don’t worry. It’s just a title.
Being on vacation as I am, I don’t feel pressed to do things like provide relevance or clarity in my work. I can just type whatever the hell I want and not have to care.
‘Cause I’m on vacation. Like an effin’ freight-train.
Unfortunately, I was cursed with the ability to communicate clearly about anything, and in any medium, including ice-sculpture. It’s like it’s impossible for me to sound stupid. I hate that. Damn this heavy cross that is my burden to bear.
But, in the same way I don’t have to have a point or make sense while I’m on vacation, I also have the option of doing the opposite of what I just said I don’t have to do. That means I can make sense if I want to.
And that’s what I’m going to do now.
Wait. No. I’m actually going to do it now. That was a false start back there. I wasn’t ready yet. I’m ready now, though. OK? OK.
I actually went online today and read a post at someone else’s blog. I don’t do that very often anymore since my free time seems to be inversely proportional to my income, but I’m on vacation, so I have time, and with that time, like I said, I read a post.
It was this post.
And I’m not gonna lie to you. The main reason I read it was that it linked to my site. That’s how I usually find posts. I think, “Hey – I’m a pretty interesting person, so if someone links to me, then that person is probably interesting too, or at least has the potential to be interesting. At any rate, it’s another inbound link, and that’s just exactly the sort of thing my fledgling little sun-dried raisin of an ego needs. I’ll go read that post.”
This one was one of those posts that talks about the Rules of Blogging. Stuff like whether it’s OK to admit that you smoked pot once when you were twelve, or that you use your cat as a sponge in the bath.
Me? I think it’s OK. If your cat doesn’t mind, then go for it. That’s what I say: GO – FOR – IT.
As someone who has occasionally had a “talking to” about blogging from my employer (various people inside the company), I’ve done a lot of thinking about this Rules of Blogging crap. I haven’t done a lot of thinking about whether it’s OK to use your cat as a sponge. That’s obviously OK. We don’t need to discuss the ethics of scrubbing your armpits with kitty.
What I’ve decided is that all this talk about the Rules of Blogging is madness.
“Blog” is just a shorter way of saying “stupid website about cleaning your private parts with your cat.” I should know. I have a blog, and that’s what it’s about. Every last kitty-Calgon word of it.
It’s a medium. It’s just a way of getting information out. I bet that if I wrote a book about cleaning the area between my toes with my cat, and if it made the New York Times best sellers list, and if it was made into a movie, and if it starred Tom Hanks as my toes, and if there was a musical score conducted by John Williams to accompany it, no one would care. I wouldn’t get busted at all.
But, because it’s on a “blog,” it suddenly comes under a set of rules that are very different.
Why? I haven’t figured this out yet. I’ve seen the effect, but the cause is a mystery to me. I’ve had this blog for over 101,000,000 seconds, and I still don’t get it.
One of the examples of a risk that Alfred brings up in his post is my tendency to write about my depressive nature and the drugs I take to try and undo the crap job nature did on wiring my neurons. I’ve been told similar things by some of my friends in the “blogosphere.” They tell me I’m nuts for posting about my mental problems. I agree. But that’s part of being nuts, so what’s the confusion about?
On the other hand, thanks to search engines, comments, and the generally open nature of blogging, tons of people have found solace in my writing about being crazy.
Check this out. Read the comments. I know what these people were feeling, and I hate to think about what the world would be like if we couldn’t be open in our writing, and if there actually were Rules of Blogging.
Because I told the world I’m crazy in that post, other people who are equally screwed have found a place where they can go and say, “I’m screwed, but at least I’m not the only one, and thank the bloody heaves that this loudmouthed jerk blogger was willing to tell me more about anti-depressants and their negative effects than my pharmaceutical company bribed doctor would.” (Actually, part of the problem is that many doctors prescribing anti-depressants are general practitioners, and they don’t know what they’re talking about, so they give out bad information when it comes to issues that should be dealt with by specialists. They get paid pretty well, though, and I bet they get hot dates.)
The lame part of this story is that I’ve actually given in a bit to the pressure. I still love this blog, but it isn’t what it used to be. Over the past year, the pressure to “reconsider” certain blogging topics and styles has grown. One day, I’ll have to choose: Job or blog? Put another way: Job or me? Put another way: Expensive car that I don’t need or… me?
I haven’t made that decision yet. Part of the way I’m dealing with it in the meantime is PandaControl. Because it’s fiction, I can do pretty much whatever the hell I want.
But, truth be told, I’ve turned into a bit of a blogging pussy. And I’m not talking about what I’d scrub my face with in the bathtub.
It’s unfortunate.
But what to do?
What to do…