Jessi, my next-door neighbor who I don’t write about as often, appalled me the other day. When asked why she doesn’t read my blog, she responded,
“I live right next door to you. I see you every day. If you have something to say, you can just tell me.”
In a way, she has a good point there. Why bother reading my blog if we live so close? And I’m sure there are hundreds of others like her who do not receive great pleasure from reading blogs. In her honor, then, I dedicate this entry.
Dearest Jessi and friends,
I salute you for not wanting to read my blog. After all, a blog is not a real publication. It’s not real journalism, it’s not real writing, and it’s unprofessional. Nobody reads blogs these days anyway.
You have better things to do with your time. Sitting on the Internet, looking up other Web sites? Chatting on AIM? Heaven forbid, doing something unrelated to your computer and outside your room?
For many, my blog and hundreds of others serve as a form of distraction—a pleasant distraction. Something to do while another site loads; a bit of light reading between research papers; perhaps a way of keeping up on friends’ lives without actually talking to them (is that called “stalking,” these days?). But you, Jessi and company, are beyond that. You don’t lack as much attention as the rest of us. You concentrate fully. You know everything about your friends’ lives. If your friends don’t seek you out to keep in touch with you, you don’t want to hear about them anyway.
And yes, Jessi, I do live approximately six and a half stride lengths from your door. I’m in your room more often than anywhere else. We brush our teeth together, harmonizing with your electric toothbrush. Why should I make you read my online journal, when I could just speak in blogspeak all day long? Yes, that’s what I will do. Every word that comes out of my mouth will be another journal entry. I will discuss school, current events, and the weather. I’ll ask you “what the deal is” with something in a Seinfeld-esqe way, or I’ll educate you on the 14 easy rules to keep in mind when dating a Lehrer. When you ask me how I’m feeling, instead of saying, “Not so great, I have a cold,” I’ll talk in my romantic but still stuffed-up voice and address my cold directly: “Cold, it’s been such a pleasure getting to know you for the past two weeks.” (If you haven’t read that entry, you should. http://lia1031.livejournal.com/35661.html)
Jessi, et al, I thank you again for not reading my blog. It’s just something silly I don’t really care about. Per your advice, I should concentrate less on blogs and more on newspapers, because newspapers are the future of journalism.
Like the smoking signs say: Thank You for Not Caring.