Lindsay: What 'cha doing?
Andy: Writing in my gournal. I write my thoughts in it every day.
Lindsay: Oh, you mean a journal?
Andy: Yeah, whatever. I guess I'm not all smart like you.
Look, if you were that interesting, people would be asking you how your day was. But they're not, so instead you're writing it up in excruciating detail and checking back every twenty minutes to see if any of your three readers has commented.
Blogging is self-love. It's Turning Japanese. It's She-Bop.
On the scale of peevishness, blogging would normally rank pretty low because it's largely a victimless crime. Sadly, thanks to the legitimization of blogs as the 4.5th estate and the increasingly questionable success of Juno, blogs have become inescapable.
Blogs are a sign of the increasing agoraphobia of modern society. From what I gather of the olden tymes, strangers used to exchange pleasantries. Now we peer cautiously at each other with one hand on the pepper spray and the other on the volume dial of our iPods. Blogs extend that arm's length to our actual acquaintances. Instead of talking around the water cooler, we're Digging each other's posts. Ah, progress.
What's the only thing worse than blogging? Meta-blogging.
