Quoting the aforementioned Jim Wright somewhat out of context, he said today:
“Rarely, if ever, does a blogger make a living from blogging. There’s no payoff to blogging. The only reason to do it at all, unless you’re nothing but a narcissistic bastard, is that interaction with the readers.”
As this blog has something of a void in the reader interaction department, I think this may mean I’m a narcissistic bastard. This has led me to the standard Exactly Why Am I Blogging If Nobody Is Reading Me post.
Something else has led me to it, too – and I think I’ll find my answer in the intersection of the two lines of the thought. The second is a play I just saw – a musicalization of the 1912 young adult novel Daddy Long Legs. The premise for the play is that an orphan is given the opportunity to go to college, thanks to an anonymous benefactor, but Mr. Anonymous requires that the young lady write him monthly reporting on her life in college. Well, as these stories go, the benefactor isn’t exactly as represented and … no matter. The point is, she’s writing her intimate thoughts during her college years to a total stranger.
You know, I wrote my parents fairly often during my first year of college. Afterward, my mom bound up the letters in a booklet called something like, “My First Year At College (or at least, what I told my parents)” and gave it to me. I was kind of angry about this (sorry, mom) but was really able to explain why I couldn’t stand the fact that she’d saved the letters and given them back to me. I can now – by the end of that first year I felt like a different person than I had been at the start, and I was a bit embarrassed by the person who, at the start of the year, still dotted her “i”s with little circles (and then moved on to the “more adult” technique of omitting the dots altogether -- I actually thought about this shit then). Even the letters themselves were young – they were attempts at adult perception and commentary, but they were largely how I’d thought adults looked at things. And they had been written with the intent that my parents read them and then throw them the hell out. Posterity for this stuff wasn’t my intent – and I was mortified that the letters still EXISTED, and that they were all bundled up together – all that ignorance and awkwardness and attempts at adult posturing staring at me.
(Of course, now, more than 20 years on, it would be pretty cool to get a look at those letters and see what was going on inside my little Freshman head – but it takes a couple decades of distance to see what the value is, and REAL adult confidence to accept my own youthful silliness for what it was.)
Which somehow leads me back to why I blog. I know my parents read this, (possibly my sister), a few of my of my real world friends, and a few internet friends as well. (I’ve been told I have a few lurkers – “Hi, lurkers!” – but not loads.) I’ve yet to have a post that really “catches fire” on the web – and while the part of me that is a narcissistic bastard thinks that might be kinda cool – that isn’t why I’m here.
So, why am I here? Well, it’s certainly a CONVENIENT way of keeping up with friends and family who don’t live nearby. Anyone who wants to know what’s up with me is more than welcome to drop by and read about my daily existence. (And, unlike those letters in college, this *is* intended for public consumption. Sorry, but the public censor is turned on, folks. Hmm, I hope that other post doesn’t screw up any possible confirmation hearings in my future.)
Also, it’s a great tool for me. I think things out with writing. (Which happens to be extremely convenient for my job.) If there’s something bothering me, something going on that I just can’t figure out, I can blog about it and it somehow gets straightened out for me in the process. Or, if there’s something really, really pissing me off, writing about it helps get it out of my system, so that I can get on with other business. And when, after I put those thoughts or rants out there, I find kindred spirits – bonus! It's not a community, though -- just a fleeting momentary connection with another person who, on that topic, for that moment, thinks "yes!" (Or even thinks, "no!" and wants to tell me why.)
There’s also the rather unexpected benefit that I’ve picked up by blogging travel. As you know, I travel alone a lot, and journal daily when I'm away. And I’ve discovered that, in a very real sense, “the act of observing affects the observed.” KNOWING that I’m going to be blogging a trip affects the choices I make on a trip. And I find I rather LIKE the choices I make. When I decide to do something because I think it might be fun to write about it, it’s ALWAYS turned out to be fun to do it.
So, yeah. I love having readers. I love having even the POSSIBILITY that I’m being read. But, mostly, I enjoy having the outlet, and I strangely enjoy how the fact that my doings may be observed has actually improved what it is that I’m doing.
Monday, October 19, 2009
A Question I Doubt Anyone Reading Can Answer
(And now for something completely different)
What do the following things have in common:
Wire in the Blood (Seasons One through Five)
Firefly (Complete)
Serenity
Ashes to Ashes (half of season one and counting)
Hint: I'm rather pleased with the answer.
What do the following things have in common:
Wire in the Blood (Seasons One through Five)
Firefly (Complete)
Serenity
Ashes to Ashes (half of season one and counting)
Hint: I'm rather pleased with the answer.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Judging book covers again, dammit.
(The Timing Is Everything preamble: OK, look. I've been meaning to post something like this for a couple of weeks now, and I just haven't gotten around to doing it. The fact that I am posting it now, when the subject in question has apparently gotten caught in some blogospheric shitstorm is pure coincidence. As for the shitstorm itself, I don't entirely know, and I definitely don't care. This latter because I've read enough to make my own damn judgment, which is, in some ways, the point of this post.)
Preamble over. Let's get down to business.
I read Scalzi's blog. You know this. And I frequently click his "Whateverettes" links, which are often good for a thought or a laugh. And one of them led me to an entry on the blog of this dude, one Jim Wright. The linked column was, in fact, worth a chuckle or two. Enough to make me poke around the 'blog a bit and see what else was there -- because while there are a lot of people writing out there on the internet, there are precious few who actually write well enough that they're worth adding to my regular daily "let's see what's up with them" website check. So I looked around.
And the first thing I saw ('cause it's right there on the front page) is the biographical information: "I'm a retired US Navy Chief Warrant Officer. Nowadays I live in Alaska . . . ." And I thought, "Oh crap. Ex-Military living in Palin Country. He's probably one of them gung-ho, America-is-always-right, let's-go-kill-us-some-towel-heads-in-the-name-of-Jesus, racist, homophobic, gun-totin' nutjobs, regurgitating whatever he hears on Fox News."
(Too bad, though, because he writes well.)
And then I stopped. And I thought, "Am I really so closed-minded that I won't even bother reading someone because his politics are so different from mine?" Because, I mean, that's wrong. I've always said that I don't care if the President appoints an ultra-conservative to the Supreme Court, as long as the Justice is smart. Because smart people can be reasoned with. It's the knee-jerk unthinking ones we have to be careful of. So if this Jim Wright person is smart enough to write well, maybe he's smart enough for me to not write him off.
So I kept reading. I read posts about his politics and his cats. I read about the things that piss him off and the surprisingly beautiful things he makes in his woodshop.
Actually, the beautiful things he makes in his woodshop weren't the only surprising things I read about.
Like, um, his politics.
See, here's the thing about me: I don't meet a whole lot of military or ex-military on a daily basis. In fact, I think my most recent interaction with a member of the military was the dude who was sent by my cable company to fix my modem -- he was a Marine about to be re-deployed to Iraq. He tested my modem by running a Pro-War video he'd made and posted on YouTube. He clearly detested my liberal leanings, but (as I tend to temper my opinions around people who I've invited into my home, especially those who could easily kill me with their bare hands), he commented that I seemed like one of the "few democrats who isn't nuts." (I believe he thought this was high praise.) He was someone who ran off and enlisted on September 12th, and I wouldn't at all be surprised if the words "camel-jockey" have escaped his lips on more than one occasion.
My other recent interaction with a soldier was a fellow I sat next to on a plane, who seemed pretty reasonable, although he also seemed pretty dim. (Clearly an order-taker, not an order-giver.)
Beyond that, I guess my impression of the military has been formed by what I see on TV and the internet (which tends to focus on the failures, the water-boarding, and the puppy-throwing) and in theatre (a recent play which suggested that certain folks who are trying really hard to make this a Christian Nation despite the First Amendment, have decided that a really good place to get a foothold is the military).
So. What did I find in Jim Wright? I found what I haven't been seeing in the news and on the stage. A decent, thoughtful, liberal thinker who was also a proud American and a get-shit-done sort of ex-military officer. The sort of person who believes that unethical military acts reflect badly on the military and the country -- and who was also willing to put his life on the line as a member of that same military.
Let me be perfectly clear. There's always a lot of talk, among the liberal community, about how we "support our troops" even though we don't support the war -- and yet there's also this underlying feeling that between Abu Ghraib, splitting hairs on "torture," and the rest, there isn't a whole lot going on in Iraq and Afghanistan that we really want to support (although we never actually say it).
Well, what I found in Jim Wright is a member of the military I can be proud of. And I found, commenting on his entries, several other military and ex-military folks of like mind and attitude. And I realized, of course, that there have to be thousands like him, in Iraq and Afghanistan right now, doing impossible jobs with quiet efficiency, within the rules of law and the ethics of war -- folks who understand that having the American flag on their uniform isn't a license to do whatever the hell they want, but a responsibility to act on behalf of this country in a way that upholds its highest standards.
And I felt actually ashamed that I'd assumed an ex-military officer would be an unintelligent, neocon asshole. I felt a bit betrayed by my (otherwise reliable) "liberal media" for painting the military in that way. And, on reflection, I felt incredibly relieved that I'd been wrong. Not just because I now have a new 'blog to read, but because I've realized I can be proud of our men and women in uniform again.
Preamble over. Let's get down to business.
I read Scalzi's blog. You know this. And I frequently click his "Whateverettes" links, which are often good for a thought or a laugh. And one of them led me to an entry on the blog of this dude, one Jim Wright. The linked column was, in fact, worth a chuckle or two. Enough to make me poke around the 'blog a bit and see what else was there -- because while there are a lot of people writing out there on the internet, there are precious few who actually write well enough that they're worth adding to my regular daily "let's see what's up with them" website check. So I looked around.
And the first thing I saw ('cause it's right there on the front page) is the biographical information: "I'm a retired US Navy Chief Warrant Officer. Nowadays I live in Alaska . . . ." And I thought, "Oh crap. Ex-Military living in Palin Country. He's probably one of them gung-ho, America-is-always-right, let's-go-kill-us-some-towel-heads-in-the-name-of-Jesus, racist, homophobic, gun-totin' nutjobs, regurgitating whatever he hears on Fox News."
(Too bad, though, because he writes well.)
And then I stopped. And I thought, "Am I really so closed-minded that I won't even bother reading someone because his politics are so different from mine?" Because, I mean, that's wrong. I've always said that I don't care if the President appoints an ultra-conservative to the Supreme Court, as long as the Justice is smart. Because smart people can be reasoned with. It's the knee-jerk unthinking ones we have to be careful of. So if this Jim Wright person is smart enough to write well, maybe he's smart enough for me to not write him off.
So I kept reading. I read posts about his politics and his cats. I read about the things that piss him off and the surprisingly beautiful things he makes in his woodshop.
Actually, the beautiful things he makes in his woodshop weren't the only surprising things I read about.
Like, um, his politics.
See, here's the thing about me: I don't meet a whole lot of military or ex-military on a daily basis. In fact, I think my most recent interaction with a member of the military was the dude who was sent by my cable company to fix my modem -- he was a Marine about to be re-deployed to Iraq. He tested my modem by running a Pro-War video he'd made and posted on YouTube. He clearly detested my liberal leanings, but (as I tend to temper my opinions around people who I've invited into my home, especially those who could easily kill me with their bare hands), he commented that I seemed like one of the "few democrats who isn't nuts." (I believe he thought this was high praise.) He was someone who ran off and enlisted on September 12th, and I wouldn't at all be surprised if the words "camel-jockey" have escaped his lips on more than one occasion.
My other recent interaction with a soldier was a fellow I sat next to on a plane, who seemed pretty reasonable, although he also seemed pretty dim. (Clearly an order-taker, not an order-giver.)
Beyond that, I guess my impression of the military has been formed by what I see on TV and the internet (which tends to focus on the failures, the water-boarding, and the puppy-throwing) and in theatre (a recent play which suggested that certain folks who are trying really hard to make this a Christian Nation despite the First Amendment, have decided that a really good place to get a foothold is the military).
So. What did I find in Jim Wright? I found what I haven't been seeing in the news and on the stage. A decent, thoughtful, liberal thinker who was also a proud American and a get-shit-done sort of ex-military officer. The sort of person who believes that unethical military acts reflect badly on the military and the country -- and who was also willing to put his life on the line as a member of that same military.
Let me be perfectly clear. There's always a lot of talk, among the liberal community, about how we "support our troops" even though we don't support the war -- and yet there's also this underlying feeling that between Abu Ghraib, splitting hairs on "torture," and the rest, there isn't a whole lot going on in Iraq and Afghanistan that we really want to support (although we never actually say it).
Well, what I found in Jim Wright is a member of the military I can be proud of. And I found, commenting on his entries, several other military and ex-military folks of like mind and attitude. And I realized, of course, that there have to be thousands like him, in Iraq and Afghanistan right now, doing impossible jobs with quiet efficiency, within the rules of law and the ethics of war -- folks who understand that having the American flag on their uniform isn't a license to do whatever the hell they want, but a responsibility to act on behalf of this country in a way that upholds its highest standards.
And I felt actually ashamed that I'd assumed an ex-military officer would be an unintelligent, neocon asshole. I felt a bit betrayed by my (otherwise reliable) "liberal media" for painting the military in that way. And, on reflection, I felt incredibly relieved that I'd been wrong. Not just because I now have a new 'blog to read, but because I've realized I can be proud of our men and women in uniform again.
Monday, October 12, 2009
I'm not sure it actually matters
Just did an entire load of laundry -- washed and dried -- in my shiny, new(ish) kick-ass LG washer and dryer.
And it was only after it was done that I realized I had forgotten the detergent.
The odd thing is: my clothes seem pretty clean. I mean, the socks didn't smell or anything. And then I remembered that, forever ago, Cecil Adams did a test on "Laundry Balls" and discovered that while, basically, Laundry Balls don't do shit, they get your laundry about as clean as Tide does. Or, putting it another way, Tide doesn't do a whole lot better than nothing at all. You can find the whole story here.
Don't worry; I'm not giving up detergent. But, um, I'm not rewashing these clothes, either.
And it was only after it was done that I realized I had forgotten the detergent.
The odd thing is: my clothes seem pretty clean. I mean, the socks didn't smell or anything. And then I remembered that, forever ago, Cecil Adams did a test on "Laundry Balls" and discovered that while, basically, Laundry Balls don't do shit, they get your laundry about as clean as Tide does. Or, putting it another way, Tide doesn't do a whole lot better than nothing at all. You can find the whole story here.
Don't worry; I'm not giving up detergent. But, um, I'm not rewashing these clothes, either.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Absolutely the Coolest Thing About My Parents' Visit
So, my folks were visiting over the weekend. Went pretty well -- took my dad to the ball game (which, as previously noted, the Dodgers tanked) but we bonded over soft serve, so it was good; took my mom to the theatre, which was also good.
But the bestest part was on Saturday, when my folks came over to my house. My mom and I were sitting at the computer (I was showing her some stuff) and my dad was sitting on the sofa, watching TV.
Now, I have DishTV -- and since they've hidden BBCAmerica in their "Silver" package, and I got the extra HD channels, AND I just subscribed to Showtime (damn you, "Dexter," for costing me an extra $12.99), I've got over 300 channels cluttering up my guide. So I used the "Favorites" feature to make a personal program guide comprised of all 60 or so channels which I could conceivably ever want to watch. And I set the box so that it defaults to that program guide.
So my favorite part of my parents visit was when my dad said, "Don't you get Fox News on this thing?"
Um, no. Not on my program guide.
But the bestest part was on Saturday, when my folks came over to my house. My mom and I were sitting at the computer (I was showing her some stuff) and my dad was sitting on the sofa, watching TV.
Now, I have DishTV -- and since they've hidden BBCAmerica in their "Silver" package, and I got the extra HD channels, AND I just subscribed to Showtime (damn you, "Dexter," for costing me an extra $12.99), I've got over 300 channels cluttering up my guide. So I used the "Favorites" feature to make a personal program guide comprised of all 60 or so channels which I could conceivably ever want to watch. And I set the box so that it defaults to that program guide.
So my favorite part of my parents visit was when my dad said, "Don't you get Fox News on this thing?"
Um, no. Not on my program guide.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
I've been meaning to show you this
This June, my parents celebrated their 50th Anniversary. They had a 1950s themed party to celebrate. We all came in costume.
A friend of mine agreed to make me a poodle skirt. We went down to the garment district to buy patterns and fabric. And when we were there, we saw a pattern that was better than a poodle skirt.
Thus:
A friend of mine agreed to make me a poodle skirt. We went down to the garment district to buy patterns and fabric. And when we were there, we saw a pattern that was better than a poodle skirt.
Thus:
Friday, October 2, 2009
Baseball!
(Peg demands updating. Sorry, I been busy. I almost blogged about my job the other day, because I was working at home and was just awesomely productive -- sitting here drinking about a gallon of tea and plugging away at what ultimately turned out to be a fairly kick-ass 45-page document. I like to think I'm quite good at what I do -- but, given the nature of my job (which is, basically, being an anonymous cog in the wheels of justice), there isn't all that much one can actually say about it without violating all sorts of very serious ethical obligations. And just coming here to post, "Yeah, I rock" isn't all that terribly interesting for y'all.)
So. Baseball. A friend of mine thinks of baseball as a sort of socio-economic equalizer. I mean, Dodger Stadium is a place where I can go, sit knee-to-knee with people of different races, classes, ages, genders, orientations, incomes, political ideologies, and any other demographic you might come up with, and be unified with the same common thought.
Which, unfortunately, happened to be, "You suck!"
Seriously. This game was not supposed to matter. The Dodgers were supposed to wrap up the NL West several games ago. They only needed one win (or for Colorado to have one loss) and couldn't manage to make that happen. All of sudden, they're starting a three-game series with Colorado and if they don't manage to pull together one freakin' game, the Rockies take the NL West.
So, my late-season not-supposed-to-matter game turned out to be a great big sold out affair, with people coming in from miles around to see the Dodgers clinch it ... or to fail miserably.
Guess which one we saw.
I'll give you a hint -- the Rockies scored two runs while we were still in the parking lot.
At one point, I noted that our (alleged) star hitter had four strike-outs, which was one less than the entire opposing team.
About the only thing left was the bonding experience. Guy next to us bought one of those six dollar bags of peanuts and was sharing with the whole row. People across the aisle were trying to take a picture with their baby, and the guy in front of me was making silly faces to get the baby to smile in the right direction. (And the biggest applause of the night went to the guy who did such a terrific over-emotional lip-synch to "Don't Stop Believing," the camera guys had him up on the big screen for the whole song.)
As we were heading out (with the other 54,000 people), the ballpark set off fireworks. (Apparently, they'd had them ready in case the Dodgers won, and dammit, they were gonna set off the fireworks anyway.) Some guys on the stairs in front of us yelled, "Woo! We lost!" which pretty much summed up the whole experience.
So. Baseball. A friend of mine thinks of baseball as a sort of socio-economic equalizer. I mean, Dodger Stadium is a place where I can go, sit knee-to-knee with people of different races, classes, ages, genders, orientations, incomes, political ideologies, and any other demographic you might come up with, and be unified with the same common thought.
Which, unfortunately, happened to be, "You suck!"
Seriously. This game was not supposed to matter. The Dodgers were supposed to wrap up the NL West several games ago. They only needed one win (or for Colorado to have one loss) and couldn't manage to make that happen. All of sudden, they're starting a three-game series with Colorado and if they don't manage to pull together one freakin' game, the Rockies take the NL West.
So, my late-season not-supposed-to-matter game turned out to be a great big sold out affair, with people coming in from miles around to see the Dodgers clinch it ... or to fail miserably.
Guess which one we saw.
I'll give you a hint -- the Rockies scored two runs while we were still in the parking lot.
At one point, I noted that our (alleged) star hitter had four strike-outs, which was one less than the entire opposing team.
About the only thing left was the bonding experience. Guy next to us bought one of those six dollar bags of peanuts and was sharing with the whole row. People across the aisle were trying to take a picture with their baby, and the guy in front of me was making silly faces to get the baby to smile in the right direction. (And the biggest applause of the night went to the guy who did such a terrific over-emotional lip-synch to "Don't Stop Believing," the camera guys had him up on the big screen for the whole song.)
As we were heading out (with the other 54,000 people), the ballpark set off fireworks. (Apparently, they'd had them ready in case the Dodgers won, and dammit, they were gonna set off the fireworks anyway.) Some guys on the stairs in front of us yelled, "Woo! We lost!" which pretty much summed up the whole experience.
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