let she who is without blog
Non-bloggers are peculiar creatures, and my understanding of them is limited at best. No one knows this better than Elise, who recently ignited a firestorm by suggesting something to the effect of reproduction being largely overrated and those who have chosen to undertake the process might be so kind as to generally leave her alone. It would seem that people got mad about this. They got mad about it after they went out of the their way to find her blog, read one of longest posts I have ever seen in 5 years of blogging, and then call her to yell about it.
Who does that? Non-bloggers.
Hawkgirl is a non-blogger and has done a respectable job of taking things in stride. She proclaims fervent admiration for The Write-On, and if I should take an extended break between posts (of oh, say... 6 hours) she becomes manifestly disconcerted. I really do not understand this. As my girlfriend, she has the unenviable responsibility of maintaining a running dialogue with me through a variety of communicative media. And if you think this blog is full of nonsense - you just don't even know. This thing gets edited, people. The horrors of my unchecked ramblings are Legion, and she endures them daily.
So for some reason utterly beyond my comprehension, even after phone dates, text messages and email exchanges of oratories on David Lynch, the Green Lantern Corps, and why I will never again be buying light fixtures from Ikea because it took me twenty minutes and a screwdriver to change a friggin'. lightbulb. she checks my blog to see the same gibberish committed to the bosom of the internets.
Who does that? Non-bloggers.
And when the currents and tides of life catch me adrift into an unintended mini-hiatus, like the past week, she makes suggestions for possible posts topics. They were all good suggestions, but none of the really caught me, ya know? You bloggers do. I once got a great post about a free cheesecake. Such a minor thing, and yet it grabbed me somehow. It wrote itself - as good posts are wont to do. But one idea did emerge from the aether...
A post about my girlfriend's post suggestions:
Facebook. Actually a very good suggestion. The thesis was something to the effect of how we all openly mock the micro-societal conventions of Facebook, yet follow them religiously nonetheless. For example: There is this unwritten edict that you should not appear more than twice in a row on a person's wall. Three is pushing it, and is reserved for couple-type people and the closest of friends. Four in a row? Never shouldst thou.
That's a dumb rule. But yet this very evening, I checked out The Fleeg's wall to write something about Macworld and how I hope His Steveness brings forth sub-notebooks. But I had already posted three times in a row on his wall...
I checked myself lest I wreck myself. I then made the absurdly conscious decision to not post on the Facebook wall of a guy who's been one of my closest friends for 12 years. That sort of arbitrary and socially-reinforced behavior is doubleplus ungood.
And then there's the enigmatically deviant "poke" feature. You go to a friend's profile and click "poke". The next time that person gets on Facebook, some sort of thing will inform them that they have been "poked" by Whoever. "Poking" is reserved exclusively for flirting. One time a female friend of mine who happens to be engaged to marry a male other than myself signed up for Facebook. I got a notice that she had "poked" me.
My first thought? "Gasp! She's engaged!" Yeah, it was scandalous. Like a bad combination of Jane Austen and 8th grade study hall.
Guacamole. I was actually disturbed that she would suggest this. I tried to make guacamole for our New Year's Eve dinner with Carson Daly. I managed to stab myself in the hand. Hawkgirl seems to think this is something you would like to read about.
As an unrelated side note, should you ever have a chance to stab yourself in the hand with a knife you are currently using to chop serrano peppers, you should probably opt out.
Iceland. Umm... I want to go to Iceland?
Heima review. Umm... I want to go to Iceland?
The Nanny Diaries review. Yeah, so there's a nanny. And the guy from Fantastic Four. And her job is good... or bad... or something. And then there's a dog. And she yells at a teddy bear. Credits.
So I don't think that's exactly what Hawkgirl had in mind, but it was effective nonetheless. I just hope it doesn't get me in trouble. Sometimes people get offended when they're mentioned in blog posts. Usually non-bloggers. I happen to find it flattering when I get mentioned on a blog, even if the shout-out is snuggled warmly between a fitted sheet of sarcasm and a top sheet of tomfoolery.
I'm trying to coax her into doing a guest-post. Assuming of course that she doesn't leave me over this one.
Who does that? Non-bloggers.
Hawkgirl is a non-blogger and has done a respectable job of taking things in stride. She proclaims fervent admiration for The Write-On, and if I should take an extended break between posts (of oh, say... 6 hours) she becomes manifestly disconcerted. I really do not understand this. As my girlfriend, she has the unenviable responsibility of maintaining a running dialogue with me through a variety of communicative media. And if you think this blog is full of nonsense - you just don't even know. This thing gets edited, people. The horrors of my unchecked ramblings are Legion, and she endures them daily.
So for some reason utterly beyond my comprehension, even after phone dates, text messages and email exchanges of oratories on David Lynch, the Green Lantern Corps, and why I will never again be buying light fixtures from Ikea because it took me twenty minutes and a screwdriver to change a friggin'. lightbulb. she checks my blog to see the same gibberish committed to the bosom of the internets.
Who does that? Non-bloggers.
And when the currents and tides of life catch me adrift into an unintended mini-hiatus, like the past week, she makes suggestions for possible posts topics. They were all good suggestions, but none of the really caught me, ya know? You bloggers do. I once got a great post about a free cheesecake. Such a minor thing, and yet it grabbed me somehow. It wrote itself - as good posts are wont to do. But one idea did emerge from the aether...
A post about my girlfriend's post suggestions:
Facebook. Actually a very good suggestion. The thesis was something to the effect of how we all openly mock the micro-societal conventions of Facebook, yet follow them religiously nonetheless. For example: There is this unwritten edict that you should not appear more than twice in a row on a person's wall. Three is pushing it, and is reserved for couple-type people and the closest of friends. Four in a row? Never shouldst thou.
That's a dumb rule. But yet this very evening, I checked out The Fleeg's wall to write something about Macworld and how I hope His Steveness brings forth sub-notebooks. But I had already posted three times in a row on his wall...
I checked myself lest I wreck myself. I then made the absurdly conscious decision to not post on the Facebook wall of a guy who's been one of my closest friends for 12 years. That sort of arbitrary and socially-reinforced behavior is doubleplus ungood.
And then there's the enigmatically deviant "poke" feature. You go to a friend's profile and click "poke". The next time that person gets on Facebook, some sort of thing will inform them that they have been "poked" by Whoever. "Poking" is reserved exclusively for flirting. One time a female friend of mine who happens to be engaged to marry a male other than myself signed up for Facebook. I got a notice that she had "poked" me.
My first thought? "Gasp! She's engaged!" Yeah, it was scandalous. Like a bad combination of Jane Austen and 8th grade study hall.
Guacamole. I was actually disturbed that she would suggest this. I tried to make guacamole for our New Year's Eve dinner with Carson Daly. I managed to stab myself in the hand. Hawkgirl seems to think this is something you would like to read about.
As an unrelated side note, should you ever have a chance to stab yourself in the hand with a knife you are currently using to chop serrano peppers, you should probably opt out.
Iceland. Umm... I want to go to Iceland?
Heima review. Umm... I want to go to Iceland?
The Nanny Diaries review. Yeah, so there's a nanny. And the guy from Fantastic Four. And her job is good... or bad... or something. And then there's a dog. And she yells at a teddy bear. Credits.
So I don't think that's exactly what Hawkgirl had in mind, but it was effective nonetheless. I just hope it doesn't get me in trouble. Sometimes people get offended when they're mentioned in blog posts. Usually non-bloggers. I happen to find it flattering when I get mentioned on a blog, even if the shout-out is snuggled warmly between a fitted sheet of sarcasm and a top sheet of tomfoolery.
I'm trying to coax her into doing a guest-post. Assuming of course that she doesn't leave me over this one.
posted by hoov, esq at 12:43 AM
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