So here I go...off on my first self-indulgent tangent about the nothingness that encompasses my life. In the past year, I have been sent emails announcing an array of blogspot topics - marriage, birth announcements, divorce, travel, the story of life, my kid started school, why work sucks, happily ever after, etc. Don't get me wrong--I enjoy reading about your lives, especially those of you whom I rarely see. Yet still, I keep thinking, "What's the fuss about?"
Though embarrassing to acknowledge, most of these bloggers, myself included, come from a generation of Doogie Howser-Carrie Bradshaw-watching electronic journal junkies. Admit it--the first time you saw Neil Patrick Harris flip on his blue screen, sit and stare at the blinking cursor, reflecting on what to type about his day, you thought about it. I know I did--at least until I realized that my life wasn't profound enough to type about. Mind you, I was only 9 years old.
Sample journal entry from 1989: Dear Diary, My day was long. I got up, played outside until dark, and now I'm really tired. I wonder what's for dinner. Signed, tired and hungry in Kansas City
Most of us weren't saving lives at 14, but nevertheless, we were intrigued. Doogie may very well be the first known blogger, decades before his time. No, he didn't send entries out into the world, but millions were watching as his Jerry Springer-like "Thought of the Day" found its way to the floppy drive. You can't deny that we've come a long way from the child prodigy and his PC, and we've even surpassed the neurotic, all-knowing Sex in the City journalist's Mac-top. Now, as the narcissistic beings that we are, our deep thoughts are sent out into a vast sea of nameless, faceless people, without a care in the world about who is reading the mindless babble we're spewing.
Call me a cynic, but I am convinced that technology has hindered our ability to effectively communicate face-to-face. Phone conversations and person-to-person contact has been replaced with never-ending one-line emails, text messaging, IM, MySpace, and Facebook. Even this--my own attempt to join the blog world and see what the fuss is about. I can't guarantee that future entries will be worth reading. In fact, I'll tell you right now - it will probably be a waste of your time. But if in some way the rantings about the little that I know helps you to find your own inherent worth (or lack thereof) then I guess the road will have been worth the journey (or not). Either way, you have been forewarned.
NON-CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE: This blog including attachments, if any, is intended for the person or entity to which it is addressed, and the person or persons to whom that person may forward information to. Unauthorized viewing or distribution is not prohibited. By subscribing to this post, you acknowledge and understand that the topics herein may or may not be relevant to your life. However, in reading the content, you acknowledge the hope that reading about the author's life will help you feel better about and possibly accept your own narcissism. If you are not the intended recipient, please accept the author's apologies. Thank you.
Though embarrassing to acknowledge, most of these bloggers, myself included, come from a generation of Doogie Howser-Carrie Bradshaw-watching electronic journal junkies. Admit it--the first time you saw Neil Patrick Harris flip on his blue screen, sit and stare at the blinking cursor, reflecting on what to type about his day, you thought about it. I know I did--at least until I realized that my life wasn't profound enough to type about. Mind you, I was only 9 years old.
Sample journal entry from 1989: Dear Diary, My day was long. I got up, played outside until dark, and now I'm really tired. I wonder what's for dinner. Signed, tired and hungry in Kansas City
Most of us weren't saving lives at 14, but nevertheless, we were intrigued. Doogie may very well be the first known blogger, decades before his time. No, he didn't send entries out into the world, but millions were watching as his Jerry Springer-like "Thought of the Day" found its way to the floppy drive. You can't deny that we've come a long way from the child prodigy and his PC, and we've even surpassed the neurotic, all-knowing Sex in the City journalist's Mac-top. Now, as the narcissistic beings that we are, our deep thoughts are sent out into a vast sea of nameless, faceless people, without a care in the world about who is reading the mindless babble we're spewing.
Call me a cynic, but I am convinced that technology has hindered our ability to effectively communicate face-to-face. Phone conversations and person-to-person contact has been replaced with never-ending one-line emails, text messaging, IM, MySpace, and Facebook. Even this--my own attempt to join the blog world and see what the fuss is about. I can't guarantee that future entries will be worth reading. In fact, I'll tell you right now - it will probably be a waste of your time. But if in some way the rantings about the little that I know helps you to find your own inherent worth (or lack thereof) then I guess the road will have been worth the journey (or not). Either way, you have been forewarned.
NON-CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE: This blog including attachments, if any, is intended for the person or entity to which it is addressed, and the person or persons to whom that person may forward information to. Unauthorized viewing or distribution is not prohibited. By subscribing to this post, you acknowledge and understand that the topics herein may or may not be relevant to your life. However, in reading the content, you acknowledge the hope that reading about the author's life will help you feel better about and possibly accept your own narcissism. If you are not the intended recipient, please accept the author's apologies. Thank you.
