Blogging. Never thought I would do it and I am not sure why I am doing it now.
--An exercise in narcissism?
--A distraction from real world issues?
--A form of writing while avoiding my “real” writing?
All of the above.
The past few nights, Hub and I have been watching season one of the show Californication. I know, not new in the United States but new to us folks here in Hong Kong, thanks to our local DVD Rental Store. Anyway, I think that Hub not so secretly longs to be like the main character: the sex saturated clumsy but likeable looser, Hank Moody played by David Duchovny. Through the show, Hub is reliving his pre-wife and children days. Actually, ”living” is the more appropriate word as Hub is hardly a one-nightstand sort of man.
Anyway, he likes the show. The writing is solid but the story line screams of a smart fifteen-year-old boy fantasy trapped in fifty-year-old man body. The verdict is still out for me. But one thing that stuck in my mind is when Hank the struggling novelist turned Hollywood writer whore and fellow blogger said that, “Nobody writes anymore, they just blog.”
I recently stumbled my way through a ton of blogs about every subject under the sun. I can’t decide if the scariest blogs are by the right-wing demagogues, the porn sites fronting as blogs or the blogs by fashionista teenage girls which display photos of their latest shopping sprees (a different sort of porn).
But what I learned as found my way out of the black hole of the blogosphere is that blogs are like books.
Hardly anybody reads them.