Blogito Ergo Sum

Please be advised – there is no catchy whistling tune, poop story, or picture of Michael Jackson accompanying this print.  I’ve been dabbling in this medium for a month and it isn’t until now that I’ve become intrigued and at times confused with what the hell it’s all about.  I am not even sure it’s a ‘medium’ anymore as it’s been suggested to me it’s a community?  I’ve also been told it’s called the Blogosphere? At times, it feels like the Matrix. 

For me, it began on a Sunday afternoon about a month ago when I became inspired and…a bit despotic after reading a monstrous pile of legalese.   I feel fortunate to have my job and it’s often rewarding but the reality is that I spend most of my life in the corporate world.  This is a world where people ‘circle back’ instead of talk or ‘level set’ instead of make sense.  People aren’t even fired anymore; they are ‘riffed’ (reduction in force).  Purely as an experiment, I have considered sitting my 3-year-old son down and preparing him, “Son, we’ve had to make some cuts and I am afraid we are going to have to let you go.  I’ve got a nice severance package here for you big-guy, thanks for your time in this family and good luck in your search for another.” - my version of naming him ‘Sue’.

So, I wandered into this community, medium, and sphere.  Initially, it felt more like a cyber-Trafalgar Square; the more ‘hits’ and ‘followers’, the taller the soapbox, the louder the message.  There are so many with so much to say - some radical and others at peace (with the rest of us peering longingly in their windows).  After a week or two, I started to feel hints of a community, maybe an Island of Broken Toys, but a community nonetheless.    I’ve caught up with old friends and run into a few interesting new folks - with the understanding that ‘Susan from Utah’ may actually be ‘Burt from Tennessee’ (a guy who likes to type in his underwear)…either way, a community. 

One thing I've learned is that almost every blog reflects on its purpose at one point or another.  At times, this exercise can be poignant, at others... forced and riddled with attempts at deeper meaning.  Almost invariably, an author’s search for the blog purpose starts with the apology, ‘I hate that I feel the need to explain why I do this but…’.  I am not convinced it needs to be so complicated or over-indulgent.  There are thousands of ways people choose to express themselves, whether it be streaking across Coors Field naked or sending hate mail to Rush Limbaugh.  It's unfortunate that bloggers attempt, through intellectual strain or self deprecation, to explain their insecurity in this activity…it’s ‘ok’ to want to make a person smile, lodge a silly song in someone’s head, or tell a random person about your day.  In sum, if you can touch (inappropriately or otherwise) a fellow human with your own brand of crazy, why not?  If all you hear is crickets chirping, well that’s ok too. <crickets chirping>.

In sum: I blog, therefore I am - (taking time to play with the mental clay and consider the ridiculous ensures that piece of me continues to exist).  For a few moments, I can just be a sarcastic, story telling, blog-o-thug.  So, here I sit with eager anticipation knowing the cyber-intelligencia will throttle my weak Descartes reference while others Google it.  That's cool, I Googled it.

Anyway, I try to finish anything I start in 60 minutes or less since really, that’s all the time I have and any more contemplation produces an over-thought word salad.  It's been over 70 minutes now - I gotta run, there’s nothing more to say and I've grown tired of being almost serious…no more of this, I take umbrage. 

Comments

[Stephen]

It is a strange journey indeed. Most of us spend our days in a garbled and impatient world continously contributing to the decay of the exercise of profound thought, or any original thought for that matter, and, keystroke by keystroke, burping out words and sentence fragments that neither communicate our intended message nor resemble "writing." I, too, wade through the legalease in a profession that has historically prided itself on attention to detail and precision. In my bubble, writing and interpersonal communication generally appear to be devolving into repetitive, loud, misleading, repetitive, and partially completed exchanges borne from rote rather than consideration. Taking license to freely exaggerate and sound a good thirty years older than my age, emailing and texting will be the death of our use of langauge, not just our writing. The proliferation of their use and the expected immediacy of a response essentially require us to act reflexively instead of thoughtfully. I notice people taking far more pride in the perceived timeliness of their response over the quality of its substance and form. That is disappointing. So I must say that I applaud what you are doing here. There are times when it is great to release that which is confined or restrained, perhaps for the sake of it alone or to reconcile what ails us about our professional lives. It is important to remain faithful to who we are and that is difficult to do when our jobs, which are necessary, do not represent our essence. Sometimes a guy dons a sharp suit just because he enjoys the pulling of his tie, the sound the fabric makes when pulling the jacket over his shirt, the look when pulling his shirt just past the cuffs, and the uniform yet individual expression of the ritual. But not because it will draw the attention of the attractive woman he passes everyday on the street. For what is worth, I encourage you to continue to stretch your mental legs as it helps me to unfurl mine, which are often cramped by my desk, car, cabs, trains, and airplanes.

[Chris]

"Island of Broken Toys" is a great description. I liked this post.

Your buddy, Stephen, needs to dumb it down for folks like me.

your pal,
Susan... or Burt... but I kind of like Catherine... or Jack...