A cook with a recipe for action

So I just discovered a funny, funny woman blogging: finslippy. Go check her out. I’d provide a link if I could but I’m too technologically illiterate. I mean god I am such a techno-idiot! I can’t even access statcounter so I can see who’s reading my blog. I tried, and I can’t get it to work. So go ahead read! Or don’t! I don’t know if you are or you aren’t! I don’t know anything! The only thing I know is erotics that I wish I were as funny as finslippy.

Here’s another thing. I have a ridiculous number of bloggable thoughts. I have them all day long. And they all seem to me measured, philosophical, funny, and “of general interest.” I could blog all friggin’ day long! But I don’t. Because I need to curb my internet-induced megalomania. Because I’d put you all on overload, and tire you out. And because in real life I’m not a megalomaniac at all, but as insecure and paranoid as the next gal.

And really I might actually have to stop blogging some time soon. I don’t understand what it is, this B-L-O-G-G-I-N-G, and I don’t know why I do it, and I don’t know what it does to me. And don’t you be sending me links to other people’s thoughts about the nature and purpose of the blog. Thanks but no thanks. I need to figure out myself why it is that I’m sometimes happy when I post diary, and sometimes happy when I post grammar, and sometimes happy when I post philosophy, and mostly not all that happy at all.

My next few posts (if they exist! but am I too far gone to stop?) might be finslippy inspired. But for now, let me just stay on this theme of insecurity and paranoia.

You know how at four in the morning you wake up convinced that you’re a fraud and a failure? I’ve talked to lots of people about this, male and female. Soyinka has a poem about it. We KNOW this experience, yes?

And now I’m remembering this woman we interviewed a few years ago for a job in our department, and I happened to mention this 4 in the morning thing to her, and she said, — get this — “Oh really? I’ve never had that experience! Gee, that must be really awful!”

And, get this: I’m afraid that’s what happens to me when I blog. Know what I mean? I’m becoming like that inhuman bimbo (whom we did not hire) who has no self-doubt, who’s wrapped in a cocoon of security, who thinks the entire world is actually interested in what she has to say.

The internet is the devil.

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7 thoughts on “A cook with a recipe for action

  1. So how is this effect of blogging different from the other things you (we) do in public and authoritatively, particularly ‘fessing?

  2. Esque, good to hear from you! And to see that Dumbledore’s gayness was discussed from every angle on your facebook page, and my concerns (and others) raised.

    Kyla, thanks!

    Dana, do you ‘fess? I’m intrigued! If I understand you correctly, that is. You mean opening a public paper with an announcement of where you are situated, a disclaimer based on privilege? If this is indeed what you mean, I’ll say that I don’t do it because it’s false — its the creation of a faux persona, a self-totalization. I’m sure I AM biased, and I’m sure it IS based on privilege, but I’m also sure that nothing I can ‘fess would make that go away, or excuse it, or define its core, or be particularly relevant to anything.

  3. oh, oops, apparently that locution was already taken in your lexicon. I meant the PROfessing of PROfessors. Like I saw you do on Passages last night, for example.

  4. Oh! I wonder if the fact that you think first of PROfess and I think of CONfess has something to do with my training in Religious Studies and yours in Philosophy. Har! More likely that I’ve been reading children’s books lately, where the expression “‘fess up” is not uncommon.

    The question now becomes very interesting. And the answer, for me, is that the face-to-face really does make a difference. It’s true that if I give a good class — one in which I feel like I’ve taught something, generated discussion, and made good jokes — my ego inflates. But essential to this is that I’ve made the students happy; if I see a student grow bored or annoyed in one of my classes, I won’t go away happy — in fact I’ll probably lose sleep over it. Under these circumstances, it’s okay for me to to feel pleased; the origin of the feeling is relational and there’s no illusion in the idea that I did well. With the blog, the feedback isn’t immediate, and there isn’t as much of it, and I don’t see all the people who turn away in disgust or shake their heads in disappointment, or just resolve to look at the blog less often. There’s something solitary about it despite the feedback, and that means doing it is narcissistic.

  5. Doing TV is, actually, a lot like blogging. Yes. Even though I have two interlocutors (and I try to listen to them instead of just waiting for my turn to talk like some people do) the medium itself, the presence of the camera, makes the situation more narcissistic and less relational.

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