I promise. I was just on a mini-vacation (which I’ll blog about soon), and so now I’m catching up. Mini-vacations tend to make me happy, so I have nothing to kvetch about. However, there is an episode developing that will prove to be delightfully funny if all goes right and terribly horrible if all goes wrong, so stay tuned!
Do you have something to kvetch about? Leave it in the comments.
Check it. (for those of you reading through RSS, you gotta click through for this one. Sorry in advance those of you who have finger disabilities.)
My mom told me this weekend that I sound too upbeat in my blog, and that it doesn’t reflect how I am in real life.
So, for the sake of bloging with integrity, I am going to reveal that, as you may have surmised by my numerous social media profiles, my blog posts, and pictures of myself in various situations, I am antisocial and I hate small talk. This is a problem for me because the building I live in consists entirety of chipper organic crunchy granola white people who love small talk like it’s their job, especially on Monday mornings when I hate the act of living.
I will step on the elevator with my rage face on,thus, a natural defense against human contact. However, some friendly woman will not detect it and inevitably will say, “Oh, I love your necklace.” As a result, I have to mumble something nice in return, a feat that is, at 7:21 a.m. on a Monday morning, Olympic in nature.
Good People of Arlington. I love you. You are what makes this city. But. Please, stop talking to me in the elevator. I don’t care what you think the weather will be like outside. I have it both on my phone and in my aural/skin receptors once I open the elevator door. I don’t care about your speculations on the weather for the next week, or about what you did this weekend. If I did, I would ask.
I also don’t want to tell you what I did this weekend or how I am mentally, physically, and otherwise. Who do you think you are, Lavrenti Beria?
Generally, I love human contact. I love people, I love talking to people for a specific purpose, and I love finding out how my friends spent their weekends. But not you, man in the elevator, not you.
source: some chick named Jan Vermeer
I’m in the process of unsubscribing from a bunch of blogs that I used to read because when I subscribed to them I thought it was cool to read those blogs. I was a beginning blogger, and they appealed to me and I became wistful and awestruck at how many people were in their comment sections, how wonderful every paragraph they wrote was, how cute their stock photos were, and how they were whisked away to conferences and given blogger goodies.
But then a bad thing happened and I started writing like those bloggers and my writing style (as you probably noticed) became bland and formulaic. But then I realized I can’t do fake, cloying, and overly self-important. And then I discovered actual good bloggers who didn’t write by blogging templates or Copyblogger rules, who wrote about real life in a way that was interesting, who made me want to find out more about them.
I don’t want to read about Generation Y anymore, and I don’t want to read about how to make money from my blog. I don’t want to read formulaic copy about why women should have Roth IRAs.
I want to read stuff that teaches me more about the world and that makes me feel like I’m a part of your life. I want to read bloggers whose writing is so good that it encourages me to work on my turn of phrase. Most importantly, I want to read bloggers that don’t feel the need to try and impress me by being pretentious and specious and getting more blog hits.
I want to read about girls that voluntarily work in the Emirates, people that describe life in Israel in a style that is uniquely theirs, about doctors that are also mothers, and people that make me laugh and wish I’d written what they wrote.
And I want to be a writer who inspires this kind of desire.
Things I want to blog about but can’t because we still don’t have high-speed internet at our new apartment yet (hopefully by the end of tomorrow):
but for now, I remain wireless and WiFi-less yours,