defending my space
defending my space
Last night I not only got an email telling me my blog is inconsistent, but a complete stranger (to me) Instant Messaged me to critique this space. These things happened at the exact same time, and I felt like an unwilling participant in a verbal gang-bang.
The email said something to the effect that I obviously did not know what I wanted to be. What was I going for here anyhow? Political blog? Personal? News? Links? I honestly didn't know I had to declare my blogging emphasis the way one declares a major in college. Can't I just be a Liberal Arts blogger, writing a little of this, a little of that?
Of course this blog is inconsistent. It is about consistent as I am, which is to say, not at all. The tone and content here depends on a solid mathematical equation used to determine what kind of mood I am in. Grams of Caffeine Intake x Number of Times Boss Called Me "Sunshine" x Road Rage Factor (based on a 1-10 scale) divided by level of hormones. You take that number, apply it to my scale of Blog Subjects (lowest being "write something mushy about how much you love the whole damned world" and highest being "i hope you all die a gruesome death") and there you have it, my formula for inconsistent blogging.
Honestly, I don't know what the theme here is. It used to be a strict news/links kind of place, but somewhere along the line it became more personal. I like it this way. I like not being confined to a certain subject or limited to one area of concentration. If you come looking for me bashing George Bush and it's not here today, come back and check tomorrow. Good chance it will be here. If you came looking for links and news, you may be disappointed to find a very personal story. Basically, I run the show here. And it's a different show every day.
As for Miss Instant Messenger, who was upset because I don't tell enough "cute" stories about my kids or talk about things I do like a real parent does, I say this. My kids are not cute. I have an 8 year old boy and an 11 year old girl. 8 year old boys do nothing but tell fart jokes and play video games. 11 year old girls do nothing but whine. All the time. There are no cute stories to be had in that kind of life. Once in a while I will write about their exploits on the field or at school, mainly because I am proud of them in those kinds of ways, but I honestly do not thingkanyone wants to read (nor do I want to write) about how many different ways a child can say "poopy head" or a young girl's misguided attempts at putting on make up.
As for my stories of being a mother: Let's just say that tying your children down and forcing them to watch Goonies while you lecture them about why it's one of the greatest movies ever is not the kind of parenting one brags about. We won't even mention the closet incident.
So thanks for the attempts to "fix" my blog, guys. I'm kind of happy with the way it is. This is my place, my rules, my prerogative to be as pissy or sweet as I want to, to talk about the weather or The Simpsons or the political climate in Greenland.
Is it Friday yet?