2005/07/11

Double Efficiency

This'd be a continuation of the thought from the previous post, but less self-pitying. I have to say, I kind of get pissed at people who (a) make no effort to write well, punctuate, etc. (gdog is an exception--he does it on purpose, and I kind of get a headache from reading his posts but then fizhburn approved it so what the hey) and/or (b) only use their blogs to complain. I'm just not clear on what kind of sorry egoism makes people believe I want to know about their petty (or even legitimate) whinings about things that happen to them. I'm not attempting to condemn people for putting personal material on their sites/blogs; far from it: I think that's the whole point of blogging (like it or not) and I accept that. I also realize, in an aside to you, constant reader, that there would be a certain disingenuity in my accusing blogging of being a medium for garnering approval/sympathy/etc. ... But anyway I suppose there are better and worse ways to do the blog thing. And what looks like a "dear diary,

today susie said i was mean and put gum in my hair and also i heard from april that tonya doesn't like me and i think i hate everything and also Mom said maybe i shouldnt drink so much pepsi because she thinks i'm fat even though she didnt say that but i can tell and anyway here is a picture of me dont you think its cool and im going to seaworld with chassie tomorrow and then i will have another pic for you

xoxo sandy"

I mean, what is the point of that? if there were a way to maybe get this person in counseling I think I'd approve of that, but really this is a lot of wasted bandwidth. (P.s. I made up the post I'm criticising. Any resemblance to actual posts by other people is sure as hell intended.) Then again, you could write something slightly interesting, perhaps a thought about internicine conflicts in junior high, or about how it's difficult to express your feelings of inadequacy regarding bodily appearance and family/social expectations. For instance, "Dear Diary,

Today I had another one of "those days." It sometimes seems like I make more enemies than I can even count. I'm not sure how this happens, but I suspect it's because I'm near the top of the social ladder in terms of popularity. I mean, I hang out pretty much with the cool crowd and that means that I have to protect my position. There is an awful lot of gossip about me that goes around, and I'm constantly struggling to get the truth heard. I'm not mean, even though Susan said so today. She was very angry because I said I didn't like her shirt, which is true. I don't like it: I think it's ugly and besides the brand has been out of fashion for almost a year. She really ought to realize than in order to maintain her friendship with me, not to mention continue to be popular, that she needs to conform to the strict rules of appearance. I'm subject to those rules too. That in itself is another struggle for me, and it really compounds my situation's complexity. Just this morning I was having a Pepsi with breakfast, because Mom hadn't made any coffee. I usually drink a little coffee in the morning, and Mom says it's okay because I'd get just as much caffeine from pop anyway. But today she made a big deal about how much pop I drink (I only drink two or three cans a day!). I'm kind of bloated right now (sorry folks, but true!) and maybe she thinks I'm putting on weight. I really think she has a lot emotionally invested in my appearance. She would always put me in ballerina constumes and such when I was little. I think she really wants me to be like a beautiful princess sometimes. I've noticed this a lot more since Dad left, and I think maybe she thinks if I'm perfect then I'm also happy. But it's just a bunch of pressure on me to be like a doll or something. I'm really unhappy about all her wanting me to be so good looking but I am just not that beautiful, or anyway I think I'd like not to be so close to beautiful. At least then I wouldn't feel like I am just a shell. Sometimes it is like I really am a robot or a doll, and I am just a Sandy-bot. I feel so trapped sometimes, and I am so sad I want to cry but I can't, because there is so much expectations of me.

I want to thank everybody for their reaction to the pictures I post here though.

Sandy"

See, that would, if nothing else, be somewhat more compelling (if more lengthy) reading. At least to me. Well actually not so much. So okay this isn't working. Anyway. Umm. But the point is, I think, that there are some sorts of blogging that are of, not intrinsic, some basic interest. I don't need to have to read into the inner workings of a certain sort of adolescent in order to grasp the interesting problem at the heart of her maunderings. At the same time, it is probably unrealistic to expect everyone on the internet to write interesting things. Not everyone will be contributing something positive to the sum of human knowledge all the time.

Just look at what's been going on in, say, literary theory recently. Or philosophy. Or the so-called specific social sciences like Feminist Studies (what a crock of crap). Mountains of waste and dross, and every once in a while a butterfly emerges, sooty and suffocated, to limpingly flutter into the forest of growing knowledge that is "modern" Homo sapiens' "culture."

On the other hand, it isn't surprising that a lot of people have lost their way. Let me propose an anology: some sociological studies have shown that an overabundance of choice actually inhibits the "average" individual's ability to make a timely and effective decision about what to do/buy/etc. So the huge accumulation of possible insights is so great that any particular approach appears either 1. less than optimally effective; or 2. no better than some (possibly large) number of alternatives. What am I supposed to do here--condemn this child for her whining and attempt to enter the public discourse because I happen to find it a waste of my time to read it? Eech.

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