Brilliant Corners - and his photolog - The weblog evangelists are constantly getting a more bloated view of their “profession.” I ranted a while back how all these weblog books are pretty pointless, but I think statements like “publishing is dead” are even more ridiculous.
Weblogs are really nothing more than a version of online journals with a catchier name. Sure, some tackle politics and the tech sector and the media all at once, but many are tightly focused on one topic alone. While 10,000 unique visitors is a good audience for a weblog, that’s still nothing compared to the 1-million-plus circulation of the New York Times.
I don’t think there should be weblog “jobs” [b] either. If you can’t have a current employee set up a Blogger account, and update a page once or twice a day, in addition to normal duties, then maybe you’ve got too much money to waste. With all the books and hype, it seems like the push is to get weblogging recognized as a legitimate profession.
In my opinion, weblogging isn’t journalism, and it’ll never replace traditional publishing. I’m happy that when I do read the newspaper, I just get the news, and not the news, and then a little snippet about so-and-so’s humorous encounter at the mall.
Mindscapes, Heartstrings & Soul-searching -
Zod: Heathcliff, Heathcliff!
Quiet you.
Zod: So what, you read the title and thought “Here’s a likely place to go learn more about Glock semi-automatics!”?
No, I thought “Hot damn, that’s another rung up in the ecosystem.”
Zod: Link slut.
It’s alway’s sex, sex, sex, Zod. Is it because of your….
Zod: Quiet you.
I just think we ought to at least read the blog before you decide it’s all about passion on the moor.
Zod: Fine.
Fine.
Mindscapes, Heartstrings & Soul-searching - Just because I choose to embrace my femininity does not mean that I’m any less effective a feminist. I just happen to believe that only when society accepts femininity and womanhood on par with masculinity and manhood, learning to value both equally, will equality truly come into effect. Someone once called me “a lady with feminist ideas” and listened to my ideas with interest… hell, I think that’s better than being labelled a radical harridan and dismissed out of hand because of the stigma attached to such behaviour.
Some believe that we need to be like men to achieve equal status with them.
Some believe that we need to bring the development of feminism up to comparable stages around the world before we have any chance in hell of finally decisively moving towards a real sexual revolution.
Still others believe that we need to attack the whole issue through education and enlightenment.
And then, again, there are those who believe that activism and chest-beating and picketing forms the solution. It always has done in the past and it will do again.
These are all worldviews and choices.
And I respect them even if I don’t agree with them.
Because that’s the gift feminism has given to women (and men)–the gift of choosing and being true to yourself.
Whoa.
Zod: What’s a girl like that doing in a place like this?
I dunno. Blog-slumming?
Zod: There’s a new motto “Silflay Hraka, for when a girl needs a dirty night out.”
Balloon Juice - I am nearing a volatile explosion from impatience when a car pulls up and a woman comes rushing into the store.
The woman embodied every negative stereotype you have ever heard about West Virginians (as a West Virginian, I feel allowed to pick on us- if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at). She is short and fat, about 5 feet tall and nearly as wide. She is wearing lavender stretch pants, the kind you only see at wall mart, and she has a huge gut that isn’t quite where her stomache should be but still above where her nether regions should be. She is wearing what was once a white ‘Tweetie” bird t-shirt, but now it is a yellowy/dirty beige. She has thick glasses, the kind that make your eyes look 3 times the real size, and they have the ear pieces that extend from the bottom of the lense (the kind that went out of style 20 years ago).
And. She stinks. Really bad. She has that musty odor that is a combination of 1 part not bathing, 1 part dumpster grunge (you know what I mean- that juicy bile that stays in the dumpster after they dump it, where it just sits and ferments), and 1 part 40 packs of cigarettes without a change of clothing. Essentially, she smells like a popular nightclub bathroom floor on Sunday morning.
She charges to the front of the line, which startled me and infuriated me at the same time. She then looked at the lady behind the counter, and blurted out, “I got’s the diarrhea, I’m gonna dirty my pants.”
You could hear everyone in the room breathe in, and at the same time, everyone took a step away from where the woman was standing. Also note that there is NO public bathroom, and the only doors are to leave or to go into the employee area behind the counter. The lady behind the counter looked like she had been shot, and before she could respond, the woman this time yelled out:
“I GOT’S THE DIARRHEA, I’M GONNA DIRTY MY PANTS.”
Zod: That’s more like it. Zod is pleased
Oh, goody.
