Fan Mail

I'm not so into writing fan mail. I wrote fewer than five letters of adulation in all my overeager childhood years (and only one really came back to embarrass me later). I generally figure that any overblown feelings of admiration I might for someone I never met are just as well kept to myself as sent off to a manager who might or might not open the envelope before dropping it in the trash. I understand the basic realities of the business of celebrity...and I'm honestly not that impressed by most famous people these days anyway.

That's not to say there aren't a few bigtime stars whose presence wouldn't reduce me to a stammering, inchoerent blob. I freely admit that those people do exist - and thank God they do, because what would life be if there weren't a single human on earth whom you admired so intensely that they could rob you of basic verbal functions simply by being in the room?

It's a fairly small group of people, though, who I really think would have such a strong effect on me. But there's a larger group of people who might not reduce me to a blubbering mass but nonetheless stand in my highest esteem for who they are and/or what they do.

One such person is Heather B. Armstrong (and this is her website). I believe I have referenced this site before - my favorite blog in all of blogdom. When I began reading it I simply found it entertaining in all its snarky glory. Now that I've gone through all seven years' archived posts, I have gained the utmost respect for this woman. I still get a kick out of her snarky sense of humor, but I also have been moved by what she has to say, and have honestly had my perspective changed on more than one occasion.

So today I broke down and I wrote a fan letter. (fan email.) I'd like to think that it was a nice balance of adulation and restraint, of intelligent commentary and gushing flattery. I basically just explained that I've now read every single post published on her blog and that I'm a huge fan of both what she has to say and how she says it.

I refrained from adding "P.S. Your daughter is beautiful, your husband sounds awesome, and I'd like to move into your basement and be your best friend."

That's good, don't you think?

That's, Like, Sooooo Meta

I have two excuses for not writing very recently.

1. I can barely find time to sleep, much less post here. (Why am I still up now? Good question.)
2. After writing that last blog about all y'all who are reading it - or not reading it, as the case may be - every time I've thought about posting I've found myself wondering what on earth to write about...and gotten stymied and given up.

I think I was better off not thinking about my audience, but simply blathering on about whatever was in my head at the time. Now I find myself censoring every idea as (mostly) completely uninteresting to whomever might be reading, or else some degree of pompous and obnoxious.

This leaves me at a bit of a loss. I mean, I guess I could write about the weather, and sports teams, and that sort of thing. I could start writing nothing but movie reviews (though that would require seeing a lot more movies than I currently do). I could let this become a completely 'meta', self-reflective blog about blogging, but I think we've seen from Jason Mraz's songwriting that writing about nothing but your own writing gets really boring (and irritating) really fast.

So.... I don't have a solution. I suppose I'll just get over it and go back to blathering like before. In the meantime....I'm going to get some sleep.

Blogging

Blogs are, for the most part, fairly ridiculous. Sometimes they serve very clear purposes, like when you go on a trip and want to keep everyone at home updated on the kooky hijinks that led up to your incarceration in a Burmese prison, or when a company decides that the "hip" way to "be down" with the young people is to paste all their marketing copy into a corporate blog on a biweekly basis. Sometimes blogs are just so damn good that they fully deserve every bit of their bandwidth. (see dooce.com) But for mere mortals like myself, blogging just seems rather self indulgent. It's an uninvited opportunity to go on and on about anything you damn well please (with whatever version of spelling and grammar you like), with some assumption that someone - many someones, even - will want to read it. But fear not. I have no delusions that people want to read my blog. Google Analytics keeps me very much in the realm of reality, so all twelve of you can rest assured that I have no crazy ideas about being e-famous. I can talk a blue streak, is all, and this way I can pretend that someone's listening.

I am, however, curious about who's actually reading this thing. I assume you're all people who know me, and recognize any thinly veiled references I make. But perhaps I am mistaken. Google Analytics gives only certain information, so I'm left to wonder who it is, exactly, that has read my blog from Springfield, IL, or from the Bronx, or from Middleton, MA. I don't even know where Middleton is.

So perhaps some strangers have, in fact, stumbled across this blog. If any of you come back to read it ever again - Hi. I hope you enjoy my eternal rant.

To the rest of you, who know me in real life, I'm sure none of this is news but hopefully it's entertaining. (Otherwise why are you reading it?)

I guess for now I'll continue blabbing into the void, and maybe someday someone (else - thank you, Abby) will leave me a comment and I'll feel heard....