Me, or What Do I Know About This Shit?

Mmm. Ms. Alison is putting me to shame. Time to dust off the blogging hat and get back to work.

I’m a blogging veteran – of sorts.* I used to spend hours drafting LJ** entries and every time I had a brilliant thought or a devastating experience words poured from my creative and self-involved brain. (Don’t get me wrong, I’m still incredibly self-involved. I’m simply more aware of it these days. Let’s play a game of how many sentences begin with “I,” shall we?). I’d edit and re-edit lengthy missives on everything from the latest enthralling conversation in my seminar on anthropological theory to cryptic and whiney allusions to personal drama. From LJ I moved on to other platforms and eventually stopped blogging about anything. Facebook, dramatic group-emails and Twitter have all but eclipsed my previous need to share in blog form. Until now. Now I want to explore the idea of a blog not about me, but about ideas. Except probably a lot more about me than intended. Because otherwise I end up writing an academic paper, and no one wants that.

This is to say that my blogging voice is in need of some refinement and polishing. Somewhere between stream-of-consciousness blather and dry academic piffle. It is now time to find that in-between style. Also, I like: starting sentences with the word also, commas, lists of three or more, the Oxford comma (also referred to as the serial comma), and parentheses. Can’t be helped. I also like titles that parody great English literature novels with subtitles.***

*The boring, “I write this for me and I don’t care if no one read this!” sort.

**Oh please, PLEASE! tell me you experienced the wonder that was LiveJournal at the turn of the millennium? If not you were probably not a whiney, nerdy, self-involved teenager or twenty-something. You were probably level-headed, cool, or over 30. Good for you.

***You know, titles such as Uncle Tom’s Cabin; or, Life Among the Lowly


and Twelfth Night, or What You Will, and perhaps my favorite: On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life. Okay, Twelfth Night isn’t a novel, and neither is Origin of Species, but you know what I mean.


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