I’ll give YOU egomaniac!
I heard somebody say recently that bloggers are the ultimate egomaniacs – thinking that people not only what to hear what they have to say, but will go out of their way to do so day in, day out, regardless of the importance of the content.
And to top it off, most bloggers have no qualifications, are experts on nothing, and really only talk about themselves.
And I guess this character has a point, really.
I can’t deny that I like having people read what I write. And I can’t deny I write about myself a lot.
But here’s the thing:
I think I’d be more of an egomaniac were I to talk about other people more.
Celebrities, for instance. If I were to make a blog chit-chatting about who did this and who wore what: how rude of me to write my opinions on the trivia of people I’ve never even met and for other people I’ve never met to read. To attempt to build myself a reputation as a blogger through the actions of strangers like that… talk about riding coat tails! In my mind, I don’t have that right. I’ll leave that sort of rubbish for the tabloids and Perez Hilton, thankyou.
On the other hand, writing more about the people I know and spend time with – best friends, family, etc – is, in some ways, even more presumptuous and incredibly disrespectful.
These people share their company with me because of a friendship, not because they care if I have something to blog about or not.
I think it would show amazing flippancy towards the relationship to view that quality time as potential blog-filler, as well as the obvious issue of it being a serious invasion of privacy and potential cause of major embarrassment for the person.
See, it’s ok to talk about the time I got stuck in a pair of jeans in a change room:
I have unusually large calves for a girl of my size (it’s muscle, I tell you! Muscle!!!), and when trying on a pair of jeans my calves – which Laurie describes as looking like a Hungarian shot-putter’s – got firmly stuck in the fabric and I couldn’t. Get. Out!
I pulled, I heaved. I tried stepping on the lower part of the jean to wrench my leg free. I grunted and groaned until my face went red and the sinews on my neck popped out.
No luck.
And my feet started turning a mighty funny colour…
Then to make matters worse change room lady knocked on the door to see how I was going, concerned that I was taking so long, probably assuming I was trying to steal something. I assured her I was fine and continued my struggle when I was sure she was out of ear shot, red faced with shame and wishing to just have the ground open up and swallow me.
Eventually I got free, but not before falling headlong into the change room wall, like a felled tree – TIM-BER! - and mushing my face in a most painful way against the partitioning.
FINALLY, I was able to emerge for the stall - sweaty, panting, hair everywhere and with the impression of a change room lock on my forehead but with jeans aloft triumphantly.
“No thankyou, I do NOT want them!”
And I strode off into the sunset.
She probably wonders to this day what the hell I was up to in there…
Embarrassing, sure, but my story, and since I’m a creature of little dignity in the first place, I have little to lose by sharing that with you. I mean, if you can’t be dignified be honest, at least score points for that!
But if I were to tell you that today I was out with Miss. Entity, of this address and employed by this company, and she did this awfully hilarious yet extremely embarrassing thing, Miss Entity would probably never want to hang out with me again, and would register my private home number as the number of an all-night taxi service to say thanks.
And it’s not just true for embarrassing stories – even just plain old day to day “I bought some milk and eggs today” stories.
They’re not mine.
And my friends shouldn’t have to feel that anything they do or say around me may just wind up available for the whole world to view. Well, in theory. The whole world isn’t viewing my blog, obviously, though that would be some mighty fine readership, I can tell you!
But the idea remains the same.
I make the choice to have a blog, so I should be the one exposed on it. None of my friends or family made that choice, and it’s certainly not my place to make it for them.
So why write about me?
Well, given that I have no qualifications in anything, I certainly don’t expect to be dishing out advice on any particular subject and have people give a rat’s arse about what I’m saying.
Even my art is something I’m self-taught with, and while I’m happy to share how I personally go about things, I by no means think it to be the best way. Or that even you should consider going about it the way I do.
I’m just sharing how I do. Me. And you may take what you will from that.
So what’s left that’s mine to share? My life, I guess. Me.
Why do I share? I have no idea. I’m a weird little individual. And I laugh at myself a lot. I want you to laugh at me with me, I guess – it’s less lonely that way.
Tags: blog, Real discoveries come from chaos, something to think about, writing
2 comments
I LOVE this post! I totally agree with you on most points. I think that some people over do it (for me anyway) with really, really personal stuff.. but I just don’t read it and that solves that for me! Sometimes it feels like voyeurism.. is that weird? Anyway, really funny story about the jeans! TIM-BER! haha
Good points, amusingly told! One thing I keep in mind when I blog about my little life is that The Personal is Universal. It really is when you think about it. Other people can relate to what you say even if they haven’t had that *exact* experience, but something parallel to it.