I wasn't a good blogger last week. I had a realization how incredibly self centered it is to write a blog about myself. Yes, it took me seven months to realize that. All I have been doing here is writing about me. Me, me and me. Don't get me wrong there is no way Im stopping writing about me, who doesn't love thinking/writing/obsessing about them selfs. But I guess I just got chocked by the late realization of my own egoism. But then again for those who know me/has met me at least once know that I have never pretended to be modest. That is for the unsuccessful. Plus, really this blog was initially meant for Swedish/Norwegian/British people who wanted to see how I was doing without them, funny how it turns out that they consist of 10 percent of all the readers. I either have bad friends or the random people for the north east corner of the States find me intriguing. Either way.
But I guess writing a blog about yourself is the new black. I mean everyone is doing it (if your not your a sucker stuck in 1997, get with the program). Small kids, teenagers, old people, dogs, lawyers.
I wish my mum would have a blog. That would be funny. She phoned me the other day heart broken asking if I had started taking drugs and do porn. She had read all the spam comments and she was getting really worried. Bless her.
UPDATE (12.31 pm, 2/16); As I was on my own blog again I realized that in tune with this post and my own self-loving there is no more than circa 7 pictures of myself here dotted all over the place. Really. Should I be worried? Is it time to speak to someone?
UPDATE (12.38 pm, 2/16); Or am I just like 99 percent of every other blogger that thinks people are interested in whether I prefer peas to carrots? And maybe people really want to know, before someone blows up the world. Peas. Ok, enough, back to writing book report.
Friday, February 16, 2007
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3 comments:
Hehe - blogging is the new black! I love it!
I always saw you more as a carrots person... I dont know why...
Well think of blogging like a Hunter Thomspon book. He was a journalist but he didn't just write about things. He wrote about things, but made himself part of the story.
I like to think of myself like thinner, less bloated Hemmingway who is writing about things that are as important as World War I, but without leaving my house.
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