Question for young, cyber people

[Guest]

I met this very smart young lady who is crazy about blogs. She's almost obsessed. What's the deal with blogs? (oops I sounded like Jerry Seinfeld just then)

Are they a new, untapped medium of creativity?
Or are they just web pages that you can update easily?

I feel old...

 

[Guest]

Don't feel old, dear. Blogs are just online diaries, as boring as reading anyone's diary unless they are your child's or lover's. I read my son's cos he writes well, is creative and witty, and it's a way of communicating.

Perdita

 

[sanchopanza]

I know one person who admits to writing blogs. I used to think he was arrogant and conceited, until I got to know him of course. I fear that if I read his blogs I will think what I once thought of him, again.

Incidentally the Sunday Telegraph Review had a short article on a young female journalist experimenting with blogs, supposedly because it indulged her taste for exhibitionism. The article mentioned a website which I had a look at and discovered that all this time I had missed out on absolutely ball all by not having looked at or used blogs.

 

[Icingsugar]

They are just web pages that you can update easily.

And everyone wants to we a web celeb.

That's more or less it. I tried to open a blog once. I got bored pretty fast of thinking up stuff to update the sucker with.

/Ice

 

[minsue]

I know nothing of blogs other than the book "Why Girls Are Weird" which is a semi-autobiographical book by a woman who had an apparently very popular blog. She included in the novel some of the essays from her blog and they were fucking hilarious. The book opens with this one:

Chapter 000001.

The House of Smut Revealed

24 June

It's been a long time since I've played with dolls. I've never really thought back on my time with plastic humans before, but today, as I was watching a group of giggly young girls browsing Barbies in the Wal-Mart, I remembered that feeling -- that strange sexual energy and giddy shame of playing Barbies in my bedroom. It was a spinning, dizzy sensation. My friends and I spoke in hushed tones as we held these dolls in various stages of dress. If our parents had ever found out what we were doing, those dolls certainly would have been taken away from us. It wasn't our fault Barbie and her pals released our initial sexuality. We were young and full of questions and those dolls are shaped like handheld sexpots.


Barbie has big, incredible breasts with this soft spot between them that your thumb fits into just perfectly. She's not wearing anything underneath her clothing. You can put her in panties and a bra for a quick jog or you can have her make eggs in the Barbie Dream Kitchen wearing only a pair of spiked heels. You can pull her hair up or have it going down all the way to her high and tight ass.


Ken is big and bold and square. He's got a strong chin and jaw. His hair is blond, and sort of wavy. You can run your fingernail along the hard ridges on his head. Or can you? I can't remember if Ken had real hair. I think some of my Kens did. He is very muscular, and the bulge under his pants is impressive enough that you wonder if all boys polish their bulge as often as you'd polish Ken's with Windex. Ken has a nice, defined butt that looks good in a pair of swim trunks.


Barbie and Ken were very different from Donny and Marie. Yes, Donny and Marie Osmond. The fact that I loved Donny and Marie at three or four or however old I was might clue you in on the kind of childhood I had. I spent too much time in front of the television and I loved variety shows. What four-year-old loves variety shows? And were there so many four-year-olds in love with Donny and Marie that they had to make dolls of them? And why did I still have these dolls once I turned ten? Why didn't I get new dolls? I can't really start thinking too much about the hows or whys because it's all so fucked up that I end up wanting to go back in time to scoop up tiny little me and hold her and tell her about the Partridge Family. Anyway, I had these Mormon musical star dolls, but I had no idea what a Mormon was, so they ended up being gigantic sinners in my house.


Marie had short brown hair that was like Sally Field's helmet in Steel Magnolias. She was completely flat-chested. As bad as Skipper, if I remember correctly. Clothes just sat on her, and there was never a need for a belt. Her hand had a hole in it. You could stick her microphone there, but I knew just enough about Mormons to fit a diamond ring in the spot. I had Donny and Marie married, because I was young and thought anyone could get married as long as they loved each other.


Donny was wearing plastic tighty-whiteys. Seriously. There was an extra ridge of plastic that went around Donny's waist and legs. There was no bulge. His hair was dark and slicked down. A plastic shield -- there was no fucking around with Donny Osmond's hair. His smile was so bright and big. I think they painted stars in his eyes. He also had a hole in his hand, but if you did it just right, you could stick one of Barbie's spiked heels in the hole and have him sniff Barbie's shoe. Donny and Marie didn't have enough money for rent, so they lived off their love in a Buster Brown shoebox. Only a ten-year-old can create an incestuous Mormon celebrity relationship and have it be romantic.


Barbie's legs were very difficult to open. You had to jam Ken between them. Donny's arms were already bent at just enough of an angle that you could prop Barbie's legs on each one and they were good to go. Marie's head could turn all the way around. The hole in her hand could also hold a small martini glass. Most of my dolls had marks on their backs from being bound, gagged, and jammed into the bed of my Tonka 4x4.


The Barbie without a left pinkie was the fetishist and she'd often blindfold Strawberry Shortcake and sniff her all over. Custard wore a spiked collar made of toothpicks.


One day the Barbie without a head convinced Donny and Marie to put pink and blue Life pegs through the holes in their hands. The Barbies pretended the pegs were hits of acid and got the Osmonds to think they could fly.


The Barbie Town House had a pulley system for the house elevator. Ken and Skipper enjoyed a quick romp on top of the elevator while it was going up, jumping off on the third floor just before they'd be crushed to death.


I had to give some of my dolls distinguishing marks so I could keep track of all of their fetishes. I didn't want the nudist Barbies to end up bathing with the dolls that liked to sleep with Weebles. Barbie GreenHair liked to take baths in cotton balls. She also enjoyed wrapping herself from head to toe in toilet paper. Skipper MarkerFace enjoyed cutting the hair off other Barbie dolls and taping it to her back. One doll had hair that would grow if you pushed a button on her back or shorten if you twisted her arm. The other Barbies would torture her by pulling on her hair while twisting her arm at the same time. Then they'd eat her hair. Barbie BackwardsLegs enjoyed riding cats. She'd strap herself on and hang on for dear life while they'd buck and toss and eventually eat her head. She was a wild one, Barbie BackwardsLegs. I miss the hell out of her.


Boys loved girls, girls loved girls, boys loved boys, and boys loved girls that loved girls. Anything went in the Barbie Town House.


And, oh, man, they still talk about the day Jem and the Holograms showed up with six bottles of tequila and a roll of paper towels.


Love until later,


Anna K

I've never read any actual blogs because I don't want to be disillusioned.

- Mindy

 

[dececious]

That was a great blog entry.

I have a blod on one of the bigger sites, have had for abut four years, in various incanrations after people found it, or I suspscted that they would.

I wish I still had the entries for when I was going through my sexual awakening phase.
I dont know, theres just something about strangers reading and commenting on your innermost most private thoughts ; kind of like writing stroke in a way.

Theyre also a great alternative to email - people can log in and catch up on whats happening in your life when you're too lazy to send them personal and private emails, my close friend in CA who I've known for what eight years? and I keep in touch mostly by reading each others blogs. Its a handy way to do it.

D