Six Degrees of...you know
But this season is already so infested with panicky feelings of being late with everything. Christmas cards have not even been picked up from the printer. More than half the shopping is still to be done. Book banning harpies surround my daily volunteer library activities at the youngest son's school, and well-meaning relatives keep sending me pictures of a decorated Christmas tree with the reminder that I must NEVER refer to it as a holiday tree or the Baby Jesus will smite me. Truthfully, though, I do feel lately as though I've already been smited. Smote? Smitten? Anyway, I never called them Holiday (read: Holy Day, people. Say it with me now) Trees before, but now--you know---what with all the mindless hysteria and all I have half a mind to just say it anyway. HOLIDAY TREE. There. I said it. But I digress.
I really just mean to outline why I started blogging...aside from the pathetic need to express myself to a wider audience. I can trace it all to one man...Pulitzer Prize winner, Michael Chabon.
I'm a big fan of his work ("Wonder Boys" and "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay")...so much so that I also became interested in his the work of his wife, the public defender/ writer Ayelet Waldman. For a while, Waldman had a blog, though she quit writing on it some time ago. Her website indicated a number of websites that she visited regularly, and one was called The Imperfect Parent.
I enjoyed that site so much that I looked at the websites they listed. One of those was Dooce.
Dooce (Heather Armstrong) is like the Mothership of all bloggers. I read her every day.
Dooce disabled her comments on her site, so all anyone can do is read her posts, but she mentioned the website of another blogger in one of her posts. That led me to a huge world where people write and others comment and, if that commenter has a site, your computer bookmarks become uncomfortably stuffed with webside addresses. It can...and frequently does spin completely out of control. You can spend hours reading and commenting. And I did just that.
Soon commenting isn't enough. Commenting is the gateway drug for the verybally inclined. I had to have a blog of my own. And now, I do.
So there it is in all it's abbreviated glory. The story of how and why I started blogging. What's your excuse?