Stay of Execution

Speaking of Bloggers

Looks like Mike, the proprietor of Buffalo Wings & Vodka is closing up his blog.  It's a sad day for all of us. 

I've been reading that blog for a long time, and knew just from the voice that I would like Mike.  Over the years we've exchanged some emails and chatted via instant messenger from time to time.  I've seen his wedding pictures.  We've talked about collaborating on a writing project.  Did we have a conference call with Jeremy, or was it only a three-person chat session?  I can't remember, but in any event, for a person I've never met, I have a pretty strong sense of Mike's personality.  He's in my tribe; we'd be friends if our paths crossed.  I still hope I'll end up wandering through Texas one of these days and we'll be able to have a beer together, and when I do I know it will be easy, and fun.  I believe that somehow this medium can capture a human voice pretty truthfully.

So that brings me to my story.  This fellow, Mr. Next Big Thing, he's a blog reader.  He had his own blog, for a time, and so he was on my radar screen a couple of years ago.  We exchanged emails from time to time, and mix CDs as part of a blogger-music swap back in the fall of 2004.  Turns out we like the same kind of music, and so from time to time after that we would email or comment to one another or even drop something in the mail.  Nice guy, good person.  If our paths ever crossed, I knew I'd enjoy him. 

And then we started communicating more and more, this spring and summer.  It got to be almost daily, and then it got to be several times a day.   He wooed me skillfully, and steadily, and I didn't really recognize it until it was too late.  By the time we spoke on the phone the first time I had a big crush; by the time we hung up I was captivated.  It was absurd; I didn't know what he looked like, beyond the picture he sent for the birthday party, and a couple of others.  And he lives too far away, in a place he loves about as deeply as I love Maine.  But every time I freaked out he was gentle and steady and reassuring, and so the courtship continued, and I got even more ensnared. 

And this weekend he flew to Boston to meet me.  It's the most improbable, irrational, romantic risk either of us has ever taken.  So far, so good.   

Miscellaneous Reading

A cool blog post about rethinking our attitude toward failure, to make us more receptive to what it can teach us. 

A post purporting to set forth some measures of self-esteem.  (Note: I resist this blog/book's title ("Never Eat Alone") even though I think I ascribe to its message of social networking and creating community whenever you can.  I just hate the phrase.  I think too many people are already afraid of being alone, eating alone, spending quiet time with their own thoughts.  If you watch people on airplanes rushing to switch on their cell phones when the flight touches down you've probably noticed this.  I think cultivating the ability to keep yourself company is important.)   

Sam Harris talking about, among other things, the difference between faith and mysticism.

Jeff Jarvis summarizes the Pew Internet Report about bloggers. 

Okay, Now You Can Help

I've never done this before, and don't anticipate doing it again, but I've enabled a "tip jar" for anyone who wants to help contribute to a new mast.  I feel sort of sheepish about it.  There are many other good causes in the world.  And I am happy if you read forever and never donate.   

But a new mast -- even a new used mast -- is expensive.  They're hard to find.  There's one in California, circa 2001, for $1500, although getting it here would be another thing altogether.  I've heard tell of one in Massachusetts for about $2000.  For someone who frets about filling her car up with gas each week, that's prohibitive.   Someday, my ship will come in and I'll feel a sense of abundance again.  But right now, I'm pretty poor. 

The boat is insured and I've made a claim, but I'm not optimistic about what I can get from the insurance company.  We'll see.  The mast was more than 30 years old, I'm sure.

I was talking to the HOT girls about the idea of having a party where we charge $5 a head, or pass around a tip jar, to raise some funds.  We will sail again.  We're talking to people in the fleet about borrowing a mast, or a boat.  We will sail again.      

I'm trying to think of a good carrot to dangle to encourage you to donate.  I could send you something, but what?  A picture of something?  You could request a post -- like a premium "All Request" service?  We could do another Blog Party, but this one for people who tip?  Other thoughts?  Let me know what would be a fun inducement, and I'll do it.  The link should be right there in the sidebar, or you can click here to donate. 

The Covenant of the Blog

I am interested in the question of what the implied promises are between blogger and blog reader. Synciti's comments pushing me to live up to the "unspoken pact" are well-taken, and although I suppose part of me bristles at it because sometimes it feels like an uncomfortable burden, I agree that there is a pact of sorts, in almost any writing, between writer and reader.  I aspire to be a good blogger, and I have some ideas about what that means.  I've never put them down explicitly, though.  Let's see if I can unpack them. 

I'll start with what I DON'T believe is part of the pact.  There are some things that other blog authors seem to think are important that I don't subscribe to.  I don't feel any obligation to be complete -- to tell you about EVERYTHING.  I don't feel much obligation to finish stories, or to wrap them up tidily, or even to loop back on narratives and follow up on things.  I don't mind leaving you wondering, or leaving some context out.  I don't feel an obligation to introduce characters to you.  I don't feel an obligation to be perfectly sequential.  There are tons of "bloggable" moments and anecdotes and characters that slip through, that I think you would like and sometimes that I even think about how to describe to you, but that aren't on my mind when I sit down to write.  I know the blog would be better if I gave you more pictures, more often, but the truth is I don't take pictures all that often.  I don't feel an obligation to polish everything up, or to make it pretty and perfect before I publish, or even to think through everything.  You get what you get. 

I think readers of a blog have a covenant of sorts, too.  In other words, I think there are ways to be a fair, thoughtful, positive contributor as a reader that are fairly clear, if often unspoken.

My first stab at what I think are my own (voluntarily undertaken) obligations, and those of my reader/contributors, is below.  I know that I fall down on these some of the time, and I think it's okay to call me on it when I do.  And I know that you guys are here of your own free will, and needn't subscribe to my ideas about an "unspoken pact" just as I needn't subscribe to yours.  Still, I'd like to hear your thoughts. 

Irritating Self-Regard Indeed

Synciti opines that the writing around here is suffering, lately.  I agree.  I'm blue, still, and writing about that seems too risky -- either too vulnerable, or too likely to cross into indulgent whining or a plaintive wail.  That's the voice I'm scared of unbottling, and right now it's filling my head a lot.  So I don't open up out here about the tenderest moments and write instead about the other things, and maybe something about that doesn't ring true.  I'm less open to magic right now than usual, and that means I can give less of it to you. 

I don't want to write for an audience.  I write better when I don't worry what you guys might think, indeed when I forget there's a "you guys" at all.  May go back to a paper and pen for a while.  I dunno.  Or I'll fumble along here, trying to write some sort of truth without it getting too indulgent.  I'm not sure I'll succeed.  I'm not sure I can plan that all that well, or that it will improve things here if I worry about it.  Still, I do.  It's hard not to remember that this site comes up when anyone -- family, friends, employer, prospective dates, enemies -- Googles me.  It's hard to keep being brave, especially when I feel less strong than usual.  I feel soft, and sad.  That's not the best self that I want to project here to the world.  It's scary.   

Irritable

Wrote a long, brilliant post yesterday about 'the sisterhood,' but it was eaten by Typepad during the service failure.  That's really irritating.

By the sisterhood I mean that code of ethics that governs behavior among women, whether we know or like one another or not.  The basic rule is that you won't compete for a man's attention, or be a party to any kind of betrayal of another woman.  Some women are in the sisterhood, and some aren't.  And those who are don't trust those who aren't. 

I've been thinking about the sisterhood lately, and why it seems important.  I've been thinking about the way women judge one another and choose to trust one another, and what the sisterhood has to do with that.  I haven't figured it all out yet, but what I had figured out, Typepad has swallowed up.  Sigh.

You Don't Have To Dance After All

The person I invited to go to 517 and Neighbor's wedding this August is someone I've never met.  But it turns out he knows Neighbor, and we've been email friends for a year or two now, and I have been looking forward to meeting him in person because I just know we'll enjoy one another.  He doesn't like to dance at weddings, and I was insisting that if he come he dance at least a little bit, but he wasn't ready to capitulate.

Anyway, he turned me down, and I don't even get to be petulant about it, because his excuse is watertight.  He can't come to the wedding because he just got diagnosed with two cancers.  He's about to have his stomach removed, and then his kidney.  And he's writing about it, with the amazing voice he has.  It's powerful stuff: funny, and straightforward, and honest, and interesting.  Go read it, and join me in rooting for Ogged, who is learning how to pray and, in the process, teaching me how. 

Does It Feel Like Spying?

I got an email from a friend this morning who wrote about reading my most recent entry: "I felt like I was in a room where I shouldn't have been, watching something unfold...."  I've had reactions like that before, from friends, who feel they need to confess to me that they read the blog.  "I feel like a voyeur, I want you to know that I know this about you, that I'm following your life this way."

I am grateful for those reactions.  They feel flattering.  And often when I write something personal, a memory or a snippet, I don't get very many comments.  If I note that my toilet is leaking I get a dozen helpful responses, but when I write something personal you folks are often silent, leaving me wondering if I've bored you or been too self-indulgent.  Should I go back to leaky-toilet blogging?  (I could tell you about my automatic garage door opener, which seems to have a gremlin in it, making it open and close by itself, at mysterious times.  I think it's rain induced.  Very mysterious.  I am hoping that ignoring it will solve the problem.) 

Anyway, it should be obvious but it isn't, always.  It's okay if you read these memories.  I'm publishing them on the Internet.  You're not spying on me.   I don't write about things that are truly private.  I'm trying to be braver and braver in my own life, and one of the ways I'm doing that is challenging myself to share things that scare me, to expose my own soft spots.  I have a lot of soft spots.  Part of the practice of having this weblog is learning not to be ashamed of my own tender heart, not to try to pretend all the time. 

But if you feel like a voyeur, I guess in some ways that feels like a confirmation of something.  I am really sharing myself, here.  I'm trying not to use this space as a projection screen for a false self, a persona that I am hiding behind.  When I sit down to write I don't often think about what readers will think about something. I write what I am thinking about, and then before I hit publish I ask, "is this something I will regret posting?  Is it hurtful or too private?"  I write first, and there are plenty of things I write that I just save as drafts, and don't make public.  What you are getting is a glimpse into my memories and reflections, my process.  I feel safe sharing this with you.  So far, mostly, people are kind and generous in your responses.  You've made me realize I don't need to hide everything away, and that all of us have tender memories and soft spots. 

So, if you feel like you're spying on me, I want you to know that you are and you aren't.  I'm showing you pieces of me that we might not ever talk about, in the ordinary course of knowing one another.  But I trust you.  I don't mind you knowing.  And if what I write touches you, let me know, because it makes me feel even safer. 

More Things I Try Not To Write About

There are some things that I won't blog about on principle.  I break these rules from time to time, for sure, but some things just seem like losing propositions to write about.  That's not because I think these are bad topics or because they're not part of my life, but because I think devoting space to them would make for a bad blog.  It's really out of respect for you and your time that I keep my mouth shut, although in a couple of areas it's out of respect for myself and my privacy. 

Some of these topics:

1) The lousy weather, or being sick.  These bum everyone out.  My take on them isn't new, or unique.  Nothing to be learned here. 
2) My insecurities about my body.  What's less interesting than a woman with body image issues?  Not much. 
3) Television programs.  I watch very few, and even when I'm interested and absorbed by them, I have no reason to believe anything I have to say about them is unique. 
4) My love life.  Alas, it's always in flux, and I've got too many doubts and fears about it to make it feel safe to talk about it on the Internet.  Remind me that reaching out long distance is often a risky enterprise.  Sigh. 
5) Money.  I went from earning more than enough to earning a little less than enough, and so money's on my mind a lot.  The anxiety I have about it is tedious and private.  I'll figure it out.  No need to talk about it.
6) House and home projects: the garbage disposal, the bathroom, the yard, the endless to-do list of owning a home.  I don't think I have much interesting to add here.
7) Politics.  There are too many other, smarter voices clamoring for attention.  Doesn't mean I don't care. 
8) Memes or quizzes of various sorts.  I'm as narcissistic as anyone, but even I can't imagine that anyone wonders which animal I am, or which deadly sin I am, or which classic rock song I am, or whatever the metaphorical personality quiz of the day is. 

Some Days

One of the things I love about weblogs is the glimpses I get into the daily lives of people I'll probably never meet.  One of my favorite glimpses is into Jill's life.  Some days I just want to be adopted by her, and live in her house.  I know my fingers would smell like geranium leaves and we'd do fun projects together and there would be soup bubbling on the stove.  We'd paint our bicycles and ride together down to get the groceries.  Wouldn't that be fun?