I usually hang out on my own blog—writing, editing, tweaking, snickering at my incredible wit—aha, aha, aha . . . .
Today I decided to venture out onto other people’s blogs for a while. You know, to broaden my horizons, scope out the competition, compare notes. But it wasn’t quite what I expected, wandering away from my own backyard.
I strolled past the photographic journals of young moms and sweet babies, a couple of sports stops with no pictures at all, and mouth watering websites from cooking enthusiasts.
But barely had I begun this journey when the whole terrain changed suddenly, and no one spoke in English anymore. Page after attractive page was written entirely in Spanish, including a site promoting an Asian boy band (I’m so confused.) It doesn’t do me any good to follow foreign blogs--not only is my passport expired, but I was a rebel in high school and took French instead of sensible Spanish. Je ne fait pas hablas espanol. But don’t quote me on that.
I thought if I kept going, I might find a detour back to blogs written in my native tongue. But on the thirteenth click of the ‘Next Blog’ button, poof! Just like that—a dead end. No pretty graphics or catchy titles or modest bio’s. Just an atheistic stop. Total nothingness. It was as though there were no more blogs in existence anywhere else in cyberspace.
Do you know what happens when a blog dies? It’s like a collapsing star, leaving a black hole in the internet. There’s no forwarding address at the top of a deceased blog. Only a notice that no one else can use their blog name. Well, who would want to? It sounds like an Amityville horror. ‘Move to this site at your own risk.’ I can take a hint.
It turns out, after a quick yet scientific scan of the average homemade blog, that most of them have the lifespan of a common house fly. It’s almost epidemic. In fact, in the minute it took for me to come over here and make notes, a blog actually expired. Seriously! It was there one minute and gone the next. By the time I got back, all that was left was this eulogy: ‘Page Not Found . . . this blog has been removed by the author’. Tragic. What kind of a writer would DO something like that to their very own blog? It’s just so . . . heartless.
And where does that leave us, the innocent bystanders? We don’t know where to go from here. The back button just leads to all those foreign language entries. Who knows what they’re talking about there. They’re probably making fun of my hairstyle and shoes. There’s no forward button to click, no ‘next blog’ tab, not even a coupon good for a consolation cookie.
Thinking that a running jump would send me soaring high OVER the dead end blog, I went backward really fast and then clicked the forward arrow even faster. Pointless. I landed square in the dead letter file again. Only now the page read, “I told you three times already, there’s no blog here. Go home and leave me alone.”
Blogs got attitudes.
I only uncovered twelve blogs before crashing into the death star blog Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken. There were two with entries over three months old, one with a Dear John blog announcing the author had grown tired of his fling with journalism and wished it well, six written in a language I can only assume was foreign (although the photos were nice), a tenth from a young mother announcing she was expecting again and would now be too busy to update, another from a year ago with the short entry, “I’ve moved on. yup. for a long time.” And the twelfth belonged to a sports fan whose final post prophesied the outcome of the 2010 World Series.
Wow. This blogging stuff isn’t for lightweights, is it? Finally, I headed back to the safety of my own blog.
I guess Dorothy was right—there’s no place like home. Even if it’s a winepress.