One of the strange trends of our overly technical time is the proliferation of Blogs. I blame the Christmas form letter for starting it all. Give a mom a PC, and she will give the world carefully formatted Christmas letters detailing how little Johnny learned to use the toilet and how baby Sarah lost her first tooth in grandmaâ€šÃ„Ã´s homemade toffee. Then came email. Short letters burst wildly across the world, sent to 1000s and demanding response from none. And then came the almighty Blog. The forwards ended. Direct contact ended. Want to know something about someone â€šÃ„Ã¬ go read their LG or Blogspot or [insert other electronic diary programs here].
At a certain level, I understand the beauty of the Blog. â€šÃ„ÃºLove me for who I project myself to be!â€šÃ„Ã¹ it screams. â€šÃ„ÃºLet me share myself, but allow me to edit my words before you see them.â€šÃ„Ã¹ From this side of my monitor, I will never see your smile, or hear your laugh, but I will also never see that look of â€šÃ„ÃºWow, that was a stupid thing to say.â€šÃ„Ã¹ In general, I will never know if you read my sometimes stumbling, my sometimes sleep deprived, and my sometimes only amusing to me thoughts on life, the universe and everything.
There is a Chinese tradition that gifts are never opened in front of the giver. That way no offense can be given if the gift is hated and the disgust shows on the recipientâ€šÃ„Ã´s face. I give this Blog to you, gentle reader, although Iâ€šÃ„Ã´m not sure if it is a gift â€šÃ„Ã¬ that is for you to decide. Read it from the anonymity of your screen. Comment if you are moved. Forget what you see if youâ€šÃ„Ã´re not. I will never see the look on your face as you either love or hate my words.
In our digital world, I invite you to digitally dialogue with me here on these pages. With these words, I thee Blog.
And I will always handwrite my Christmas cards (which is why they’ll always be late).