Blogs are great. Aren’t blogs great? What did people do before blogs? Garden? Knit?
Back then, did anyone spend hours and hours of their free time performing an activity, writing reams about it, maybe painting the subject, and then go to the town square and offer copies to strangers at absolutely no charge (okay, not counting rabble-rousers and politicians)?
How do some people find the incredible amounts of time required to, say, produce exquisitely-arranged tableaus of food (while babbling for long lengths of time about the making of it and providing the recipes) for what appears to be no apparent gain except for the murmurs of admiration and nods of “hep-to” agreement on the sagacity of the choices of ingredients from legions of commentator-fans?
Okay, I agree that last was a mouthful, but just what do these people ever get from six hours of intense work except for lots of pats on the back? Will their deathbed speech be, “But I really blogged that Sweet Potato Pie, didn’t I, honey? And your photos were . . . were . . .”
Yes, I myself am probably guilty of such indulgences, but the novelty of spending an entire day working on a 5-minute video quickly wore off, when I viewed the ensuing kitchen disaster and contemplated the 12 messages on my machine. Occasionally, yeah, but three times a week?
That’s a career, for chrissake.
Scrabble, anyone?
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