Meta Matters

So, for whatever reason, my friends EB and SGS decided that I must start a blog despite my lack of interesting material. Well, I vacillated for a bit, scoped out their genius blogs, pondered how to start. The meager sum of my thoughts involved creating a list of American authors and commenting on whether they would make great bloggers or pathetic ones. Thomas Wolfe, for instance, might set the blogosphere on fire with his twice daily 10,000-word entries on his coffee and cigarette habits, while Emily Dickinson would wow the crowd with her tiny gems pregnant with the cosmos and the crucible. Hemingway would suck.  Dos Passos would rock. You get the picture: light, fun, pretentious.

On the very day (really, SGS, really) that I planned to unveil this hypothetical masterpiece, I discovered that EB had received a metaphorical kidney punch at work. Ignorance. Injustice. Insanity. Suddenly, my intellectual froth seemed perfectly ridiculous and inadequate. Suddenly, a bouncy prose style and a half-digested concept appeared as useful as a fourteenth-century map of the world.

Anyway, I’m arriving late to this party, and with empty hands, because EB needed her posse to shut up and listen. Blogs can wait, but friends can’t . . .


~ by Moldorf on February 24, 2010.

One Response to “Meta Matters”

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