The Death of Bloggi... Hey, wait a minute!

According to an article written by Paul Boutin for Wired Mag, the blog is dead. Effective immediately. Paul argues that blogs are sooooo 2004 (like faux hawks) and personal blogs have become the exact opposite: too impersonal. According to him, the blogsphere is overrun by large, professional, corporate blogs...

"Impersonal is correct: Scroll down Technorati's list of the top 100 blogs and you'll find personal sites have been shoved aside by professional ones. Most are essentially online magazines: The Huffington Post. Engadget. TreeHugger. A stand-alone commentator can't keep up with a team of pro writers cranking out up to 30 posts a day."

Furthermore, he also offers that because of these professional, corporate blogs, the voice of the independent commentator is lost...

"When blogging was young, enthusiasts rode high, with posts quickly skyrocketing to the top of Google's search results for any given topic, fueled by generous links from fellow bloggers. In 2002, a search for "Mark" ranked Web developer Mark Pilgrim above author Mark Twain. That phenomenon was part of what made blogging so exciting. No more. Today, a search for, say, Barack Obama's latest speech will deliver a Wikipedia page, a Fox News article, and a few entries from professionally run sites like Politico.com. The odds of your clever entry appearing high on the list? Basically zero."

But what if you don't care about Google's search index and how your posts rank? Boudin's argument hinges on the presupposition that those who write blogs are in it, basically, for the all mighty search engine results. Personally? I couldn't give a rat's-ass and hadn't even thought about these so-called "search engine rankings" until I stumbled across his article. Someone once asked me why I even bother blogging. My answer is simple: I basically see my blog as a digital log, a journal if you will, documenting the highs and lows of my-so-called-life. It serves as a method in which I can remember things. I look back at my 20's and all those nights and epic times of drunken tom foolery are un-remembered, lost to the folds of my shrinking memory because, well, they were exactly that: long nights and epic times of drunken tom foolery.*

*Note: I use 'drunken tom foolery' as an all encompassing definition; I swear to you that I am not your atypical hooligan fratboy. However, if I were to go into detail about the various substances I have toyed with/abused in my past, it would read like a shopping list of an Asian Triad's chem lab. It's a wonder sometimes how I even continue to function. -(cue Green Velvet)

Furthermore, Boudin also argues that Web 2.0 technologies have also rendered the blog obsolete. Twitter, MySpace and Facebook all make posting rich content much more simple. Why bother with the long form of composition, when you can easily post a few pics, add a snatchy tag and watch the self-inflating comments roll in? "OMG, you're so cute" and " Gasp! Your outfit looks so HOT with your hair". Ummm, no thanks. I actually prefer long-form writing. (maybe it's because I still write cursively?) and I believe that taking the time to compose your thoughts and form complete sentences (in my case quasi) provides more insight into a person's character than any vapid party pic+witty comment ever could. Facebook? More like Fakebook; people's profiles always seem to relay how they want to be viewed in public, not how they actually are. My onceuponatime FB profile? Heck, even I wanted to sleep with myself. And as for Twitter? Well personally, I like to travel beyond the 140 character limit to express my thoughts and emotions.


So call me old fashioned (apparently that's what happens as you age). I write long form. Sometimes cursively. I open the door for ladies and pay for things on the first date (I still call them dates, apparently). And I blog. But as long as the drunken tom-foolery continues (and you know it will), I'll keep posting. And somewhere, someone (hopefully) will be laughing. (or at least pointing and laughing...)

I apologize for this long winded rant. I blame it on my roommate... he made me use my brain. It won't happen again. Promise. Your regularly scheduled programming of pointless accounts of social stumblings and popcprm pop culture will re-commence shortly...