I think I’m a blog snob.
I know that it’s free to have a blog. I know that the only qualification you need to have a blog is a pair of opposable thumbs to make a username and a password. Wait – you don’t even need that – I know a couple of blogging dogs. They’re better bloggers than I am, actually. They don’t use sentence fragments at every possible opportunity. They don’t mention opposable thumbs in every single post. Their vocabulary is undoubtedly more…um, evolved (ha ha). They don’t laugh at their own puns. In fact, I think one of them has published a book.
And yet, having a blog makes me feel special.
If you’re feeling a sense of déjà vu right now, it’s probably because I have written a post like this before. It’s called ‘I like you, WordPress. I like you a lot.’ In that particular post, I whinged about having five followers and made a virtual puppy-dog face in the vague hope that something would come out of it. WordPress felt pity for this blogger who had apparently been driven to the edge of desperation, and as a result, Freshly Pressed me (that still sounds wrong). On a side note: I should probably clarify that the post in question was not shadow advertising. It’s a mere coincidence that I was Freshly Pressed for a post that hails WordPress as the giver of all good things and the beacon of light that dispels the darkness from my world of hopelessness and oblivion.
Now that I have sufficiently flaunted my Freshly Pressed badge in your face, I’ll come to the point. This post is not like its predecessor. That one hinted at my miserable narcissistic tendencies. This one openly flaunts my miserable narcissistic tendencies. So you can keep reading (unless you had already stopped reading when I began waving my Freshly Pressed badge in the air).
So why does having a blog make me feel special? Well, of course, it’s firstly because I have followers – the very word makes me think of hoards of people genuflecting (I can’t let the blogging dogs get ahead of me so I bought a dictionary) at the altar of my magnificence. But it’s also because having a blog makes me feel like a member of the elite. I personally know only three other people with blogs. And although anyone can have a blog, as I’ve ascertained above, the fact that I was actually allowed to have one makes me feel good. Different. Privileged. Not just another member of the motley crowd.
It’s alright if this is just limited to feeling good about myself. However, I’m ashamed to say I’m not a background blogger. I do my best to mention my blog in any appropriate scenario. It’s not obvious enough to make me seem like a prig – I don’t go around yelling, “Look at me! I’ve got a blog!” but it’s meant to send out subliminal messages to anyone who’s listening:
“Now that you mention it, I wrote something about that on MY BLOG the other day.”
“I was so happy yesterday because somebody new followed MY BLOG.”
“Do you have a blog? I MYself love to BLOG.”
Another thing I do when it comes to my blog, is behaving like a blog snob. It’s like intellectual snobbery, but with absolutely no valid reason to behave like a snob. When I have an argument with someone who doesn’t have a blog, I’m ashamed to say that the first thing that comes to mind is always, ‘Do you have a blog? Didn’t think so.’ I don’t say it, but the thought’s there in my head, hand in hand with another thought, ‘I have a blog. Therefore I am better than you.’ These thoughts cloud any rational arguments that I may have, and I’m left saying, quite limply, “I’m telling you, I’m right. I can’t explain exactly why I’m right, but be sure check my blog periodically – I’ll post an explanation when I can think of one.” Just a bit of advice: That doesn’t work. Especially not with your mother.
Sometimes, when somebody says something I don’t like, my first thought is, ‘I’m going to write about you on my blog.’ It’s a different matter that I don’t actually end up doing that. But the fact that I actually thought of it makes me devious.
Yes, the thug life did, in fact, choose me.
To conclude: I love having a blog. I love having followers. I love to walk around, knowing that I’m somehow superior to everyone else simply because I have a username and a password. I love that there is a platform on which I can be the intellectual equivalent of a dog with circumlocutional abilities.
And, WordPress, I will use this platform well, because with great power comes great responsibility.
P.S: A message to the guy who tried to trip me over today:
You’re fatuous. So there.