I love to write . . . sometimes. I hate writing . . . sometimes. I’m saying that blogging can be a love/hate proposition . . . or not.
Set all that aside. When I consider my years of experience with all things Web, I sometimes get shudders at how primitive things were prior to Netscape and IE being the two major choices for browsers, and even after. Because I was around for the Jurassic period of the Internet, I, quite honestly, marvel at what I can do from home. Or at the mall . . . or even during a lull in the action at an NBA game because I have devices with micro-processers and wifi and cellular connections and retina displays . . . and battery life.
Blogging gives me an outlet to express how I perceive all that advancement, connectivity and growth. It lets me vent about youngsters and even Hillary Clinton so enamored and engaged with their iPhones, Blackberries and Androids, that they tune out to the world around them. Blogging lets me lament the loss of simpler times . . . and when I say simpler times, I’m only harking back to the 1970s . . . after Roe v. Wade, after Nixon’s resignation, after the Viet Nam War.
Television, back then, was what three networks plus PBS served up, before the concept of syndication took hold . . . before streaming content, YouTube and on demand programming . . . and I had a grandfather that actually declared that in his day, “Television was called Books!” (Shocking to have heard that line for the umpteenth time when watching The Princess Bride for the first time) . . . Well, my fellow Old Farts can relate.
At times blogging can be cathartic. A shedding of stuff kept bottled up inside you until it starts to spill out, and then the dam bursts, and in the end, you feel spent, exhausted and then renewed.
For those of you who remember the Life Cereal commercials of the 70s, “Try it. You’ll like it.” Apply that to blogging.