Blogs suck, and so does blogging. I've considered the possibility that all people who blog - or at least do so regularly - are afflicted with either extreme narcissism or a ridiculous amount of time on their hands. How else would they have so much time to post "lolcat" pictures and whine about their girlfriend/boyfriend's extreme paranoid-manic episodes that resulted in them being kidnapped in Turkmenistan for a few hours?
That's one of the reasons blogs suck; how can people with such extreme self-loathing manage to write thousand word entries on themselves without realizing how completely full of themselves they really are? God knows - I can already tell it, and I don't care to continue reading until the authors figure it out for themselves. However, setting aside the attention whores, the mouth breathing furries, those who opened blogs after an emotionally crippling ban from Deviantart, and pretty much all of livejournal.com, what are we really left with?
There are film review blogs and video game review blogs; there are personal blogs and travel blogs; there are religious blogs and blogs that advocate secularism/atheism; there are political blogs and music blogs; there are obscure shit blogs and even more obscure shit blogs. Almost all of these are useless. There are too many of these damn pages and too few of them provide any actual content.
Is this rant going anywhere? Am I announcing my retirement from the "blogosphere" (Lord help me, I hate that term too)? Did I write this with the sole intention to write as many repetitive rhetorical questions as I felt? No, it's a simple observation. Print media is dying; "Electronic Gaming Monthly" - a publication that drove much of my literacy as a younger person - is going to be printing its final issue in February. I don't play new video games. As a matter of fact, I rarely have the time to play older ones. But as I read the online entertainment software editorials on sites like GameFAQs and watch the videos of amateurs (of varying degrees) on Youtube, I find myself with an opportunity to whine about the impending death of prosaic composition and style, and contemplate how I've actively contributed to it.
These are a few hundred words in which I've expressed my self-loathing, and yet still, a hundred words written about myself, by myself.
Yeah, blogging sucks.