A rationale for blogging

I started this blog because the idea of an online diary intrigued me. I never was any good at keeping up with a private journal, perhaps because I was the only one who would ever enjoy it. So I started a weblog in the hopes that someone else (mainly my loved ones, who are contractually obligated to view and delight in my every written word) might enjoy my entries.

I try to write each blog entry as a distinct story or personal essay on the amusing or interesting bits of my life. Some people write in their blogs every day, but I enjoy blogging much more if I can take more time, but do so less frequently, on a topic of my choice. As Twitter's microblogging becomes more and more popular, I prefer keeping my traditional blog entries longer and less about what I happen to be doing on any given day. This setting provides an opportunity for me to reflect carefully, with no pressures on word limits, so I try to use it to the fullest.

I often find writing in my blog challenging because it lacks a theme, consistent subject matter, and even a viewpoint besides the vague one of my own. It changes with me, which means it's not just a blog on library science or a blog on young professionals or a blog on English majors or a blog on wedding planning; it's (currently) all of these, and it will likely grow with my future experiences and interests.

Other blogs which have a more limited focus I find more successful than mine. One of my favorite blogs is The Kitchn, a blog for not only recipes but also cooking techniques, kitchen gadgets, and really any topic that people who love food or food preparation might find interesting. There are several writers who blog on various topics - for instance, one person writes about only cheeses - but despite the various viewpoints, the blog feels cohesive with a distinct voice, outlook, and visual appearance. The blog lacks the extensive recipe selections of a site like All Recipes, but what it lacks in breadth it more than makes up for in depth. These writers are people who clearly care about the craft of cooking and baking. Posts are written to simply highlight an unusual ingredient or discuss the produce of a local farmer's market. Reading this blog truly makes me better aware of what I eat (without the sense of a guilt-ridden nutrition lecture) and more interested in trying out new recipes (which range from the intriguingly complex to the blissfully simple).

In the efforts to try a more directed blog, I did create another blogger site for an interest of mine. I called it Book Cover Judge. Not only does this allow me to try to write on a specific niche, it also gives me an outlet for a slightly more silly tone. And who knows? Perhaps someday BCJ will become my "professional" blog.

Here are those URLs:
www.thekitchn.com
www.bookcoverjudge.blogspot.com

Occupational hazard

From George Eliot's character Mary Garth in Middlemarch:

Oh, I have an easy life--by comparison. I have tried being a teacher, but I am not fit for that: my mind is too fond of wandering on its own way. I think that hardship is better than pretending to do what one is paid for, and never really doing it.

Heck yes. That last sentiment may very well be this year's motto for me. Going to graduate school is going to be so so so expensive. I have applied, been accepted, and registered for classes, and I am just now calculating how much this is going to cost me. But, as Mary points out, living a difficult life in debt, eating ramen--you've heard it all before-- can't be any worse than the full-time position (it's not teaching, though) that I plan to walk away from in just over 2 weeks.

It's not a bad job, and I shouldn't complain about (nor quit, perhaps?) any job in the current financial climate, or economic crisis or however we're addressing the sinusoidal plunge into what appears to be hopelessly shark-infested (-invested?) waters. The problem is that I have way too much free time in an eight-hour day and way too much personal research I am tempted to conduct on my company's time. Not only am I starting grad school, but I'm also planning a Wedding this year. With internet access and a "privacy hutch," as I call it, I have way too much opportunity to plan! Or register! Or vent! But this would be ethically bad of me. If only I was kept too busy to allow my mind to fondly wander. But then I might not be pursuing my advanced-degree dreams after all.

P. S. The runner-up Middlemarch quote-of-my-year:

The bethrothed bride must see her future home, and dictate any changes that she would like to have made there. A woman dictates before marriage in order that she may have an appetite for submission afterwards.

Tee hee.

Engaging news

I have been engaged to be married for three weeks. I vowed not to become "the bride" for the entire year or so leading up to the wedding day. You must know the type I'm referring to. "The bride," as opposed to a woman getting married, is the girl who clearly was only pretending to care about other things in her life until the magical day she could start her wedding plans. These are the girls you stare at in disbelief, struggling to understand why anyone would talk about tulle bows or paper favor boxes, let alone actually make them. You wonder if it takes so much energy hauling around a diamond all day that the mind becomes too exhausted to consider anything more challenging than cake fillings or ribbon colors.

But as a woman now engaged, I will not defend the behavior of the bride, but I cannot point my finger (diamond-clad or any other) any longer. Something happens to you when you become an engaged woman. Something almost...sinister. As if the combination of gemstone and precious metal against your skin seeps some frothy-white, champaign-flavored poison into your bloodsteam, then interrupts and forever alters (altars??) your brain's behavior. Consider the following changes I have noticed in these last three weeks:

1. After receiving the song-and-ring combo, I was unable to focus my mind on anything for hours. Friends reported glazed, wide eyes and unresponsiveness. I remember very little of this evening; perhaps the shock of the ring knocked me unconscious.

2. Since that evening, I find that the ring constantly demands my attention. I lose several hours a day at the office, staring into the face of my diamond, thinking only about shininess and/or sparkles. I am becoming OCD in the care of my band. I shine, shine, buff, buff but never enough.

3. Good but foolish people often trap themselves in my rambling spell by asking a seemingly innocent question: "How are the plans coming?" During these half-hour talks, I am faintly aware that I have lost control of my mouth, but there's no roping it in. My mouth has no problem with revealing every detail on my mind, including wedding drama I may have wanted to keep private.

4. I have neither the time nor even the interest to read a non-wedding related book or magazine. My netflix DVD I received two weeks ago is still in its red envelope, collecting dust on my TV. I blog exclusively about wedding matters. Theknot.com knows me by name.

5. My fiance must gently explain to me that his brain won't be able to take any more wedding talk after a certain hour of the day. I respond by talking twice as fast to fit everything in.

6. I didn't hesitate one second at the switch in calling him "fiance" instead of the 4-year old title "boyfriend."

So clearly, I am bewitched! As if love wasn't mind-altering (altar?? where? when?) enough.

Excuses, excuses!

Well, it's January, which means I'm attempting to change my life with Oprah. This means not eating cookies every day, drinking more water and less coffee, slouching less, and yes, going to the hot, stinky gym three times a week.

Recently I stayed up late enough to catch the repeat of Oprah's show. She was going over her "weightloss confession" and kept saying "no one likes to work out." So true. I think it's just not in our genes to enjoy physical labor. I suspect people who say they do like working out really just find satisfaction in the pride and sense of accomplishment that comes after. Pushing your muscles to their limits is never going to be a pleasurable sensation. I wonder what our Cro-Magnon ancestors would think of their children today if they could be alive to see it (and possess capacity for language and abstract thought). Here we are, trotting along on machines, running towards nothing and to catch nothing! Maybe they would be most amazed at how flabby we all are. Maybe they would chase us down, mistaking us for chubby prey.

Somehow I forced myself to ignore my ancient instincts not to waste calories on a purposeless run and arrived at the gym! But not without thinking of a million excuses for me NOT to work out. Here are just a few of ways my voice of "reason" pleaded with me to turn back:

"It's so cold out. I'm going to be miserable walking back to the car wearing shorts."
"There's never any good machines open."
"I've been feeling bloated all day. That's no way to work out."
"Also, I have a weird pain on my finger."
"I've got so much housework waiting for me. Maybe I should get a headstart on that instead of working out today."
"Changing in the gym's basement takes so long. If only I had a gym in my apartment building."
"I'm probably going to get athlete's foot changing in this gross locker room."
"I didn't remember a hair tie! I can't work out with my hair loose! I should go home--wait, I found one. Darn."

I won the battle, I suppose, but the war may be endless and very whiny.