My alumnae magazine, which I read from the first word through the last, had an article about our graduates who blog. With one exception, they were young, so very young, recent graduates. The one exception graduated about twenty years after me. While not exactly young, she wasn't exactly old either. I was old; she was middle aged. I was appalled. A batch of young bloggers, one middle aged blogger, but not a single blogger who'd qualify for a ride in one of those antique cars at reunion. Unacceptable. If a green grad can blog, surely a grayed grad can, too. Google made creating a blog possible.
Choosing a title was simple. I loathe the term "senior citizen" except when I'm getting a discount. When I called myself "an old bag," others looked pained. When I stumbled upon an "old baguette" that pained expression vanished. I even heard a giggle or two. I've called myself "an old baguette" for at least five years. In writing a blog, I would produce a "crumb" or two. "Crumbs" from "an old baguette. The name was established.
Would the crumbs be predictable? Whole wheat, rye, quinoa? Since the baguette isn't, the crumbs aren't. The baguette is, after all, old. I have learned that people need to know about it, or it won't be read. I'm also beginning to realize that something must be written or potential readers won't bother to read it. Oh dear. Blogs have deadlines. I, however, am an OLD baguette. A retired baguette. Is it necessary to be read? Answer me that, Readers. I continue to thank you for comments.
I consider myself to be an OFB. Old Fat and well the B is a male of questionable parentage. Is it necessary to be read? I don't know the answer to that question, but I find a desire to write, although I don't have a blog and I think perhaps a bit afraid to start one. Why the hell would anyone want to read what I have written or what I think is important? I am so out of the main stream interest in things, it might read like the blog of a member of a different species.
ReplyDeleteI used to keep a rather detailed journal, the only reader of such was myself. It satisfied the desire to write, but not the need to be read. Journal keeping is some what of a private art. Well so is posting on the Internet. We hide behind walls of anonymity and find that so very often we can really be ourselves. Maybe there in lies our need to be read. Not a need to be read so much as a desire to communicate our true selves with out all the worries of offense and keeping our good moral facade clear of any debris.
I don't know if it's necessary to be read, but I think it'll make my day to read your blog, so I signed up to follow you. I hope that means Google will send your blog to my email. (Otherwise I'll get here about as often as I get to Facebook which is rarely.)
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