Illusion/Reality: No Pressure

Once upon a time, the written word had heft. Originally because it was scratched into a rock. Then because it was painstakingly painted onto that rare new invention, paper. (Skipping papyrus, vellum, et al for expedience.) Even when literacy became more common, education was not, thus giving publication gravitas which mere verbal discourse lacked. The drunk old guy shouting on the street lacked the credibility of anything Mr. Boswell wrote about his buddy Sam, though their conclusions might have been similar.

What changed? Accessibility, for one thing. From political rants printed on foolscap and handed out on streetcorners, to tabloids, to talk radio, to … this. The blog.

Anybody can do it. (www.blogspot.com, if a Luddite like me can set it up, your dog can.) In fact, one could argue that almost everyone has. It may soon be mathematically possible to have more blogs in cyberspace than there are laptops, PCs and Blackberry™s combined.

And that’s where illusion comes in. The illusion of dignity, of relevance—when in reality, I more resemble the old man on the street than Samuel Johnson. I know that someone (most likely someone close to me, who else would bother?) is going to take the time to read my words, without the benefit of a shared meal or even equal listening time. How intimidating!

There is enormous pressure to write only salient, insightful observations that would justify your effort, dear reader. In the spirit of thousands of years of pontificating loudmouths, I will do my best to withstand sagacity. Meanwhile, you might want to check to see if your dog has a blog somewhere. I think mine does.