Thursday, 27 August 2009

Maddened, whining blogging is so last year: get over it, and entertain me

When I first started blogging, I did so mainly because I was indignant. No, more than that: I was infuriated and exasperated by everything: taxi drivers, bureaucrats, criminals, politicians, racists, poseurs, fundamentalists, new-agers, fussy eaters, spam, pot holes, traffic, Telkom, Eskom, the SABC, drunken drivers, broken traffic lights, rude people, lazy people, cashiers, school mommies, teenagers, husbands, ... well, I could go on and on, but I am sure you get the idea. And I am sure that you are irritated, every day, by every one of the above.

This is not to say I didn't blog about positive and happy matters. I did. But it was the blowing-gasket, get-it-off-my-chest posts that really cheered me up. And when someone commented on my post, and agreed with me, I felt vindicated, validated and a whole lot better. An example: when a woman was unspeakably abusive to me in a supermarket queue, for no reason at all, I blurted it out right here on this blog.

Imagine my astonishment, six months later, when I met the self-same woman at my daughter's school, and found her charming and sweet. She didn't recognise me as the person she'd insulted, and I was so floored by her warmth that I didn't have the heart to jab my car key into her eye, let alone remind her of how deeply her comments had upset me. Could it be - gasp - that I had over-reacted? Been unnecessarily cold and aggressive? Of course not! Like Mary Poppins, I am perfect in every way. (Yeah, right.)

But, reading over that post now, I have to ask myself: What was the point? Did this supermarket Hitler read it? I think not. Did anyone else give a flying fuck about the pain and humiliation I felt? (No is the short answer.) And, more pertinent: if I post a rant about how offended I feel by Julius Malema's ignorant comments, by taxi drivers trying to disrupt a brilliant bus transport system for Johannesburg, or by the sight of small children lolling alongside their begging mothers at traffic lights in this city, will it change a thing? Of course it won't, because, frankly, no one cares. I am farting into the wind here, and so are you.

This is not to say that social media (the fancy-pants word for blogs, Facebook, Twitter, etc) doesn't have its uses. I am lost in admiration for people who plug themselves into this dazzlingly effective electronic grapevine and make sparks fly and oceans part. I followed the uprisings in Iran, and the accompanying Twitterfest, with great interest. But when an aggrieved tenant fights with an aggrieved landlord (as is the case in the recent Roy Blumenthal vs landlord spat), and it spills onto the Net, and then into the media, I just tune out.

I'm getting off the point here, so straight back to it: I am sick of outraged and indignant blogs about inconsequential things. I have given up reading the rants of serial complainers. You may have a valid reason to be enraged at your ex-husband, his new wife, your landlord or the broken streetlight outside your house, and I do (really) sympathise. But this does not make for interesting blogging. If you were the only blogger in the world, I might be entertained by the hurdles in your life. But you're not: you, like me, are one of a million other maddened people on this planet. I don't want to read about your problems, because I have enough of my own. What you're doing, to be blunt, sounds a lot like whining.

What I want is to be entertained, engaged and enchanted. I want to hear a fresh voice, a new perspective, an interesting insight, a brilliant idea. I want compelling, readable content on the few blogs that I read. I want to peek through your kitchen window and see what you're cooking up and who you're dancing with. Most of all, I'd appreciate a laugh. (Thank you, my dear co-blogger Muriel, you provide all of that, and more.)

You may be shaking your head as you read this, and thinking, 'Well, what a hypocrite. She's whining about whining bloggers.'

You have a point. But, sorry for you, my point is better than yours: stop moaning. It's boring.

And, to move on, may I slip in a few little complaints before my fingers are cut off by fellow bloggers and I have to type with bloody stumps?

I am SO annoyed with: Julius Mal... arrrrrrgggggh!

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2 comments:

tonypark said...

But if Muriel hadn't ranted about me I would never have met her, or found Salma, or given you my superb beer-can chicken recipe, Juno.

I heart you both, even when you're bitching.

Yor Nesot said...

I smiled. Need I comment or not?