Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

What is a “blog” anyway?

Is BLOG an acronym?  What does it mean exactly?  Okay, no fair looking it up on Wikipedia!  I've come up with a few suggestions of what the word might stand for.  Maybe you too can think of some.
§  Beaten down, Losing, Ostracized, and Grumpy.  This is actually my husband's suggestion at the end of another skirmish in our thermostat wars.  I'm trying not to take it personally.
§  Beautiful Lines OGrandiloquence
§  Bad Lines with gOod PhotoGraphs
§  Brats, Lovers, and the Oober Genteel
§  Blithe Loquacious  Offerings from the Gifted
I'm not sure I had much to begin with, but I certainly am running out of steam.  Any suggestions?
Oh, I did think of one for The Birding Bunch blogger:  Bird Lovers Offering Good advice.  :-)


Friday, November 11, 2011

Blogspot sounds like a disease . . .

Blogspot sounds like a childhood disease, and Wordpress sounds like it should produce some sort of gourmet espresso.  What is this fascination with blogging that turns academics and everyday housewives, factory workers and retired grandparents, to poets and essayists?  What intoxicating bit of technology is this that reawakens dreams in faltering souls—that even they may have something worthwhile to contribute to a wide world that is glutted with information, entertainment, and trivia? 
What if while walking in the mall a stranger came up to me, pressed a finger to my head and said, “Like,” followed by a few more random strangers and a few other slightly familiar faces.   What if others shared something personal about their lives that seemed to parallel mine, ending with a smiley face firmly planted on my back . . . pat, pat, pat!  I would call mall security! 
If in that same mall, I held up one of my treasured photographs for the approval of myriad strangers, they would think me odd and much too self-obsessed.  Or they may think it was to attract attention because what I really am selling is Amway.  Yet what do we do every day—we who populate this teeming trafficked web? 
With all our technology, with all our education, with all the potentiality, our culture muffles authentic communication.  The music, the video games, the radio, and the TV fill us up and drown out the slightest whispers.  And there is no more room even for comfortable silences.  There is no more room for responses to crafted words or appreciation for our thoughts and prayers.  We who rub shoulders with so many in virtual and unvirtual ways still experience isolation.
So in this strange way, we risk exposure in a sometimes scary world because blogging gives a voice to the voiceless and sends bread out on the water to see if anything will come back.
Are we searching for empty affirmation from strangers or is it a reach for community?  Is it because we really do need each other that we stretch toward the unknown to share that aha moment?

"Portrait on the Wall"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otwZkoiqWsE

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Blogspot Sounds Like a Childhood Disease

Blogging does seem very attractive to me; however, there are so many voices out there hoping that what they say and do is somehow significant. I don’t want to add to a meaningless cacophony, like those I have seen who track their weight loss or workout progress. Like, who really cares? Others I read have meaningful religious, political, and philosophical value, but who spends the whole day ploughing through tons of even meaningful stuff?


Since this is an assignment, I will go for it; and who knows, I may become addicted and inundate your in-box with my latest revelatory drivel.

What does critical thinking mean to me? What I hope to do as I read or listen or interact with another is to think and react actively and thoughtfully. What I do, in fact, is not always so. Critical thinking would seem to indicate that you are looking below the surface, always thinking profound thoughts, looking for deep meanings, discerning. But often, if the writing, for example, has an expressive lilt, if the words are transporting, tension-building, or riveting, I forget to be critical and kind of get swept along. It is only after, I may find that I am in disagreement or agreement with the underlying message. The language itself has been enjoyable.

For a history assignment recently, I read an excerpt from a book by Vincent Harding. I so enjoyed the sing-song text and the powerful metaphors and emotion, that I went to Amazon.com and got the whole book. His perspective is a different view on the subject of slavery, which is interesting and provocative, but it’s more the language itself that drew me in. I mean, listen to his opening paragraph:

"It began at the edge of our homeland, where the verdant forests and tropical bush gave way gradually to the sandy stretches of the Guinea coast. It began at the mouths of the rivers, from that northern point where the Senegal and the Gambia pour their troubled streams into the waters around Cape Verde, down the thousands of miles of coastline to the place where the mighty river Congo breaks out into the ocean. On these shores near the mouths of these rivers, we first saw the ships."

Doesn’t that engage you? So with some texts, it’s often the language that draws me in, and the thinking happens after the words have settled.

Other pieces are so obviously biased or poorly substantiated, they force you to talk back to the author immediately. I remember one book I was reading that made such a wild conjecture pertaining to the source text that I threw the book across the room. I was angry. I never did finish the book either. It obviously was not for a class.

I listen to talk radio a lot while in the car. I want to think that I am listening critically, but the pace does not allow for a completed thought before you are on to the next point. The bombardment of sound—the bits and pieces that make talk radio addicting, stifle contemplation because you are on to the next caller, the next point before the information is completely digested. I also hate how the host is so in control that he or she doesn’t allow the callers to present their whole argument. The host only gleans enough to keep the pony show going, incite or inspire the audience, and sell ad space. Yet I listen.

Other informative radio, like NPR, moves at a slower pace and invites more thought. I often disagree with the commentary. And if I need to put my two cents in, whether for or against, I can email them with my comment and actually get a human being to respond. And I feel no guilt at not contributing to their pledge drive. Well, maybe just a little.

So I guess the medium, the environment, the language, my own constitution or momentary mood all determine the extent to which I, at any given time, am able to scratch beneath the surface of what I read and hear. What I hope to do in this class is continue to develop skills in hearing other voices and, whether agreeing or disagreeing, stretch and expand my perspective of the world. I hope to sharpen my analytical skills so that I can catch more quickly the cues an individual might throw out there that show where their ideological feet are planted.