Blogging is somewhat daunting for the following reasons:

a. Once I shared privileged information about the media industry in Beijing on a secret blog I run with a friend, and due to the fact that I am a blogging neophyte, my post was found on Google and publically scorned.

b. I’m afraid that people will discover I am actually a bore – and in the world of Web 2.0, this discovery will reach an exponential audience.

c. I’m afraid that people will find me incessantly interesting and that I will be unable to live up to their expectations of daily updates.

d. I don’t get why people get so caught up in the intricacies of random people’s lives and contemplations, i.e. celebrity gossip and this blog. Extending #27 on my last post: it is quite remarkable just how interesting most people are to themselves. It is even more remarkable that when these thoughts of self worship are posted (in the form of witty observations and melodramatic assertions), many other people respond in tones of curiosity, fascination and even reverence.

I guarantee that although we virtual authors claim our readers to be in desperate need of a laugh, awareness of the Obama-non curve, skewed versions of My So Called Life and beer advice, every blogger is guilty of what I call moderate-to-heavy-self-obsession. Writing to be read is like when old Chinese ladies cook a feast and then belittle their culinary skills: compelling compliments are publically brushed aside but secretly stockpiled.

BUT. Before I lose you, dear reader/comment-leaver/ego-feeder to my wanton question and answer session, my better, less cynical, more analytical, less suspicious, somewhat empathetic, maybe more suspicious self did spend five more minutes thinking about d., and we (all of me) think we get the hype.

e. Perhaps blogging is ego chow. Perhaps it is self-preservation, or dancing (well) in front of the mirror.  But it is also something else. If you strip away the swanky words, pick out the carefully selected topics and erase the clever names, just what do you think we members of the Web 2.0 troupe are ultimately doing?

Da-da-da-dun!!!!!!

f. We are interacting.

In the privacy of our own homes.

It’s like Netflix for friends. Social Speed Dial. And we are doing it more eloquently than ever. Instead of squatting behind that AOL chat room (16/F/pix/hot4u) pretending to be four years older or ten years younger than we actually are, we now express ourselves in haute prose and image. Uncensored, midnight babble has been replaced by edited, characterized verse.

And thanks to things like Clever Counter, I now know that as of 9:03PM tonight, Beijing time (13 hours ahead of the U.S.), eight different people have visited this blog, four of whom were from China, two from the States and one from the United Kingdom. I even know that six of them have a PC and two have a Mac. It’s like a Kate Spade planner/telescope on virtual steroids.

I don’t have to be a vlogger (veteran blogger) to know the patterns of the blogosphere dancing ritual:

Boy posts entry.
Girl sees entry.
Girl comments on boy’s entry.
Boy feels happy inside.
Boy posts another entry.
Girl sees . . .

It’s an infinite cycle, and it’s perpetuated by the overwhelming number of comments people post in rejoinder. And boy do those things do wonders for the self-esteem; not because they are especially flattering, but because someone took the time to respond, which means they read what you had to say, which means they are living proof that you not only exist but are worthy of the moment. It’s pure, unadulterated, interaction – a basis of human survival.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been sucked in so quickly, if only still preliminarily.

Speaking of comments:

Thanks to The Daily Breather for contributing his private elevator habits!  Keep them coming! If everyone contributes to #54, maybe I’ll make a documentary after all.

Or, at least I’ll put together an awesome blog post, to which your comments will both raise my self-esteem and fulfill my virtual soul.

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