Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Category: Blogging and the Internet (Page 7 of 57)

Blogging Thoughts – August

August 11, 2012 / / 44 Comments

1) THE PANEL

During the BlogHer conference, I participated in a panel about blogging with my friends Schmutzie and Laurie.   The session was supposed to be a conversation, not a lecture, so we kept the pre-planning to a minimum, hoping to let a series of questions lead the discussion about the current state of blogging.   While it wasn’t planned as such, I found myself as the bad cop in opposition to the optimism of of the other two panelists. I even suggested that traditional blogging is on life support.

“Blogging isn’t dead,” said Schmutzie, to much applause. “A whole medium doesn’t die. Media evolve.”

That’s why she is more beloved than I am.

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2) ROI

After every big blogging conference, there are countless recap posts written up.   After BlogHer 12, of them was by Jean Parks of The Shopping Queen.  She is a professional blogger, and her discussion on the ROI (return on investment) of going to a big conference struck a nerve with me.

In 2005 the first BlogHer conference event in San Jose, California opened & had 300 attendees, flash forward to 2012, this year’s event had over 4,000 bloggers in attendance. Phenomenal growth, particularly when you consider that that the vast majority of conference goers are not sponsored & are dipping into the family budget to attend. BlogHer has become like a yearly pilgrimage that many view as a “must do” if they are to achieve recognition in social media. Criticisms of the event & discussions about ROI are met with unease. Women, raised to “be nice” inadvertently silencing other women by encouraging them to “focus on the positive’ or gushing about the emotional “connections” we will all be making, the implication being that a complaining woman only values money or things.

I found this paragraph utterly fascinating, because although I am not a woman, I tend to value emotional connections over money.  When I first read this statement concerning ROI, I found it as utterly crass. Can you quantify an experience by something tangible, like the receiving of a job offer?  It seemed so…. wrong.   But after some thought, I saw the practical wisdom in her view.   How many of us spend our lives on activities and relationships that don’t offer us a “return on our investment?”   What if we lived our entire lives using ROI as a decision-making tool, from dating to business-deals, always asking ourselves “what do I get out of this?”  Would we all be happier and more self-sufficient if we overcame the feeling of this being a “selfish” question and instead, saw it as very smart.

Of course, any wise man knows that fate always gets in the way of our plans. We think we chose the right path when we are suddenly hit by a speeding bus.

I touched on this theme of fate in my recent post, Trucker Bob From Nashville, a true story about my flight from Los Angeles.  Because I was trying to be”nice,” I gave up my seat next to a hot babe so a husband and wife could sit near each other.   I ended up stuck near the restroom, sharing an armrest with a sweaty overly-talkative middle-aged Southern man.  My story had a happy ending because the bad decision  (sitting with the guy) ended up having a positive ROI (we struck up a friendship).

Still, one of my friends criticized that post as being phony and too “Hollywood happy ending.”

“If you were honest with yourself,” he said.  “You would realize that it was a negative story, and that you were a wimp for changing seats. No matter how you fool yourself into thinking this chat with the guy was a positive pay-off, you missed a bigger opportunity with the woman.”

What he means to say is that I traded in a low ROI (a friendly chat) for a potentially bigger ROI  (a date with the woman).

All this ROI talk makes me so uncomfortable that I feel the urge to come back to it in the future.  That’s how I roll.

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3) WHAT IS BLOGGING?

The other BlogHer post that struck a nerve with me came from Liz at Mom 101.  As always, she is super sharp, and in this post, she smartly advises her readers to spend less time worrying about SEO, and to WRITE more.   If you want to be a writer, act like one.

This paragraph made me ponder my own relationship to blogging, writing, and reading.

“If you are a blogger, don’t just follow the blogs of the people you like. Follow the blogs of the writers you like. Read a lot of great writing. Read Harper Lee and Zora Neal Hurston. Read Kate Inglis and Eden Kennedy. Read Jim Griffoen and read McSweeney’s.”

This is a powerful message. To be a great writer or photographer, you must read great writing and study great photography.

But how does blogging fit into this?

How many of us in the blogging world fit into the canon of the great books and important artistic and philosophical movements of Human Civilization?  Is consuming blogs just one step above reading Snooki’s book?

I always read Kate’s blog, but a lot of it has to do with the fact that I know and like her.  Would I be so eager to read her blog, and follow her personal story, if I didn’t feel that personal connection?

I love blogging.  Some of you seem to be embarrassed about blogging, as if it is not “real” writing.   Let’s put this to rest.   Blogging is real writing.   But it is a different type of writing, because it usually involves socializing in some form.   I care about Kate’s life.  I do not care about the personal life of Stephen King.   I do not send him comments after reading one of his books.  I do not expect to ever dance with him at a writing conference.  I do not DM him with gossip about who said what.

For better or worse, blogging doesn’t feel like traditional reading and writing.  I mostly follow the stories of my friends.  Or strangers who I feel are my friends, even if I hardly know them.    I get a kick out of seeing baby photos on Instagram.  I would not feel the same way if I saw the same quality work in a museum.  The quality of the art is not the main selling point in whether I interact with you online.   If I was purely motivated by great art,  I would read Tolstoy or study Anselm Adams.  To me the ROI of blogging IS the social aspect.   There is always a hidden social element in my blogging.   I’m always hoping you follow me back on Twitter, or come read MY BLOG.   Or acknowledge my existence.   Sorry, but that’s the truth.   Can any of you honestly say that you only read the “best” that is out there?   If anything, we spend time nurturing and supporting the creativity of our friends.   That’s because blogging is social.   It is not just writing.

Blogging will die a painful death if we tout it as just “great writing or photography,” because so few of us are the great writers and photographers of the world.   What makes blogging a thriving place, and what makes it so powerful, is that the core of blogging, even the soul of it… are not the visions of the super-talented, but the voices of the amateur.

BlogHer ’12

August 7, 2012 / / 16 Comments

I was dancing at one of those loud, overcrowded parties on Saturday night at the yearly BlogHer Conference, when I ran into Josette. Her lodging plans for the night had fallen through, and she had no place to stay in the city. I invited her to stay in the hotel suite that I was sharing with Sarah. Josette, a woman comfortable with going camping with her family, said she had no problem sleeping on the hotel suite floor.

Around 1AM, Josette and I took a cab to the the hotel. Sarah had just returned herself from a night out. I introduced them to each other. I have known Josette and Sarah for years, but they didn’t know each other.

I was exhausted. I stretched out on the couch, eavesdropping on the women chatting about their husbands, their children, and their career goals. I was amused that two mothers asked each other questions that would have never occurred to me, paticularly about their children.

“Which is the oldest?”
“Do the brothers get along?”
“How does he do in school?”

I smiled as I dozed off; I enjoyed seeing two friends connecting.

This was the fourth BlogHer Conference that I have attended, and this year, my role was more important than usual. I read one of my blog posts to a large crowd on Friday afternoon as part of The Voices of the Year Keynote. I presented a session on blogging with Schmutzie and Laurie. I participated in an Instagram photowalk.  I was a mild celebrity for three days.

But the most iconic moment of the weekend was the sleepy moment of listening to Josette and Sarah chatting about their lives.  To me, even more so than the writing tools, social media, and commerce that we all discussed this weekend, it is these little moments that are the core of blogging, the conversation that continues on even when you are not there.

Nice seeing so many of you.

If you want to see a bit of personal history — on how my views on this conference have matured and changed over the years, from making fun of it like a spoiled brat to embracing and respecting it as an important part of my online life, you can do so here —

BlogHer 2006 – BlogHim 06 and To All My Friends at BlogHer

BlogHer 2007 — BlogHim 07 – Who Needs Women?

BlogHer 2008 —  My Conversation with TLC Marketing Customer Service, The Circle of Life — My Final Mention of BlogHer in 2008, and  Sex in the Male City — In Honor of BlogHim 08

BlogHer 2009 —BlogHer 09 Recap, with Photos and My Last BlogHer 09 Post

BlogHer 2010 —BlogHer 2010

BlogHer 2011 —The Music Conference and BlogHer 11 Recap

BlogHer 2012 — Trucker Bob From Nashville, BlogHer ’12

Three Attempts at Writing the About Page

July 13, 2012 / / 41 Comments

I’ve been blogging since 2005 without an “about page.” I was advised by a close friend that I NEED ONE before BlogHer.

“It is even more important that having pretty business cards and comfortable shoes,” she said.

I’m terrible at writing about myself.

My right brain tells me that “I am superior to most of humanity.”

My left brain says, “You’re the same as everyone else.  No better, no worse… OK, probably worse.”

My solution to this dilemma — get someone else to write my “about page.”   I know that I could hire someone to do it, but yes, I’m too cheap.   Instead, I asked a family member and two close friends to write it for me.

Which “about page” would best entice new readers to come to this blog, or interest corporate sponsorship?

1)

Neil Kramer
About Page
(written by Neil’s mother)

Neil was a frequent “citizen of the month” throughout grade school. He continues that fine tradition today by always helping the elderly across the street and rarely using filthy language in public discourse.  He believes in diversity,  liberal ideology, and he befriends all, no matter what the race, religion, or class.  He respects women.  He loves his mother. He’s a real mensch.  If you are on Twitter, you should follow him.  If you are a big company which offers good medical insurance, you should hire him.  If you a nice girl, you should date him.  Jewish preferred.  He is a good writer.  I still have the robot story he wrote in eight grade!

2)

Neil Kramer
About Page
(written by Rhonda, VP, Anderson Public Relations, Santa Monica)

Neil is a brilliant writer and iphoneographer. He went to TWO prestigious and very expensive private universities and has worked at some pretty cool media-oriented companies that will make you go, “Whoa, he is someone worth knowing on Twitter”  He has written for television, and frequently jets back and forth between New York and Los Angeles, like a bigshot.  He is the blogosphere’s equivalent of Mr. Big.  His world-famous blog is immensely popular, and is visited by some of the most influential people online.  At BlogHer 2011, The Pioneer Woman came up and said hello TO HIM, not the other way around, and he then told her, “I’ve never read your blog.  What’s the link?” Now that’s cool!  What confidence!   Neil is six feet tall, still has his hair, and was once told by someone online that he gives “the best sext on Gtalk EVER.”

3)

Neil Kramer
About Page
(written by Jennifer, PhD Candidate, Feminist Theory and Media Studies, McGill University)

Neil is a heterosexual white male who owes all of his accomplishments to his excessive privilege, the only true hardship he ever encountered being his barbaric circumcision. As an only child, his parents pampered him and paid for his education, his sole financial contribution during college being a work/study job as a stockboy at the university library, where he goofed off in the stacks and read political science books, taking the position away from marginalized students of color who truly needed it. Most of his future jobs were attained either through nepotism or connections within the “old-boy” power structure.  Blind to his own sexism and racism, his frequent use of the obsessive “male gaze” in his iphoneography adds fuel to our society’s repression and violence towards women.  Despite his frequent calls for diversity in the blogosphere, his blogroll does not contain a single link to a transgender writer, nor has he ever dated one.  Neil’s yearly presence at a conference geared for the advancement of women signals a continued need for male domination and female subordination in the cultural realm of creativity and intellectualism.  He has been heard, more than once, arrogantly calling American’s Native Americans as “Indians.”

The Board Meeting in Queens

June 3, 2012 / / 31 Comments

On Friday, I learned that one of my blog posts has been chosen to be part of the keynote Voices of the Year reading at BlogHer ’12 in New York.  I am delighted to be included with so many talented writers.

The announcement couldn’t happen at a better time.  After all my fretting over my lack of niche and tribe, the choice has been made for me.  My category is humor, and my tribe is… women.

I take all ceremony with a grain of salt.  It is part of being a humor writer.  I know that in August, a whole bunch of new people will discover my blog for the first time, read it once, then say to themselves, “Jesus, this guy isn’t that funny,” and never come return.

I look forward to the experience.

The honor is most meaningful in that it is nice to feel accepted, especially by a group where I don’t quite fit in for a number or reasons.   I’m not a woman or even a daddy blogger.   I’m just a guy , a straight man, who — for various reasons that need to be discussed in therapy some day — has a sensibility that connects him with female writers.

I know for a fact that some women don’t appreciate the presence of men (the marketers excepted) at the BlogHer conference.  I’m sorry for that.   If you can’t see the feminism of men befriending women, learning from women, and discussing writing with women, with no clear business agenda other than friendship and creative inspiration, than it is YOUR problem.

For better or worse, the annual Blogher conference has collided with real events in my life, connecting with me on a personal level, like a secular Yom Kippur.

In 2009, in Chicago, I met so many bloggers for the first time.  I cried with joy when I finally met Schmutzie.  I introduced myself to Kate Inglis.   Amy Turn Sharp and I did a session on writing, which went on to influence a whole writing track.  A woman hit on me at bar, which was both flattering and scary.

In 2010, I attended BlogHer ’10 in New York.  It was a traumatic time for me.  Sophia’s parents had just passed away, one after another.  On Saturday night, I walked around the city all night, by myself, in a daze.

In 2011, Sophia and I handed in our divorce papers and then I drove to San Diego to attend BlogHer ’11.

It’s now 2012.  Time for some positive energy.

Being honored by BlogHer has had another unexpected result — a brand new writing gig!  Yesterday, my mother called me with the news.   Here’s the story —

One of the apartments in my mother’s apartment building in Queens was vandalized recently.  After much hand-wringing, a “Board of Directors” meeting was called, to be held in the board room (the former laundry room).   All residents were invited to discuss the matter.  The topic at hand:  too many strangers were coming in and out of the building.

The residents of my mother’s building are a polite group, and therein lies the problem.   They hold the door open for everyone approaching the front door.  There is no doorman, so the tenants are the only security system.

The meeting started with a stern announcement from the Board of Directors:  tenants shouldn’t hold the front door open for strangers.  If a person doesn’t have a key to the front door in the lobby,  the visitor should be required to ring the tenant on the intercom system.

Simple enough, right?  But if you know anything about the residents of a Queens apartment building, you know that they LOVE to argue, the more mundane the subject the better.

Two camps formed that at the meeting.  One was the “law and order” group.  They were gung-ho about protecting the tenants from the outsiders.  The progressives, including my mother, were more concerned about hurting the feelings of the strangers.

“How can we just close the door on people?” she asked. “We will look so impolite.”

David Feingold, the President of the Board, rubbed his beard like a Talmudic rabbi.  He was the building’s King Solomon and came up with a compromise.   The Board of Directors would tape a note to the front door, informing outsiders that the residents of the building were not trying to be impolite by closing the door on them.  The residents were just trying to be safe.

Betty Langer, a retired school teacher, and former civil rights advocate, brought up the elephant in the room, the racial overtones of the problem.

“I don’t believe that this will be treated fairly!” she said.  “Wouldn’t you all pick and choose who you let in?  Wouldn’t you refuse entry to the black boy in the hoodie, but hold the door open for the elderly white woman with a walker?”

The progressive tenants held their head down in shame.  No one likes to be confronted by their own racism.   But the members of the Board of Directors were adamant about taking action.   Something had to be done.

“Let’s get a doorman!” yelled Lillian Vanelli from the back row, who always felt inferior to her sister, who married well and now lives in an exclusive building on the Upper East Side, with a doorman.

“Oh yeah? And who’s going to pay for it?” said Russell Ross, the cheapskate tax attorney on the third floor, who was once caught stealing the Sunday New York Times from the front door of a neighbor, rather than paying for it himself.

A vote was taken and it was agreed that a note would be placed on the door.   But who would write it?   Who dare undertake such a dangerous task?

Most of the residents of my mother’s building are hard-working men and women, but inexperienced in the creative art of persuasion.

“I know who can write it for us!” said my mother. “My son is a writer!”

“What kind of writer is he?” sneared Lillian Vanelli.  “He’s been in Los Angeles for years? When is THAT movie coming out anyway?”

“Hey, Charles Dickens was rejected a 100 times before they published “A Tale of Two Cities.”

My mother, who worked in publishing for forty years, knew this wasn’t true, but is quick-witted, and knew that Lillian was clueless about literature.

There had been tension between my mother and Lillian for years, ever since Lillian was booted out of my mother’s mah jongg group for playing too slow.

“And besides,” added my mother.  “Neil  is going to one of the keynote speakers at BlogHer this year, along with other talented women.”

“Ha, ha.  I always knew Neil was gay,” replied Lillian, chuckling.

“He may be gay, but I love him no matter WHAT he is!” said my mother.

(note: my mother didn’t really say that, but I wanted to add a positive pro-gay message to this post in case I want to submit this post to BlogHer next year.  They LOVE THAT STUFF!)

After the Board of Directors meeting concluded, my mother called me up on the iPhone I bought her that she still doesn’t know how to use.

“Neil, I have a writing assigment for you,” she said. “There is no pay, but it will be seen by a lot of people.  In fact, everyone who walks into our apartment building.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“We need a note that says something like this, but written in your own unique style  — “I am sorry that I am slamming the door in your face, whether you are a black boy with a hoodie or an old white lady with a cane.  It doesn’t matter.  I slam the door on everyone who is a stranger.   This does not mean I am impolite.  I like you.   Maybe one day, you will live here, and I will hold the door for you.  But right now, I am closing the door on you, for your own protection.  But have a nice day.”

Yes!  Thank you BlogHer.   Can’t wait for the conference.  I feel this is going to be MY YEAR!

The Conversation

May 25, 2012 / / 26 Comments

Jackie and I were sitting in the Cozy Cafe.

“Have you read “50 Shades of Grey?”  I asked.

“Yes.  It’s so poorly written,” said Jackie, my long-time blogging friend.

“That’s what I heard.”

“And the media is so superficial in discussing it.  They’re acting as women have never enjoyed erotica before. Or had sexual fantasies.”

“You know the media.  They just like to create controversy to get more readers.”

“But maybe it’s good that the fantasies of women are more openly discussed.  That women are finally able to be comfortable talking  about sex, masturbation, vibrators, and their own vaginas.”

What I liked most about Jackie was that we could discuss anything, without fear of embarrassment.

“I wonder if the openness of blogging has helped push this agenda for women.” I mused.

“You might be right,” she said.  “Women can be honest about what they want in their lives sexually.”

“I wonder if blogging even paved the way for a sexually-realistic show like “Girls” on HBO.”

“Interesting,” said Jackie.  “It’s like the time has arrived where women don’t have to sugar coat their sexuality for the patriarchy. We can sleep around. We can have bad sex. We can be fully actualize sexual beings.”

“Blogging has also changed the way men think about sexuality,” I chimed in.

“Yeah?  In what way?”

Jackie, with a masters in Feminist Studies, was always willing to discuss gender issues.

“I think, before blogging, men were mostly attracted to women because of their looks.”

“Yeah, tits and ass.  Men are so simple.”

“But that has all changed.  I know something has happened to me in the last year eight years of blogging. I have spent so much time online, interacting with a person’s creativity and talent, that it has become more important to me than a person’s physical appearance.”

“Maybe that is true for women, but never for men.”

“No, blogging has feminized men.  We fall in love with your writing and photography now, not your bra size!”

Jackie was still skeptical about my theory.

“Bullshit.   Even at BlogHer, I notice how the men act.  They spend the weekend surrounding whoever is the hottest looking momblogger in the room.”

“You are so wrong.  That doesn’t happen anymore.   We might notice a blogger’s cleavage, but we want to talk with the one who makes us laugh on Twitter.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“No, really!” I insisted.   “There is something sensual about talent.  Can I be honest with you — since you are always open with me, telling me about vibrators and stuff?”

“Sure.”

“Remember that great post you wrote last week. About visiting your grandmother in the mountains when you were a teenager.”

“Yes.”

“I loved it. I loved it so much, I thought about the imagery all night. The way you described the mountain air.  It was so beautiful.   And later, when I opened up my computer to read it a third time, I said to myself, “I wish I could fuck this post.”

“What?”!

“I was just so moved by what you wrote that I needed to fuck your words. I had to take my cock out because I was so turned on.”

“Wow.”

“Now, remember, this has nothing to do with the size of you dress or your hair.   It was your mind that turned me on.  I hope this isn’t too weird for me to tell you.”

“I’m speechless.”

“I just figured that since you read “Fifty Shades of Grey” and like “Girls,” you would be comfortable with my own honesty.”

“There is just one big difference.  That other stuff is fiction! It is cool because it isn’t real. But jacking off to my blog post about my late grandmother is f*cking sick!”

“It doesn’t really mean anything, or change our relationship.  I was just trying to tell you how blogging has changed me as a man.  How it has opened me up to new turn-ons.”

“You’re a fucking freak, man.   Pervert.  I never want to hear from you.”

“But I was just being OPEN WITH YOU!”

Jackie grabbed her purse and started leaving the coffee shop, the other customers eavesdropping in.

“Go jack off to your own dead grandmother!” she said as she left.  “I’m blocking you from ever reading my blog again!”

“But not on Facebook, right?” I pleaded, not wanting to lose a follower.

But she was already gone.

 

The End of Blog Niches as We Know It

May 23, 2012 / / 98 Comments

Hi. Today is Wednesday, May 23, 2012. It is a sunny day in California. Today is also the day I have decided to end the personal writing blogosphere as we know it.

Sure, it will continue on in the same way for most of you — business as usual. But it will change for me, and once you see my paradigm shift, many of you will see the wisdom here.
Change is the future.

Blogging, once a radical act, has become pedestrian.  But I’m not going to take the obvious route, and rant about monetization.  Making money is good.  I want to discuss the concept of niche.

Bon Stewart recently wrote a brilliant post about niche from an academic point of view, and came down hard on the concept.

Every group within society has its markers, its distinctions. We think of them as our tastes, but they are – says Bourdieu – markers of our class identities, internalized and usually invisible to us. (Or they were until the hipsters started drinking Pabst, at least.)

Distinction says “I am not that. I am this.”

Unlike Bon, I’ve given up fighting against niches.  There will always be niches.  Even those who feel trapped in their niche are afraid to leave it.

In my view, the problem lies in one simple fact: we are not the master of our own niches. These categories have been created by others, usually marketers who want to sell us things.   We need to fit into a box to be acceptable.   Food bloggers. Craft bloggers. Mom bloggers. Dad bloggers.  Self-Help “You are Beautiful and Be Happy” Bloggers.

This does not work for me. There is a talent to writing for a niche, but it is not a universal one. It doesn’t mean that we are talentless. It means that we don’t have children. Or aren’t married. Or aren’t close to being experts in cooking or knitting or celebrity gossip.  Or we are just weird.

And frankly, a system which categorizes writers by personal lifestyles is extremely crude. Do you read Charles Dickens because of his parenthood?

The dominance of this rigid, superficial system of inclusion — created by the market — is something frequently discussed offline. Some of my friends have simply stopped blogging because of it, feeling as if they don’t belong in the market.  Others have become defiant, shouting to the world that they don’t need any niche; they can march to their own drummer.

I used to be the latter, wanting to go it alone.  But it is a lonely road.  A niche offers more than just monetization or categorization. It offers companionship in a group.  And having a “tribe” creates confidence and power.

I have decided to embrace the niche. Embrace the friendship and power in order to combat the pressures of this lonely and difficult profession.

The difference with my niche system is that I don’t want to follow what the market has decided is right for me.  That boots me to the back of the bus, because that is where the market thinks I belong.  I want to create a niche that works and empowers me.

There is historical precedents for creating your own niche.   There have been countless artistic and literary movements throughout the ages — Cubism, the Bloomsbury Group, the Beat Movement, Impressionism, Romanticism, Social Realism, Neo-realism, etc.  Many of our favorite artists and writers from the 17th to 20th Century were members of these niches. They were creative individuals — yes, but they also teamed with others to nurture their creativity. Was it exclusionary?  Yes.  Was it focusing on distinction?  Of course.   But it was a far less primitive system than separating the world by lifestyle, marital status, and gender.

I’m done trying to figure out whether I am a humor blogger, a memorist, or a diarist.  I would love to be a member — at least of a while — of a group of Humorous Surrealists. Many of my favorite posts involve hyper-realism where I talk to my dead father or get berated by my own penis. I would love to read more writers who write in this style.   What do our styles have in common?  What is different?  When does the surrealism overcome the artistic point of the piece? What are we both trying to say about the current world?

I presented this idea to Sarah Gilbert of Cafe Mama, a writer I greatly respect. She said that she wished she could be in a movement titled “Domestic Realism.”  I loved it!   How much more empowering to be in a movement titled “Domestic Realism” than being seen as a bland “mommyblogger.” A “Domestic Realism” movement would be committed to viewing the world of the parent, warts and all, showing the dirty dishes in the sink rather than the Architectural Digest view of things.  It would be a distinction based on artistic temperament rather than social status.

I believe that drama is good for the creative spirit, so I can imagine having fun artistic conflicts, like in Paris of the 1920’s.  I would write a post accusing Sarah and her “domestic realism” friends of missing the point of the spiritual in art. She would strike back, accusing “the surrealists” as being immature frat boys, going for cheap bathroom humor.  Of course, when we met up at some conference, we would all laugh together, knowing that our arguments were part of necessary artistic growth, not personal nonsense over who breastfed and who used formula.  The Golden Age of Blogging would begin.

A bit crazy? Maybe. I love writing online, and it makes me sad to see so many of my friends give up.  When did the marketers, PR people, and sponsored posts start dominating the field and setting the agenda?  The current niche system only works for those who fit in.

My idea is simple: don’t quit. Let’s create our own artistic niches.  I’ll see you at the virtual Parisian cafe at night (uh, Twitter) where we can argue about writing.

(note:  this post was sitting in my draft file for a week until I read this post from Helen Jane: Know What You Want)

The Sweet Smell of Honeysuckle

May 6, 2012 / / 24 Comments

I’m a Grinch.  A Scrooge.  An Oscar the Grouch.   At least online I am.   I embrace sarcasm about the Internet out of self-protection.  You need to accept me as I am.  I am petty, passive aggressive, hoping to rip down the entire facade of our “community” and show you the emperor’s nakedness. I do not build up.  I destroy.  I don’t inspire others. I throw the wood into the flames.  If you hate drama, run.  If you think it is easy being a Grouch, it isn’t. There are always naive people trying to wear you down, as determined as Jehovah’s Witnesses wanting you to see the light.

Last night, I was reading Kim’s blog, Kimperative.   She was doing a meme.  One of the questions was this:

Q: Name one scent that brings back a very pleasant memory from your past.

Her answer:

A: Honeysuckle. It reminds me of walking with my grandmother over the hill on hot days, and nectar on my tongue.

I tried to visualize honeysuckle, and my mind went as blank as a white wall.  The smell of honeysuckler — nothing.  The taste of honeysuckle — nada.

I wrote this comment on Kim’s post:

To be honest, I’m not even sure I know the scent of honeysuckle, and it is extremely frustrating right now because you can’t just search for a smell on Google.

Do you notice how I manipulated Kim’s post into a discussion about myself?   That’s because I am a self-absorbed jerk.  And like it that way.

But did I stop there? Of course not!   I saw this honeysuckle issue as a way to send a “f**k you” to anyone who ever said that online life was “real.”

My status update on Facebook:

I’m reading a blogging friend write about her strong memory of smelling honeysuckle at her grandfather’s house, and I don’t think I ever smelled honeysuckle. And I’m realizing one of the biggest limitations of online life — you can’t search for the smell of honeysuckle on Google.

The update may not sound controversial, but the intent was evil.   I wanted to pull the rug out from everyone’s happiness.   The underlying message:  Sure, we can use writing, photos, and videos online, but we will NEVER be able to touch, taste, or smell another person online, and those are the SEXIEST senses of them all !  Who wants to live like a robot, just interacting with data?  Our entire experience is FAKE!

The best part of this argument was that there was no way to refute it.  I had won.  I destroyed the internet.  I brought up the fundamental fact that no one else would discuss:  We could never discover the smell of honeysuckle online.  We were eunuchs online, half-men and half-women, never to find true happiness.

Being a believer in science, I did some experimenting with Google just to prove my point.

I searched “honeysuckle.”

I found photos.   A nature video.

I found a quote from Shakespeare’s A Midsummers Night Dream” —

So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle
Gently entwist. The female ivy so
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.
Oh, how I love thee! How I dote on thee!

I found the lyrics to the classic Fats Waller tune, Honeysuckle Rose —

Every honey bee fills with jealousy,
when they see you out with me.
Goodness knows
You’re my honeysuckle rose

When you’re passin’ by flowers droop and sigh,
and I know the reason why.
Goodness knows
You’re my honeysuckle rose

Google was useless.   It was as if a billion dollar operation had suddenly fallen on her knees, like a once mighty statue turned to dust.    There was no finding the smell of honeysuckle.

My Facebook status update said it all.  It was so powerful in content, my blogging friends were running scared, as if this was the final day prophesized by the Mayan calendar.  My friends turned desperate, taking frantic stabs at proving to me that the internet COULD show me the smell of honeysuckle.

But I just LAUGHED at your petty attempts.

From Kendra —

I find it nice for about 1.3 seconds then it’s too sweet and perfum-y. Very strong, very distinctive.

From Wendy —

Honeysuckle is kind of a slightly lemony smell, but sweet. Like a sweet lemon pie. If smell had a shape/feel, it would be like one of those squishy nubby balls. It’s soft and round, but with some bright points. If it was a color, it would be electric blue with yellow whorls.

From Marla —

Right now ( and every year around this time) the air outside of my home smells like melted butter and sugar. It is the most amazing thing…stars, dandelion poofs and sweet butter. Yummy.

From Suzanne —

I grew up with honeysuckle in my backyard. I was at Huntington Gardens about a week ago and as soon as I smelled it I flashed back to the house I grew up in. Scent can evoke so many memories …!!

From Sarah —

I used to smell the honeysuckle when I’d run behind VMI in college. it was a big realization to me — that I was smelling honeysuckle — and it was a paradigm shift, from my lilac-scented NW upbringing to this subtler but more seductive fragrance of the south.

From Kristen —

There’s this incredible honeysuckle bush that I’ve been meaning to shoot a photo of…

Have you ever read anything more pathetic than these Facebook comments?   Like trying to tell an atheist that he should pray to God.

The INTERNET WAS USELESS.  It was limited.  It was created for self-promotion, information-overload, and porn.  It could never be REAL.  It could never produce the scent of honeysuckle.

And then Wendy, a blogger at Notes From the Sleep Deprived, spoke up, in a voice not unlike that of Little Cindy Lou Who, the littlest Who in Whoville, transforming the Grinch forever.

Wendy —

HEY!!! I can mail you some in a ziploc. I’m not positive it would work, but everyone should enjoy the smell of honeysuckle.

OMG.

My reign of terror was over.   Like King Kong at the end of the movie, I fell off the empire State Building, defeated by a momblogger from South Carolina.

“Case closed,” said Wendy,  “And f**k you, Neil — you can discover the scent of honeysuckle through the Internet.”

For the last few days, my social media stream has been overloaded by messages from one of those blogging conventions that seem to happen every other month nowadays.    There were constant tweets and updates about influence, sponsorship, and inspiration.   But no one at this conference was really paying attention to what was actually occurring ONLINE. Wendy from South Carolina had just singlehandedly saved the Internet from utter destruction.   Not only for me, but for all of us.    Because of her, we now know — as a fact — that you CAN use the Internet to do anything, even smell the scent of honeysuckle.

Which means it IS REAL.

My Night with Jenny

April 21, 2012 / / 11 Comments

There is nothing more beautiful than seeing a friend and talented writing colleague achieve her dreams, and being there at her side when it happens.   Such was the case on Thursday when Jenny “The Bloggess” Lawson came to Beverly Hills for an exclusive reading of her new book “Let’s Pretend this Never Happened.”

I was thrilled to receive a VIP invitation to the event.   Sure, it cost me twenty dollars in cash, I had to wait in a long line, and they lost my reservation when I reached the booth, but boy was it worth it.  Jenny was glowing on stage. And she is funny as hell, whether talking about her unusual upbringing in Texas or her time hiding in the bathroom at BlogHer during an anxiety attack.

As I watched Jenny trade barbs with the hostess, Soleil Moon Frey of Punky Brewster fame, I mused on the fact that despite her new friendships with Hollywood lumanaries and best-selling authors, from Wil Wheaton to Neil Gaiman, Jenny was still ol “Jenny from the block,” that is if they call sections of the street blocks in Texas like they do in New York. Jenny was dressed comfortable, reflecting her modest background, in her black Louis Vuitton dress and “F**k me” eight inch heels that she bought hours earlier on nearby Rodeo Drive.  She hadn’t changed a bit!

The venue was packed with fans and for some, seeing Jenny in the flesh was akin to a meeting with the Pope himself (if the Pope spoke about vaginas a lot, which surprisingly he does).

Everyone in the audience was grasping a copy of Jenny’s newly released memoir, a best-seller, a project ten years in the making, a life dream!   I was the only one without a book.  I told the others sitting in the front row with me that the book was on my Kindle Fire, which was a lie, since I don’t even own a Kindle, but I was afraid of the consequences if I told the truth — that I had no intention of ever reading her book.   After all, I just spent twenty bucks to get into this theater.

Besides, my main motivation for going to the event was to hopefully get laid by some of Jenny’s anxious fans, and saying I wasn’t going to read the book would have been like saying I’m a premature ejaculator — never good to say up front.

But I had a plan.   I would tell some of the women that Jenny recently said in an interview  that “Neil’s blog is 100x better than mine,” which of course, she never said, but then again I doubt every line in HER book is completely accurate.  James Frey, Jenny?  Is it a coincidence that Soleil Moon FREY, possibly a close relative of James himself,  was the moderator?  The shadow of Frey is hanging over you.

But, seriously folks, my friendship with Jenny goes back a long time.  I’ll never forget the special moment we had last year at BlogHer.

From My BlogHer 11 Recap

“I pass by “The Bloggess,” one of the funniest women online. She is sitting on a bench, her suitcase standing in front of her. I seem a whole lot more excited to see her, than vice versa.

“Hey, it’s Jenny, the famous Bloggess!”

“Uh, hello, Neil.”

I point at the suitcase.

“Where you going?”

“I’m going home early. I’m exhausted after the People’s Party.”

“I can imagine. Hey, when is the book coming out? I’m so excited.”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Why don’t you sent me an advanced copy? I’d love to read it.”

Jenny pauses for a moment.

“My publisher decided not to send out advanced copies,” she says.

“You mean when the book comes out, you want me to BUY the book? It’s going to be like $25 dollars in stores!”

“That’s how much books cost, Neil.”

“C’mon, Jenny. Surely your old blogging friends will get a reader’s copy in the mail.”

“No, sorry.”

“Not even Laura?”

“Well, Laura read it already. But she’s more of a real friend than a blogging friend.”

“What is this shit? I’m not going to pay $25 bucks on your book when I can read your blog for free.”

“The book is going to be very different than the blog. It is about my real life.”

“I see. So the plan was to put your shitty superficial material online, and then force us to buy your f*cking book?”

“Well, I do have a family to feed.”

“You’ve changed, Jenny. You come off as a sweet cutesy Texan mom, but you are a fucking shark. I bet William Shatner was part of your marketing plan all along.”

You know, f*ck you , little man. I could destroy you in a second with my Twitter followers.

“Suck my c*ck, Jenny.”

“Yeah, I already saw your tiny c*ck in that photo you sent me last year. Don’t make me laugh. Be happy I didn’t put it on Flickr.”

“Go to hell.”

Ha Ha.  Now you know why I go to blog conferences.  It is one of the rare times that you can sit down with your online friends and get to know them on an intimate level.

Jenny is famed both for her sense of humor AND her heart. One of her most profound and beautiful posts started a entire movement called “The Travelling Red Dress.”

I want, just once, to wear a bright red, strapless ball gown with no apologies.  I want to be shocking, and vivid and wear a dress as intensely amazing as the person I so want to be.  And the more I thought about it the more I realized how often we deny ourselves that red dress and all the other capricious, ridiculous, overindulgent and silly things that we desperately want but never let ourselves have because they are simply “not sensible”.  Things like flying lessons, and ballet shoes, and breaking into spontaneous song, and building a train set, and crawling onto the roof just to see the stars better.  Things like cartwheels and learning how to box and painting encouraging words on your body to remind yourself that you’re worth it.

After reading the post, I thought it would be funny to mock this inspirational movement that was helping so many women achieve self-acceptance.

Jenny blocked me on Twitter that day. So, the joke was on me!

But that’s how old friends behave — each trying to outdo the other with practical jokes!  I love you, Jenny. It’s time to unblock me!

The line for the book signing after the reading snaked through the lobby and back into the theater. Most of her fans were glad to wait for a moment with their heroine, but I figured that Jenny would want to see me first.  I arrived at the signing table just as Stephenie Meyer, the author of the Twilight series, was getting HER book signed.  It was so cool to learn that this super-successful author asking for Jenny’s signature.  But as they say in Texas, blood is thicker than cow piss, so I cut in front of the line AND Stephanie Meyer, my Iphone raised.

“Jenny, hey there sexy, let me take a photo of you for Instagram and put it on Twitter, too, so I can show everyone that we are friends!”

“We’re not really, friends, Neil,” she said, and two burly Filipino men, both former wrestlers, escorted me out of the building.  I later discovered that these men were hired to be Jenny’s personal bodyguards during her book tour.

She’s such a joker!

Several of my blogging friends were at the event, but since so few of them talked to me, I figured it was because they didn’t recognize me.   I decided to grow a beard this week!

Taking a page from Jenny’s book, I used my beard-growing to create a viral internet phenom, much like Jenny did with Beyonce the metal chicken. I took an instagram photo of my white scraggly beard and shared it on Facebook and Twitter.

“Yay or Nay,” I asked.

It was unanimous. I should keep the beard.  (Believe me, it doesn’t look as good as it does when I hide it under three Instagram filters)

“You are sexy as hell.” said one mommyblogger.

I was instantly the blogosphere’s George Clooney.

I had created a social media trend — my Yasir Arafat-looking beard  — that made everyone forget Jenny and her best-selling book.

Later that night, I presented a new question for all my good friends on Twitter and Facebook.

“Jump off the Brooklyn Bridge to see if I can survive the fall — Yay or Nay?”

The mob overwhemingly voted yay.

Social media sucks.

Congrats, Jenny “The Bloggess” Lawson!   You are an inspiration.  Sometimes.

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