Wednesday, August 6, 2008

There's No Need to Fear

Oh man, The blogging world is getting scary. I've been following a couple of the Blogging Superstars' blogs for a while now, and because reading about other people's lives is like crack, I feel like I've gotten to know a few of them. I've read about babies born, cancers beaten, toilet seats put down. Victories and defeats. I've watched some of the drama unfold between the "celebs" on Twitter (which I promptly gave up, because Twitter was starting to feel like a high school cafeteria, and um, no thanks). I've been a fly on the wall of blogdom for quite some time.

And now that I've got my own blogger account and blog, I've started leaving comments on the blogs that I've been silently lurking for years. Which, just like in real life when I start to open my mouth, has only caused trouble.

See, Black Hockey Jesus has been calling out Dooce since he started blogging. And if you read that sentence ten years ago, you probably would have wondered what new language I was speaking, and probably would've called me nerd. Read it 100 years ago, and my hair would have been made into a wig for an aristocrat. This blogging thing is CRAZY, people.

Anyway, BHJ thinks he should aim for the superstars, so that he can become a superstar himself. And that makes sense. It made so much sense, that, in haste, I went ahead and called him out on the comments section of his blog, ranting about how he was only a mini-boss, and how it, whatever "it" is, is on.

I don't even know who I've become anymore. Didn't MommyBlogYAY start out as a joke? Methinks I have bitten off more than I can chew.

And yet, the idea of aiming for blogging stardom kind of sounds like fun. At least it's something to occupy my time instead of sitting at home waiting for the world to get dark.

Oh Black Hockey Jesus, did I not mention I'm legally blind? So yeah, if you take me down, it'd be a lot like kicking a puppy with a broken leg or slapping a laughing baby. You sick, sick man.

**** UPDATE ****

hmmm, apparently, it is not so obvious that I have no real intention of taking on the great bloggers, and the very idea of little ol' me thinking I could even make an honest attempt at doing so is side-splittingly laughable.

In high school, my best friend and I used to attend the senior class meeting (picture the ten most earnestly school-spirited seniors, and then Tessy and me in the back of the classroom, showing up because we heard there'd be free pizza). To make the time pass, we'd speak up and make suggestions, like how the senior quote should be something along the lines of "Do Or Do Not, There Is No Try", and then we'd giggle to ourselves while the senior class president stood there trying to decide how tactfully he should go about telling us to, "Please leave". This kind of reminds me of that.

For those who wish to send me e-mails that declare that I am "no Black Hockey Jesus, let alone Dooce", you should know that my favorite thing about those meetings was when (let's call her) Jen would worriedly insist that our quote ideas weren't very well thought out, because not everyone LIKES Star Wars, and she just couldn't bear the thought of putting that on the senior announcements, ohmygosh, ohmygosh.

Sorry Jen, we won't budge on this one. It's Yoda quote, or nothing at all. Now, pass me a slice of that pizza, please. What's next on the agenda?


eric said...

To me, you are the greatest blogger in the history of blogging. It is they who should challenge you in the kitchen stadium of blogging. The ingredient? Dangling participles. GO!

Black Hockey Jesus said...

You're not blind. You have a baby in your face.

Sorry about the emails.


Anonymous said...

This is too funny - did dooce people come after you or BHJ junkies?

Renee said...

I'm really not sure if they were defending Dooce or BHJ. I just opened my inbox and found three e-mails, all essentially saying I was wasting my time.

I recognized one of the names from BHJ comment threads, and felt the urge to call her out, but decided that making enemies on the internet is kind of like sending an e-mail to someone telling her she's wasting her time.

Laughably pointless.