I wrote a piece for This Recording about my dad.
I was kind of hesitant to do it, not because I thought it'd be too hard or anything. I'd been wanting to write something long about him for a long time, and TR is a good venue for long essays. But I get really nervous when it comes to being really open and honest about things really close to me, especially since TR has gotten much more traffic lately with links from Defamer and Gawker, etc. But so far, I've gotten some nice praise from people who have linked to it through Tumblr, so I feel less anxious about it than I did as I was writing it.
I was also nervous about posting about my parents. My mother doesn't know about this and I'm sort of afraid to show it to her, since I expect her reaction to be kind of angry that I used pictures and stories of my parents.
But, in my way, this is how I wanted to pay some sort of tribute to my father, who didn't read a lot but enjoyed the writing of mine that he actually did get a chance to look at. And I think he would be flattered and appreciative. He'd probably cry, too, because he was a big baby.
Anyway, here's the link: In Which This Is How I Know Him: Pictures of My Father.
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Don't read your idols' blogs.
I've been having a big of blogger's ennui lately, which is a sillier sentence to write than it is to read.
I was going to write a post for This Recording that talked about the five bloggers I had blog-crushes on (nearly all platonic). It was going to include Rich from Four Four, Tracie "Slut Machine" Egan from Jezebel, and Emily Gould. I was considering including Alex Balk because no one else on the Internet can make me laugh and then shake my clenched fists at the computer screen with rage, and then there's Julia Allison, just 'cause. I know enough that name-dropping Julia Allison in a blog post (in the same as Emily Gould!) would certainly guarantee an extra five to ten hits.
When the whole Lizz Winstead / Jezebel thing went down two weeks ago, I watched the entire Thinking and Drinking episode featuring Tracie and Moe Tkacik from Jezebel and had a lot of opinions about it; I thought they were unfortunately unaware that the show could turn serious, and, like most of us under thirty, suffer from the curse of the "like and y'know?" generation that makes everything we say sound incredibly dumb despite what brilliant thoughts are buzzing inside our brains. At the same time, however, I was a little disappointed with what they said, but it was representative of a generation of feminists (and really, a generation of people) who forget about the progress of previous generations and how it opened doors for those that followed.
When I thought about writing this, I clicked around Tumblr and saw that everyone was writing the same stuff. People were arguing about how Moe and Tracie represent (like Emily Gould) a generation of women who are too willing to share personal details about their lives for their own gain (whether that is true and a bad thing is debatable, but I'd like to go on record as saying I never want to read the word "overshare" again, ever). And I don't want to go into a gender studies rant about why male bloggers aren't criticized for the same issues, but the idea is exhausting, much like the idea of writing about bloggers who are all related to Gawker.
The thing is this: I used to avidly read Gawker. I still do, on occasion, but with less frequency. Once I made a comparison on this blog to how the old generation of Gawker editors seemed like "the old people in charge of your college radio station." It was a comparison I made because, as a blogger, I sort of emulated those writers because I really enjoyed what they wrote and how they said it. They really were to me a sort of cool clique on the Internet, much like those music snobs who ran the radio station in college. It took me a while back then to realize that, even though I felt like "knowing" those people was a big deal, it didn't make much of a difference a year after graduation.
What's funny to me is that my friends, most of whom read this blog, don't give two shits about Gawker, and they don't recognize those names that used to be on the masthead. Nick Denton doesn't mean anything to them; neither do Julia Allison, Emily Gould, or Slut Machine. Most of them might not know anything about the "scandal" behind the Thinking and Drinking show, because they don't live their lives on the Internet.
I used to write here with the anticipation that one day I would write professionally, and I would turn this blogging hobby into a way to make money and do something that I really enjoyed. To be honest, the idea seems kind of repulsive now, probably because I realized that work is not necessarily something I'll enjoy, even if it's blogging. And I think that I've changed how I feel about writing about myself on the Internet; I've got a lot to say about myself, but that doesn't mean that I should, especially when having my personal shit become public makes feel a little gross.
I talked to my therapist about this (of all things), and she asked me why I don't keep a private journal, wherein I write about myself for myself. I told her I didn't know, that perhaps it's a generational trend: not only does it feel great to type away at these plastic keys (and save time doing so instead of writing everything by hand), but it's also exhilarating to risk putting yourself on the Internet and to let people read what you have to say. After all, as soon as chat rooms became unfashionable when I was seventeen, I joined my first blogging site, and I've been doing this since.
I was going to write a post for This Recording that talked about the five bloggers I had blog-crushes on (nearly all platonic). It was going to include Rich from Four Four, Tracie "Slut Machine" Egan from Jezebel, and Emily Gould. I was considering including Alex Balk because no one else on the Internet can make me laugh and then shake my clenched fists at the computer screen with rage, and then there's Julia Allison, just 'cause. I know enough that name-dropping Julia Allison in a blog post (in the same as Emily Gould!) would certainly guarantee an extra five to ten hits.
When the whole Lizz Winstead / Jezebel thing went down two weeks ago, I watched the entire Thinking and Drinking episode featuring Tracie and Moe Tkacik from Jezebel and had a lot of opinions about it; I thought they were unfortunately unaware that the show could turn serious, and, like most of us under thirty, suffer from the curse of the "like and y'know?" generation that makes everything we say sound incredibly dumb despite what brilliant thoughts are buzzing inside our brains. At the same time, however, I was a little disappointed with what they said, but it was representative of a generation of feminists (and really, a generation of people) who forget about the progress of previous generations and how it opened doors for those that followed.
When I thought about writing this, I clicked around Tumblr and saw that everyone was writing the same stuff. People were arguing about how Moe and Tracie represent (like Emily Gould) a generation of women who are too willing to share personal details about their lives for their own gain (whether that is true and a bad thing is debatable, but I'd like to go on record as saying I never want to read the word "overshare" again, ever). And I don't want to go into a gender studies rant about why male bloggers aren't criticized for the same issues, but the idea is exhausting, much like the idea of writing about bloggers who are all related to Gawker.
The thing is this: I used to avidly read Gawker. I still do, on occasion, but with less frequency. Once I made a comparison on this blog to how the old generation of Gawker editors seemed like "the old people in charge of your college radio station." It was a comparison I made because, as a blogger, I sort of emulated those writers because I really enjoyed what they wrote and how they said it. They really were to me a sort of cool clique on the Internet, much like those music snobs who ran the radio station in college. It took me a while back then to realize that, even though I felt like "knowing" those people was a big deal, it didn't make much of a difference a year after graduation.
What's funny to me is that my friends, most of whom read this blog, don't give two shits about Gawker, and they don't recognize those names that used to be on the masthead. Nick Denton doesn't mean anything to them; neither do Julia Allison, Emily Gould, or Slut Machine. Most of them might not know anything about the "scandal" behind the Thinking and Drinking show, because they don't live their lives on the Internet.
I used to write here with the anticipation that one day I would write professionally, and I would turn this blogging hobby into a way to make money and do something that I really enjoyed. To be honest, the idea seems kind of repulsive now, probably because I realized that work is not necessarily something I'll enjoy, even if it's blogging. And I think that I've changed how I feel about writing about myself on the Internet; I've got a lot to say about myself, but that doesn't mean that I should, especially when having my personal shit become public makes feel a little gross.
I talked to my therapist about this (of all things), and she asked me why I don't keep a private journal, wherein I write about myself for myself. I told her I didn't know, that perhaps it's a generational trend: not only does it feel great to type away at these plastic keys (and save time doing so instead of writing everything by hand), but it's also exhilarating to risk putting yourself on the Internet and to let people read what you have to say. After all, as soon as chat rooms became unfashionable when I was seventeen, I joined my first blogging site, and I've been doing this since.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
You like me!
Today I received the 100,000th visitor to my blog!
It was a visitor from Mesa, Arizona, who clicked a link from Erica's blog at 2:37 Central Time!
Thanks for the memories!
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Maximum Exposure
Whenever anyone asks me what it was like growing up in a small town, I tell them this story.
In seventh grade I started having a lot of trouble in my pre-Algebra class. I just didn't get Algebra, and it was the first time I had any problem with math, much to my mother's (the mathematician) chagrin. Add to the fact that I was the first-born, and even though I didn't have the typical amount of pressure put on me that most first children receive (because my parents were, sigh, NICE, I guess), there was an understanding that I was to stay on the honor roll for the rest of my school career, and, if it were possible, for the rest of my life.
So pre-Algebra really screwed up that plan. I thought I was smart enough, however, that I could hide the occasional bad grades I received from my parents; as long as I got a B every nine-weeks, they didn't really need to know about the Cs or Ds I got on tests, right? Well, this plan seems to fail when you live in a small town and you happen to get the one math teacher in the middle school who has been teaching there for years, who is married to the man who owns the furniture store where your parents bought all of their major appliances, and happens to take an early evening walk around your neighborhood block every single day. So, of course, Mrs. Sisson, when seeing my dad cutting grass in the evenings, would stop and chat and inevitably say something like, "Tyler (pronounced, mind you, as "Tyyylaaah") got a C on a math test today."
One would think that moving six hundred miles to Chicago would protect my identity a bit, and make me more anonymous. Nearly everyone I went to high school with, at least the ones that I was the closest to, have moved out of the area (albeit mostly to Richmond and Fredericksburg). And my father was indeed a local celebrity, given the numbers at the funeral home visitation and the funeral this week, but I never considered that I knew or was close to many people around here. Sure, being home for an event like this has certainly made me appreciate growing up in a small town, because the emotions expressed by everyone we have encountered have been very comforting instead of overwhelming.
Of course, here's the weird thing, which has shaken me up quite a bit: I've had a few people, people who are friends with my parents, say, "I've read your blog!"
I used to think having potential or current employers finding this site was bad. Imagine the people who came over for dinner, or the parents of people you went to high school. People who aren't extremely close to the family, but close enough that it's, um, weird.
When I said something to my mom, she just rolled her eyes, because ONCE AGAIN we all knew she was right. She refuses to read the blog because she's convinced I'm chronicling my crack cocaine addiction, or she'll read about my patronage of prostitutes, or be embarrassed by my jokes about her. (All of the previous don't happen, of course. Except for when I make fun of my mom. But I'm laughing WITH her!) She said, "Well, if you're going to have a blog, people are going to read it." Well, yeah, but not people from Westmoreland County, Virginia. Didn't we just get the Internet, like, four years ago?
I don't mean to sound like some elitist here, saying that I'm this big city big shot here. I still put my pants on one leg and a time, and I still use Spell Check just like everybody else. I know most people wouldn't read this site if they weren't generally interested in what my life was like, and they wouldn't say anything about it if they didn't enjoy it somehow (I think).
But to put it in perspective, I'd like to quote from Janeane Garofalo's 1997 HBO stand-up special, because, you know, I'm obsessed and it's also been a weird basis for my life's maturation. She had a ruptured ovarian cyst that, she said, was discovered after she passed out and had an "thorough" exam by the gynecologist. "Whilst he's down there," she said, "he peers up from between my knees and said, 'You know, my wife and I LOVE you on The Larry Sanders Show!'"
Janeane says she has a don't-ask-don't-tell policy with her vagina; man, I'd love to have that same policy with my blog.
In seventh grade I started having a lot of trouble in my pre-Algebra class. I just didn't get Algebra, and it was the first time I had any problem with math, much to my mother's (the mathematician) chagrin. Add to the fact that I was the first-born, and even though I didn't have the typical amount of pressure put on me that most first children receive (because my parents were, sigh, NICE, I guess), there was an understanding that I was to stay on the honor roll for the rest of my school career, and, if it were possible, for the rest of my life.
So pre-Algebra really screwed up that plan. I thought I was smart enough, however, that I could hide the occasional bad grades I received from my parents; as long as I got a B every nine-weeks, they didn't really need to know about the Cs or Ds I got on tests, right? Well, this plan seems to fail when you live in a small town and you happen to get the one math teacher in the middle school who has been teaching there for years, who is married to the man who owns the furniture store where your parents bought all of their major appliances, and happens to take an early evening walk around your neighborhood block every single day. So, of course, Mrs. Sisson, when seeing my dad cutting grass in the evenings, would stop and chat and inevitably say something like, "Tyler (pronounced, mind you, as "Tyyylaaah") got a C on a math test today."
One would think that moving six hundred miles to Chicago would protect my identity a bit, and make me more anonymous. Nearly everyone I went to high school with, at least the ones that I was the closest to, have moved out of the area (albeit mostly to Richmond and Fredericksburg). And my father was indeed a local celebrity, given the numbers at the funeral home visitation and the funeral this week, but I never considered that I knew or was close to many people around here. Sure, being home for an event like this has certainly made me appreciate growing up in a small town, because the emotions expressed by everyone we have encountered have been very comforting instead of overwhelming.
Of course, here's the weird thing, which has shaken me up quite a bit: I've had a few people, people who are friends with my parents, say, "I've read your blog!"
I used to think having potential or current employers finding this site was bad. Imagine the people who came over for dinner, or the parents of people you went to high school. People who aren't extremely close to the family, but close enough that it's, um, weird.
When I said something to my mom, she just rolled her eyes, because ONCE AGAIN we all knew she was right. She refuses to read the blog because she's convinced I'm chronicling my crack cocaine addiction, or she'll read about my patronage of prostitutes, or be embarrassed by my jokes about her. (All of the previous don't happen, of course. Except for when I make fun of my mom. But I'm laughing WITH her!) She said, "Well, if you're going to have a blog, people are going to read it." Well, yeah, but not people from Westmoreland County, Virginia. Didn't we just get the Internet, like, four years ago?
I don't mean to sound like some elitist here, saying that I'm this big city big shot here. I still put my pants on one leg and a time, and I still use Spell Check just like everybody else. I know most people wouldn't read this site if they weren't generally interested in what my life was like, and they wouldn't say anything about it if they didn't enjoy it somehow (I think).
But to put it in perspective, I'd like to quote from Janeane Garofalo's 1997 HBO stand-up special, because, you know, I'm obsessed and it's also been a weird basis for my life's maturation. She had a ruptured ovarian cyst that, she said, was discovered after she passed out and had an "thorough" exam by the gynecologist. "Whilst he's down there," she said, "he peers up from between my knees and said, 'You know, my wife and I LOVE you on The Larry Sanders Show!'"
Janeane says she has a don't-ask-don't-tell policy with her vagina; man, I'd love to have that same policy with my blog.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Picking scabs.
Alex posted this rather hilarious article today on This Recording about Joshua David Stein's article in Page Six Magazine about Emily Gould from Gawker, whom he apparently dated while they worked together. I've never been a big fan of JDS, but I love me some Emily Gould, and I can't help but read his piece without giggling. Basically, Josh is upset because, while they were dating, Emily wrote about him on a blog. Which she showed to people. People he knew.
I think it's rather hilarious. You signed up for it, dude.
Stein's article did remind me of something John told me about ago, which was in jest but still kind of rings true: "I won't break up with you because I know what you're like when you break up with someone." Whatever did he mean?
But seriously, I realize that there're a lot of lines to possibly cross when you have a blog, and that's why I generally try to not write about everything because not everyone seems to think it's as hilarious as I do. Obviously, I wouldn't write about John or the breakup in too great of detail, because (luckily) we're still talking and things aren't weird and I want it to stay that way. And also, John never hurt me in any way, unlike the previous dipshit, so I don't have anything negative to say about him.
You know how Hannibal Lector only ate people who caused him personal offense or were incredibly rude to him? Well, that's how I blog. That may be an extreme analogy, but it's (possibly) appropriate. I refrain from tearing people down most of the time because it's not really fair or worth it. If you fuck with my shit, however, I will not let it go. I was just bitching last week about high school, for Chrissakes. Part of me realizes that things like that are silly, and the other part of me thinks, "Well, you're a good writer. You have a way with words. You can totally cut people down with a few sentences and you should use that power to its full extent."
I guess what I'm saying here is this: Joshua David Stein shouldn't bitch so much about Emily Gould blogging about their relationship. But he absolutely should have written an article about it. And I applaud that.
I think it's rather hilarious. You signed up for it, dude.
Stein's article did remind me of something John told me about ago, which was in jest but still kind of rings true: "I won't break up with you because I know what you're like when you break up with someone." Whatever did he mean?
But seriously, I realize that there're a lot of lines to possibly cross when you have a blog, and that's why I generally try to not write about everything because not everyone seems to think it's as hilarious as I do. Obviously, I wouldn't write about John or the breakup in too great of detail, because (luckily) we're still talking and things aren't weird and I want it to stay that way. And also, John never hurt me in any way, unlike the previous dipshit, so I don't have anything negative to say about him.
You know how Hannibal Lector only ate people who caused him personal offense or were incredibly rude to him? Well, that's how I blog. That may be an extreme analogy, but it's (possibly) appropriate. I refrain from tearing people down most of the time because it's not really fair or worth it. If you fuck with my shit, however, I will not let it go. I was just bitching last week about high school, for Chrissakes. Part of me realizes that things like that are silly, and the other part of me thinks, "Well, you're a good writer. You have a way with words. You can totally cut people down with a few sentences and you should use that power to its full extent."
I guess what I'm saying here is this: Joshua David Stein shouldn't bitch so much about Emily Gould blogging about their relationship. But he absolutely should have written an article about it. And I applaud that.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Blogiversary.
My blog turned 2.0 on October 5th and, being the bad blogger than I am, I completely forgot about it. I was going to do a recap of sorts about the crazy shenanigans that have happened since last October, but then I realized that I really didn't want to do that. So, uh, happy birthday, blog.
Birthdays aren't so much fun anymore, are they?
Birthdays aren't so much fun anymore, are they?
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
So scene.
I went to see Mirah last night at Logan Square, which was quite a good show despite the fact that the venue is a miserable place to see a show. Even Mirah was distracted by how crappy the sound and lighting systems were, and poor Laura Viers opened and no one could hear her because everyone in the back of the room (because it's literally just a room that you could throw a prom in) was chatty. Granted, people rarely pay attention to the solo acoustic singer-songwriters that open for the headliner they paid money to see, so it was rather awkward when she thanked the listeners in the front in a passive-aggressive swipe at the people in the back.
Anyway, I ran into a bunch of people I knew at the show, and that kind of thing has been happening a lot lately. When I moved here almost two years ago I never thought I'd know enough people in this city that I'd randomly see acquaintances in public. Honestly, though, it's happening over and over again. I'm not necessarily talking about people I try to avoid, necessarily, but let's put it this way: I went out dancing on Monday night and saw two people I've made out with, and both of them came over to chat with me. And that's weird (but not as weird, frankly, as hearing the DJ play Michael McDonald - that is NEVER OKAY).
I've met a few fellow bloggers lately, which I love, because it's fun meeting people that you know an unnecessary amount of information about before you even talk in person. But here's the thing: like in my real, offline life, I have Internet enemies. And these people don't know how I feel about because I hate them based entirely on their blogs, which they don't realize I read. I know this is silly, and I'm sure there are people out there who read my shit with the same kind of ire, but I find it really entertaining that I happen to see a few of these people in public and I wonder if any of you mystery readers have the same relationship with me.
Anyway, I ran into a bunch of people I knew at the show, and that kind of thing has been happening a lot lately. When I moved here almost two years ago I never thought I'd know enough people in this city that I'd randomly see acquaintances in public. Honestly, though, it's happening over and over again. I'm not necessarily talking about people I try to avoid, necessarily, but let's put it this way: I went out dancing on Monday night and saw two people I've made out with, and both of them came over to chat with me. And that's weird (but not as weird, frankly, as hearing the DJ play Michael McDonald - that is NEVER OKAY).
I've met a few fellow bloggers lately, which I love, because it's fun meeting people that you know an unnecessary amount of information about before you even talk in person. But here's the thing: like in my real, offline life, I have Internet enemies. And these people don't know how I feel about because I hate them based entirely on their blogs, which they don't realize I read. I know this is silly, and I'm sure there are people out there who read my shit with the same kind of ire, but I find it really entertaining that I happen to see a few of these people in public and I wonder if any of you mystery readers have the same relationship with me.
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