Linking to the Reverse Cowgirl Blog again today really seems like a bad idea to me. I've admitted before that I read the RCB regularly and, while I generally find it satisfying, there are painful moments. It's like picking scabs. I'm compelled strongly, and doing it leaves me relieved, if bloody and guilt-ridden.

The last time I linked to it (in the midst of a particularly vitriolic fit,) she Technoratied my scrawny ass, called me out, and plunged me to Larry David depths of awkwardness. It's not something I want repeated.

But on the other hand, it's probably absurd of me to assume that, should I link the RCB again, anyone, let alone the authoress, will notice at all. The whole inner-conflict is a fine example of the sixth in The Spoonbender Rules of the Road: "The best acts of cowardice are those birthed from conceit."

In the end, I can't resist. Her tirade today is fascinating. In a minor league sort of way.

It's short, so go read it now. Then come back. Swear you'll come back. I'll wait, because I love you.

There aren't words to express how fully I agree with and appreciate her sentiments on the "self-proclaimed A-list bloggers." There aren't words, but I'll futz with some, anyway.

This "council of elders," some of whom had mitts in the genesis of blogging and others who were merely in the blast radius, has become so thoroughly infatuated with itself and its little fiefdom that the entirety of its output consists of self-promotion. Maybe self-promotion isn't exactly it, and I don't think self-justification is, either. It's as though, if they talk enough about how amazing this blogging thing, some idiot will eventually buy it. It worked in '94. Pets.com, right?

Yeah. Blogging's cool. So's the telephone. Imagine if Edison spent as much time attending conferences to espouse its coolness as these people do? We'd never have gotten the light bulb or the peep show machine. The peep show machine, people? Talk about a fucking tragedy.

And I don't think anyone would accuse blogging of being as important as the telephone. Or the peep show machine, for that matter.

But on the other hand, it seems to me that the Cowgirl's sentiments aren't entirely genuine. It smells like jealousy, and I know the smell, because I reek of it. The first section of her post reads like a resume of Fascinating Blog Firsts. "Did you hear MTV wanted to make my blog a show? It would have been on right after WebRiot and all of MTV's other misguided attempts to rot the youth culture through the internet." No matter how cool your clique, there's always someone cooler, and I think Cowgirl might be a little pissed she didn't get invited to the AOL prom.

And who can blame her? I mean, she's as qualified as anyone, right? I can't argue with the resume.

RCB is right. Blogging isn't a conversation. But it's not a primal scream, either. That's a little too Pump Up The Volume, don't you think? If we're being honest with ourselves, we'd admit that it's nothing more than a pitiful whimper in a colossal cacophony of whines and wheezes.

And the question remains, why do it? Has our upbringing so infatuated us with the idea of being watched and heard that we're willing to resort to this? It's stripping nude and juggling on a street corner in a ghost town.

In fact, that would be better. This is just, this.

Analogcabin @ 7:34 AM
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