BOSTON--The swell thing about blogging is that you can do whatever you want, with no pesky editor telling you that your ideas are cockamamie.
The frustrating thing about blogging is that all the decisions are up to you, and there's no pesky editor there to tell you when your ideas really are cockamamie, or when your prose has run off the rails.
In an environment such as this convention, the pressure to post is extremely high.
Blogs are, after all, said to be the running commentary on this event. Combine the tyranny of the post with the tedium of relentless self-promotion (tune up those violins) and what was always a narcissistic medium becomes a cult of one--one's own personality that is, or at the very least, of the persona in which one blogs.
Exhausted from e-mailing each little gem from her blog to tout le monde, sick of her self-consciously arch blogstress persona, unsure that there was really anything left to say about this confab, Addie actually went out today to do some reporting (go figure), and has hence fallen down on her blogger duties of perpetual musing.
And so, we have this post about not much of anything, which has been constructed for the purpose of having posted.
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