There comes a point in life when you move away from your circle of university buddies, and enter The Real World; it’s jarring how little The Real World resembles Wired magazine. You start to realise that you’re vastly outnumbered by them. People who have never gigged with a laptop. People who don’t go to Starbucks because it’s too dear. People who don’t listen to music. Talk to them about dirty projectors and they think you’re talking about, you know, dirty projectors. At the local cinema.
It’s a band, see. No, I hadn’t heard of them either. They’re American. There’s a stereotype of the modern woman circa 2007 who had a blog about parenting or moving home that they successfully translated into a book deal, and millions upon millions of people who had blogs that went nowhere. I surmise that if you took all of those people and spaced them evenly across the globe the population density would be very faint. A network of teeny-tiny glow-worms beaming their light straight up into the endless blackness of space. Never illuminating each other. So faint you’d have to look askance to see them. I always think of that photograph of the python that burst whilst trying to eat an alligator. It killed the alligator and then burst and died. Imagine it swallowing the alligator, and then - rip - it splits open.
I have a blog, here, although it had an awkward gestation. I’ve been on the internet since 1995 at least - back when Gary Numan wasn’t trendy, and everything was Usenet, mailing lists and, er, scans of those sexy robots by Hajime Sorayama - and in that time I’ve had a couple of radical career changes, working as an actual bone fide professional writer for a few years. Over time I’ve had (a) a website (b) a blog (c) a wiki (d) and finally another blog, which is about photography. I decided to pick one topic and stick with it. You know, I can remember when Doom had a swastika in it. Just one topic. Need to work out which one. Photography as a whole is too broad; modern photographic equipment is too small, too trivial. I’ve got a huge brush, baby, I want to wave it about. There are loads of photographers who are really just photographic equipment enthusiasts. Golgafrincham B Ark people. Debating which pigment to use whilst Ugg was pondering the inevitability of physical decay and death.
But I’m driven by conflicting impulses. I don’t want to follow the example of those technology review sites where they review boxes. Except that they don’t really review anything, they describe photographs of boxes… they republish advertising images of boxes in order to fill up their quota of daily posts. If you want to be a successful blogger you have to be an absolutely relentless sociopath, the kind of person who views all personal interactions as a means of publicising his or her blog. And the world of photo-blogs is packed with awful Thomas Kinkade-type characters who pump out the same mediocre rubbish with conviction; but no doubt the same is true of dentistry blogs, real estate blogs, etc blogs. I don’t want to be an awful man. And I have my brush.
And there’s the Britain thing. On a practical level I’m in the wrong time zone. Everything that happened on the internet happened fifteen hours ago. The British internet scene has always been a bit pants; insular in a self-conscious way, built on an ingrained and surprisingly persistent foundation of affected effortlessness, affected disinterest. I can’t fit in with that. And yet American writing comes across as sentimental, literal, unimaginative, fundamentally humourless. But that’s probably because my only experience of American writing comes from… actual Americans probably aren’t like that. And the rest of the world, they don’t speak English, so what use are words?