“Bloggers aren’t writers, they’re graffiti artists with punctuation.”
– Whoever wrote the script for “Contagion”
You’ll be interested to know that I ate supper today.
I’m starting to suspect that 90% of all weblogs consist solely of people showing you their daily food and habitat combinations. Mine certainly fits into this category. This is not an enormous revelation, but I was still kind of struck by this idea as I sat in a café (where the staff now knows “where I usually sit”) and tried to get some work done. As I was downing cup number three of their excellent black coffee, I saw someone stroll into the shop and snap some photos of the aesthetically pleasing food offerings. She’s probably going to post those photos in her blog is my immediate thought. I should know: I did the same thing last week.
Paris, for sure, is a well-worn city that has been picked clean like a post-Thanksgiving turkey carcass. For many centuries, this undeniably beautifully city has been the site of endless personal testimony that can be collectively summed up under the same fundamental theme: Person X comes to Paris, falls in love with the city, its culture, all the food…but probably not the people. Then they leave and think about the experience for the rest of their life. Paris is Ours, a book I am currently reading, is a testament to this observation.
(By the way, I am also Person X.)
Continue with your picture-taking, O Francophile faithful. We’ve made sure to mask life’s unsightly upkeep process, just for you.
Bringing the fantastic Internet into the equation, technology now allows everyone to flex their short attention span and publish eyewitness accounts of their adventures in Paris (or wherever they happen to be in the world). That’s really great, but I kinda fear that blogLand is starting to look like the city that has four Starbucks open for business at the same intersection. And just so you know, the coffee in my shop tastes less burnt than the stuff in yours.
What also got me thinking about this theme of similarity was a visit to the website of a favorite fitness and food blogger (I won’t give you the link). In the author’s entry, this person felt the need to post three photos of a hotel’s automatic coffee maker, and five photos of the hotel room (there was no Wonkavator shower, so it wasn’t terribly remarkable). I know that I shouldn’t throw stones, but I blew through the entire entry and wondered how anyone could find this material especially interesting.
Again, I get that my house is made of glass.
I feel the need to insert another image of beauty, lest you completely lose interest in my gratuitous rhapsodizing…
As for me in Paris, I totally count myself as a member of the crowd of sugar addicts who roam this city with an appetite and a camera stuffed into her purse. We’re all taking the same photos, and we say the same things about the hundreds of food options available along these renowned streets. Indeed, while waiting in line yesterday for a tuna baguette, I reflexively reached for my camera as I spied the bakery’s colorful macaron tower and judged it worthy of documentation. Sure, I knew that the photo would add nothing new to the blogosphere, but I also understood that everyone loves photos of food. If it’s nicely plated and thoroughly fattening, then you’ll probably score an audience of satisfied readers by the end of your blog entry.
So what the heck am I talking about here? Am I disappointed that I consistently fail to be creative in my quest to put forth quality blog entries every couple of days? Um, no- I don’t claim to be that discriminating. Do I scorn everyone else for photographing and writing about the exact same things that I am doing while in Paris? Heck no- originality simply does not exist. I guess what I am trying to say is that I have other things that I’d rather be writing about, and I should do a better job of challenging my brain and putting more thought into what I do with my days, and what I am showing you. Case in point:
I saw a really fantastic non-film this afternoon, a change of pace that proved to be very good for Megan’s right brain.
I really love movies. Especially the crazy foreign ones. Today I went to the cinema (this country actually has them!) and I was really struck by the film I saw. This movie, which is not really a movie, was the account of a director’s stifled existence in Tehran. My afternoon spent in this weirdo indie theater left me feeling satisfied in ways that no Parisian dessert or artsy protective scaffolding could have ever achieved. This Is Not a Film was a refreshing, unresolved and stripped down slice of realism- something that is slightly more complex and therefore less likely to be found in a glossy magazine or web page filled with happy comfort foods.
It’s no wonder why more people are attracted to this city than say, Dakar. People from all cultures and walks of life appreciate being spared a little unsightliness. Why do you think I’m here doing research?
So again, this is not an attack on any blogger or any blog reader. I will be the first to admit that I scroll through blog entries in order to arrive at the money shot of food- whereupon I subsequently think jealous thoughts because I can’t be there enjoying said food. I love escapism, but I sometimes think that I might be getting lazy as I get older. Actually, I know that I am getting lazy- but as someone recently reminded me, so long as I try to at least attempt to fight the inertia of a sugar-dazed status quo of writing and global mass production, then at least I’m challenging my brain. And that’s really all I’m looking for in Paris life.
By the way, here are your macarons.