Post-Mary-goes-blind Post

I’m afraid that I’ve been terribly bad about blogging lately. In my defense, I have thought about blogging fairly regularly. I think about it when I’m sitting in my cubicle drinking my re-heated decaf tea (softened even further with incongruous coffee creamer), plucking squashed strawberries from a zip-lock bag and having some thought that I suspect might be clever.

However, lately when I get home (ah, look, a reformed employee who does no on-the-clock-blogging) I have not the least desire to gaze with my usual adoration into the screen of my computer. I don’t even have my usual yearning to look up Amish-made pony carts on craigslist.

I’ve felt very acutely like lying on the carpet and cloud-gazing at the shoddy popcorn ceiling (being opposed to going outside now that the weather has turned dreadfully warm). On days of particularly intense apathy (and now I’m waxing oxymoronical) I’d like to shut my brain off entirely and watch post-Mary-goes-blind episodes of Little House on the Prairie of a specifically sentimental vein. That's right, only the really god-y ones that star Michael Landon, were written by Michael Landon and produced by Michael Landon.

But as usual I have blogging guilt. Not because I labor under the illusion that a multitude of people are awaiting my every post, but rather because I labor under an equally heavy illusion of myself as a master-blogger (and believe me, I've gotten even snobbier since I quit the twit).


On the whole however I can't think of too many snippets of profundity that I've missed posting in my recent reluctance. The world doesn't really need one more person whining about the Kindle and chattering on about the embarrassment of finding the gum that you spit out the window miles ago on the side of your car door when you get home.


But for now I should go to bed so that I have sufficient energy to be lazy again tomorrow.

My pledge: no otters here.

I have recently stumbled upon what might be the best kept secret on the internet. If it seems foolhardy to give any numerical assignment to the wonders of the boundless internet, allow me to clarify. Over the weekend I saw something even better than that blog containing only pictures of otters, and that I feel warrants mention. What makes it better is that I wasn’t even looking for an internet-y thrill, but happened upon it while looking over the shoulder of my main squeeze who was inexplicably ended up on Youtube after adding a plush Seabiscuit doll to our wedding registry.

For what it’s worth, my virtual cap is off to you, Underground American Girl Youtube Community.

Oh yes, those American Girls. None other than the Chicago based, hugely overpriced, historically accurate, must have gift for every dorky girl. Being the epitome of dorky girl, I certainly had one. In fact, I had the colonial.

I got the doll for my 8th birthday after months of begging and leaving strategically circled copies in my mother's path of the monthly catalog (which she still receives) that I had sent away for after devouring the books. I can still remember the shock of reading the fuzzy-warm American Girl rendition of the American Revolution. Apparently the whole affair can be summed up by girlfriends, so symbolic of their respective countries, torn apart by political values though they shared moral and cultural ones. That’s pretty deep for a chapter book with little pictures showing the period vocabulary in the sidebar.

So there are these girls (presumably) who are putting elaborate videos of varying qualities, using American Girl dolls as the primary actors. I had intended on going into detail about one particularly dismal director, but I’m pressed for time so I’ll just air my primary reaction to this phenomenon.

These are children, equipped with what one might once have call ed imaginations. And where we once viewed the imagination as a private affair (and after adolescence something somewhat embarrassing), it is now the makings of a fanbase far surpassing in numbers what few friends these webcammed history buffs may have.

What is the youth coming to, when it proudly displays its imaginary friends to the world in slightly grainy footage and bad sound quality, and invites their comments?