ashaland

Welcome, Broadsheet

The Salon.com Life section needed an infusion of oomph, and here it is: Broadsheet. A "cheeky, new women's blog," it will, no doubt, be full of good info and good fun. Fire up your feed readers, ladies.

The Blogging Mom Clique

Um, hi? My name's Asha, and I, um, do a blog? You know, a weblog, kind of like an online journal?

Well, is it okay if I blog without, you know, um, cussing and stuff? Because I don't really cuss, not that much. I mean, I say shit when I stub my toe like everyone else, but that's about as bad as it gets. And it seems like many of the popular motherhood blogs emphasize their points by cussing, and while that's okay, and all, it's not me, really.

And, um, I don't really drink, either. I was scanning the mom-blog circuit last night, and several writers mentioned how they got drunk regularly. No problem, I don't have a problem with it, I just, you know, don't want to have to project this drinking, cussing persona to fit in and be all "bloggy." You know?

And I'm, like, a pretty positive person? I see the bright side of things most of the time? I'm not, like, DUMB or NAIVE or anything, but my blogs are light at times, and dark at times. I'm not, you know, cynical? And, well, honestly? I think people pass off cynicism as intelligence a little too much. But that's okay!! Some of my best friends are cynical, cussing drinkers! Really! I just don't want to have to sound critical to be taken, you know, seriously.

I'm not saying popular mom blogs like Dooce and finslippy aren't fantastic, well-written, incisive, funny, GREAT. They are, and I love them. I love how blogging has exposed the everyday brilliance, quirkiness, and desire to share so many people possess. (I'm also not specifically calling Dooce and finslippy cynical, cussing drinkers.)

I just want to blog my stuff, my way. I don't want to have to be cool. That's one of the best things about growing up, you know? I don't aspire to blog stardom, with daily entries and 10,000 hits an hour and appearances on everyone else 's blogrolls and 450 comments after each post. I just want to blog.

So, um, is that okay? Can I still be part of the group?

Useless literary pondering

Is there such a thing as a single entendre?

1984

In moments, I took it all in: the gym, transformed into a dance floor by a few colored light bulbs and hand-painted “Class of ‘84” posters; the clutches of popular girls, flushed with false modesty and the boys circling them, like sharks; the fat girls, smiling hopefully; the mods, all black dye and spikes, dancing fitfully in a corner; the loners and losers hovering near the door looking so painfully miserable I wondered why they paid the dollar to get in.

We huddled around each other, screaming our heys and how’s it goin’s with forced casualness. Close friends and acquaintances we barely knew received the same weak hugs, always given bent slightly forward from the waist, chin up, thin arms encircling and patting each others’ shoulders. Our hair swayed in unison, stiff with Aquanet. We sipped Diet Coke from chilled cans while appraising each others’ shoes and makeup. Like mannequins dressed up for a year-end sale, we were on display, and we knew it.