Coming to the end of my first official week of blogging, I thought, well, we should end on a high note. Let’s talk about gratitude or kindness or making pavlova?
Yes, probably not going to happen. I’m on the downswing of my menstrual cycle, so, you know, this blog may be high… or it could very well get low. We’ll only know once I hit, PUBLISH. Happy Friday.
(If you are wondering who ‘we’ is, that would be you [the reader], me [Natalie Minor] and Du Preez [Natalie Major— the one who plays on the monkey bars]. My intention for this blog is that it would be a conversation starter; that we would have many conversations. So speak up folks, I cannee hear ye!)
Let’s talk about the times. Getting with them. These elusive modernities… or are they illusive modernities? HA! That is the question. Are all the ‘new things’ which fill our lives hard to catch, to get a hold of? Are we always chasing the newest fad?
OR, are the new things merely an illusion? Are they unreal… all a set up to distract us from all that is truly real? Deep right?! Premensturallllll!
Let’s take a swing at Instagram because I actually quite like it… but I’m not sure why.
My Bestie, (whom shall henceforth be known as, Nicci) is my Instagram idol. She’s got that platform down. She posts sparingly, but enough to warrant a follow. She likes even the most mundane pictures posted by her friends because if it’s important to you, it’s important to her. But mostly I’m amazed by the number and variety of people she follows: everyone from Triathlete inspirations to Kate Middleton.
I used to follow nobody, excluding close friends and family, of course— they’re my favourite nobodies. About a month ago, in an effort to be like, Nicci when I grow up, I followed my first celebrity.
Alexander Dreymon. Because If I’m going to look at pictures of a stranger every day it may as well be him. Those eyes. That jaw line. Swoon.
I found his account on Instagram, pressed ‘FOLLOW’, and Bam! I was hit with this notice, THIS ACCOUNT IS PRIVATE. YOUR FOLLOW REQUEST HAS BEEN SENT.
So now, some hunky German dude will get a notification that some average-joe housewife wants to perv his pretty face every day. Thanks, Internets. Thanks for nothing, Instagram.
Last week, while waiting at a Scottish bus stop, Nicci said, “Oprah is watching Hello Dolly today. Love it.”
“What? How do you know that?” I said.
“She just posted it on Instagram,” she said.
“You follow, Oprah?” I asked.
“I like her,” she said.
Obviously. How cool to know that Oprah is going to watch a play.
But then I thought, do I care? Do I care that a stranger is watching a play? No, I don’t.
Does Oprah care that I don’t care? Probably not. Does Oprah want everyone to know that she is watching Hello Dolly? Obviously, otherwise, why would she post it? But why does Oprah want strangers to know?
You see, these are the questions that keep me up at night. Why write a blog? Why would anyone care what I’m writing about every morning? Do I want them to care? Why do I want them to care?
And the selfies. Why? I’m not talking about photos taken of groups of people, or you with your kids or you on the top of a mountain. Or the new hair selfie. Cool. Or the lost-a-huge-amount-of-weight selfie. Bravo. I get those selfies. But the selfies of you in the bathroom mirror, every day, fully made-up, pouting. WHY?
But, I realise my questions are not the right questions. They are at best, antiquated. I’m far behind the times. The new question is, WHY NOT? Why not blog? Why not post pictures of yourself duck-facing all over the internet? Why the hell not?! No one cares if you don’t care.
And so I’ll carry on Instagramming. And blogging. And, maybe, one day when I’m bored, I’ll snap chat. And then there will be new illusive things, which will mean who-the-hell-knows-what, but it will be cool, and so, we’ll all do it. And we may care about it, or we may not. In these modern times, clearly, sharing is NOT caring.