Why do people blog?

I've had my site, Urban Life, for a couple of months now and I've done a bit, well, more than a bit, of research into blogging.  The first thing that amazed me was the sheer immensity of blogs.  First of all, I never considered my SITE a blog, I thought it was a website.  But so many people are calling it a blog, I suppose it must fall into that category.  Back to the immensity.  There are literally thousands of blogs on the World Wide Web. Blogs on every subject imaginable.  And so it started an internal conversation as to why do people do it?  Why are there so many inane posters?  What makes a successful blog and why am I having a conversation with myself??  We'll forget about the last one.  

   My blog/site is a collection of modalities and interests loosely formed around an Urban theme.  As I've said before, cities fascinate me, excite me and infuse me with energy.  But lets be honest, YOU don't care about what motivates ME.  You care about YOU.  And that is normal.  So, to the first question, why do people blog?  I think there is an innate urge for humans to express themselves.  To get out what is inside and have it recognized by others.  Some want to snatch a minute semblance of fame, in whatever form they can find.  Any man or woman can be published in this day and age.  What used to be a diary is now a public journal.  And the old ubiquitous 'submission rejection form letter' need not apply when one is self-published.  Content be damned.

   Which brings me to the second question.  Why are there so many inane posters?  So many inane blogs?  They say many are called but few are chosen.  And they also say the cream rises to the top.  Be it as it may, I site as exhibit A, the number one social network site on the planet Earth, Facebook.  It never ceases to amaze me the sheer massive amount of mundane thoughts emitting from the 'send' button. This is how it works.  A person has a fleeting thought, it could be about anything, they're sitting at their computer, they type it up, hit 'send' and the entire world for perpetuity, knows it.  A person is say, vacuuming their rug and for some uncanny reason, they feel the need to 'share'.  And they do. Its a compulsion.  But what is really fascinating about this compulsion to share the mundane, is that everybody comments on it!  They feel the need to share in the mundane, to embellish upon it, to cheer it on as it were.  I have no idea why.  And so many blogs are the same.  Blogs about what makeup someone is wearing and what truck someone is driving.  Interesting.  Now I don't claim to be a Yoda or someone imparting deep pearls of wisdom every time I sit down in front of my keyboard and put pen to paper as it were.  Or whatever its called now days.  I don't meditate before I write and wait for the bolt of lightning to split the stone tablets.  But I do try to give something interesting and useful.  And that brings me to the last question I asked myself while walking the streets at 2 AM.  What makes a successful blog?

   If you don't teach, you won't reach.  Its that simple.  People love to learn.  They want to be able to look at something that they will get a take-away from.  Now I realize that may contradict my previous paragraph. Yes, the facebook posts about someone's day watching the paint dry will get 20 comments, but you can be assured that they're the posters closest friends and relatives.  And even that still amazes me.  However, to have a successful blog that hundreds, even, who knows, thousands of people will visit, you must teach.  How to cook a fish.  How to change a hard drive.  How to format a disk.  How to pick up someone in a bar in 10 minutes or less.  Its all about teaching and what YOU can do for THEM. And, within that context, you can showoff what you do.  In a photographers blog, there may be many beautiful shots of sunsets on Bali, but if there aren't posts on how to take those shots, you can count on your family and friends to be your fans and that's about it.  The secret to success is doing for others.  Making people's lives a little brighter, a little more enlightened.  Giving them something that they can use and THAT will make them come back for more.  And while they're at it, they just might look at your pictures and give you a thumbs up.  

   So, back to the core question, why am i having conversations with myself... NO, not THAT question.  Why DO people blog?  Because it fills the need to escape anonymity.  And in a big city, as unlikely as it may sound, anonymity is a real reality.  Millions of people walking down the sidewalks and no one stops to say hello.  Sometimes people don't even know their own neighbors.  A blog gives a person a chance to escape that aloneness.  Also, most everyone wants to stand out, to 'be somebody'.  One only has to watch Jerry Springer one time to see the lengths some go to achieve their 15 minutes. But its deeper than that.  People want others to see that they have something to say.  Something to contribute.  

   I blog because I must create.  And I feel I have something to say that may make others think a little different about something.  I blog because I want to teach whatever I have been passionate about in my short time and might have some minute expertise to share.  I blog because I want to share, I want to connect.  As an artist, I want people to see and hear my art, and hope that it may give them a smile. And in this Urban Life, I want to share the endless complexities and wonders of these man made canyons we call CITY.  

   Why do YOU blog?  Why do YOU write, if you do?  I would like you to tell me, right here and now, what YOUR thoughts are.  Because if nothing else, I'm forever curious.  

A Rainy day in LA

They say that a successful blog must teach something, if you're not teaching, nobody is watching.  Because at the end of the day, people are interested in something THEY can use, not what you're doing.  However, I did title my site, Urban Life, and so I must depart from the paradigm from time to time and just indulge myself.  So in that spirit, I have created a short little film of a rainy day in Los Angeles.  That in itself is an event.  However, six days of rain is an epic event and this is a tiny chronicle of those times not that long ago.  

   There is something about rain that moves my soul and sooths my spirit.  I believe it is because I was born and raised in Nevada and rain in the desert is always a special thing, almost a spiritual thing.  When the rain falls in the desert, you can smell the sage from mountains and gullys miles away and the dust is washed from the air.  In the city, the rain washes the pavement clean and cleans the smog from the air and brings into sight horizons that you forgot existed.  And suddenly there are dozens of little cafes and coffee houses where you can duck into and escape with a hot cup of coffee or tea.  Or sip a shot in a bar where like minded souls share muted conversation.  

   I was in Hong Kong one time on a rainy day and I ducked into one such restaurant and it was empty except for one table where a beautiful woman was eating alone.  The waiter knowing that both her and I spoke English, me American, she British, asked me if I would like to sit with her.  I said of course, if she didn't mind.  She didn't.  And we sat there, her and I and 15 Chinese waiters in crisp white uniforms standing at attention waiting to fill a glass of water or remove a plate at a moments notice.  We got on fine and left that restaurant for the Hong Kong rain and spent the afternoon exploring hidden antiquities and curio shops deep in hidden allys while squinty eyed old men watched us over long pipes.  I took the ferry back to Kowloon and met up with her later that night at a bar called, wait for it, Ricks, where she was sitting with friends under a ceiling fan. I bought her a Fosters and that my friends was the beginning of a beautiful friendship....for the next few days anyway.  

   The rain can make magic happen and it does all the time.  It washes away the dust in the city, and it washes away the dusty cobwebs in your mind as well.  You only have to be open to it.    

They can't take that away from me

I recently learned this beautiful standard, one of my favorites.  Since I've only been playing piano for 2 years, there are some rough edges, but I think the feeling comes across.  I hope you like my humble effort.  

Down and out in Cairo, part two, a new day DID come

Yes, I realize my site is a city/urban blog.  But from time to time I just cannot resist commenting on the events of the world.  And after all, as I said before, Cairo IS a city, and a very mysterious, vast, and beautiful one in a shabby, dusty, ancient way.  And Tahrir Square is the center of that magnificient city and in a sense, the center of the world for the last 3 weeks.  

   I could use a cliche, and I think I will.  Today we are ALL Egyptians.  They won!  The people won.  They won their freedom in a bloodless revolution that reminds me of when Ghandi staged his peaceful revolution in India that ended the British Raj.  Yes people died.  People were hurt and wounded.  But not by the army of the 'empire' coming down upon them, but by the dictator's secret police and thugs snipping and running down with camels and running over with trucks.. drive by hit and run artists.  But that wasn't enough to still the nobel hordes, the peaceful youth who came with signs that read, 'game over'.  So we are all Egyptians, all people who value freedom.  Freedom of expression, freedom of internet, and writting and blogging and music.  The people who value and love democracy won the day.  And the old men harkening back to Stalin, Saddam and the purveyors of repression found themselves simply out of touch.  Left behind by the tide of progress.  How can a dictator maintain control in the old ways when anyone can publish anything, text anyone, call on a phone they hold in their hands?  

   Information is the coin of the realm.  Information is the key to sucess.  To inovation.  To revoluton.  They cannot supress it anymore.  Its a new age.  A new energy.  It cannot be stopped with fear.  Fear is over when the truth of 'you have nothing to fear but fear itself' becomes a glaring reality.  A revolution started with technology and youthful energy actually won the day.  It won the day without guns and killing and war and robespierre's guillotine.  

   Watching those moments, those hours and days in Tahrir Square amazed me and sent shivers of pride for humanity coursing through my body.  There was no burning of the American flag, no jihadist retoric, no bombs.  There were muslims guarding christians holding mass and christians guarding muslims holding daily prayers.  There were young people singing songs and families taking their children out to witness history.  And all they wanted was freedom.  How elegant.  

   And this democracy was not imposed on them at the end of a gun or by bombs.  It emerged on its own volition when the time was ripe.  Like a bulb in the ground will send its shoots to seek the sun when the time is right.   Democracy grows within a people because its a normal thing, a natural thing.  But it can lay dorment for centuries, and will not arise before its time.  But as surely as seeds planted the year before, when the time is right, it WILL sprout.  Not forced, but by its own natural unfolding.  And like the seed sending its shoot through solid rock, just as irresistable.  

   I don't claim to speculate what may and will happen now.  I don't know.  But I want to believe that this force, this irresistable urge to be free will take hold and won't be hijacked by agents of a past era.  I want to believe that there is no turning back.  As the Google executive Wael Ghonim, the man who started it all with a facebook page said, 'you can kidnap us, shoot us, kill us, but you can't stop us.  Its too late'.  He knew.  Because information is the coin of the realm.  

   I wish them the most luck, the most sucess.  And like Egypt was in an ancient time, the light of the world, I hope and trust it can shine a new light on the Arab world that there is a middle way.  That you don't need to chose between dictatorship on the one hand, and jihad on the other.  A dictator overthrown in a bloodless, almost bloodless, revolution.  Who knew it was possible?  

Bangkok

A reflection on a journey taken a while back to the other side of the planet.

   Bangkok at last!  I can't believe it, I'm actually on the oppisite side of the planet in one of the most exotic cities one can imagine.  I am tired and jet-lagged.  I have flown into another day and another world.  This city is immense.  Sprawling and deep.  Deep with mystery and intrigue.  It is humid, wet, and dangerous.  Wet and humid like the back of a slithering python.  Seductive like the hypnotizing unblinking eye of the dragon.  Danger lurks here.  I can see it peering out the oriental eyes of the drivers and jetway clerks and cabbies like smoke hiding a secret adjenda.  It lurks in the headlights of a million cars and on the slick, wet streets.  I can smell it in the coy gaze of Thai women, if one can smell a gaze.  I can sense danger in the sudden beating of my heart.  It is hot.  And it smells of sex and smuggling.  

   Scent defines Bangkok.  Not sight.  Sight defines Hong Kong, or San Francisco.  The smell of Bangkok is one that a person never forgets.  That and the moistness that prevades everything and lends a softness to the din.  The humidity is the matrix upon which the mirids of exotic aromas curl and blend like oil on a canvas painted by Gauguin.  The air is strong and heavy and opens up the pores.  It lies low.  Its like heavy cream, or fine silk, or dark beer.  The city pulses under this humid blanket, this hot house and the aromas radiate upward to fill the air.  It stifiles you and yet frees you at the same time.  

   4 or 5 joss sticks burn from the tiny Buddhist shrine next to the doorman's station right outside the door of the Orental Hotel at 3 am.  I'm awake.  In the distance silent lightning flashes.  Across the street a billboard advertizes the latest kung fu movie and I feel I'm in a re-make of Apocolipse Now.  

   The joss sticks burn from shrines which seem to be in every shop and street corner, waifting through the alleys.  The air is always filled with their stickey, sweet, acrid odor.  On street corners the fish vendors hawk their catch.  Everywhere are food carts and stalls, grilling strips of pork and fish skewered upon thin sharp sticks.  Their savory smoke blends with the choaking diesel from a million cars and trucks.  

   Beautiful thai women stalk me with their eyes like a tiger stalking dic dic.  

   The rain, the garbage, the joss, the fish and the sweat blend to paint the element of Bankok-the element of scent.