Yesterday I went to English class for immigrants, and I helped out with a few projects—we discussed how to read through the want ads and sort through garage sale ads in the paper. We talked about all the great things we'll find at the new farm market opening in June. I administered two spelling tests. And we talked about rhubarb, which apparently doesn't exist in Central America. It was an eventful morning.
In the middle of all of it, I caught sight of the T-shirt one of the Guatemalan women was wearing. It was emblazoned with the phrase—"I don't care about your blog."
I'm sorry. What? You don't care about my blog? Are you telling me this thing filled with my personal photos and stories and ideas and general word vomit doesn't interest you? I'm crushed by such blanket rejection.
I decided this woman was wearing the shirt not because she was fed up with bloggers forcing her to listen to them go on and on about their online rambling, but because it was cheap or even free. I suspected, given her experiences here so far, that she probably didn't know what "blog" means, so I didn't take offense. I probably wouldn't have taken offense even if she had intentionally worn the shirt because I know bloggers can become overexcited when they start talking about their stories or the people they have met or the new widget they've just added to their sidebar. Not that I would ever do that.
My suspicions were confirmed a few minutes later when I saw the woman with the shirt stretch it out so the other women could read it, and one of them was flipping through the Spanish/English dictionary. I asked if they were looking up the word "blog," and they giggled as if they'd been caught at something and then asked what it means.
Well, don't worry, ladies. Not only can I tell you, but I can show you. I quickly pulled out my iPhone and went straight to my blog. I equated it to a diary or scrapbook and then proceeded to make them look at pictures of my daughters and of my cats. I told them all about how you can read blogs (web logs) written by people all over the world and leave comments on their stories, and sometimes they'll leave comments on yours. I scrolled down to show them my recent posts and said, "See, you can write all kinds of stuff and keep it all in one place." blah blah blah blah blah
So, go ahead. Tell me again that you don't care about my blog, and see what happens. Next, try telling me you don't care about the jazz piece I'm trying to learn for horn lessons or how hard it is for me to count, and suggest you'd rather not hear about how I prefer wild-caught salmon to farm-raised and why I have formed that opinion?
Tell me you don't care about something. I'll give you something to care about. I've got your not caring right here.