2000-08-17 - 18:57:58
Shallow on the Surface
Yesterday, Marn tried to convince me that she's shallow because the layout of a diary affects her perceptions of it.
I say, exactly the opposite.
When you write someone a letter, you include a lot more information than just what you write on the page. The paper you choose, the type of pen, your handwriting, the envelope, the stamp - all those things, and more, say something. You don't put a résumé on scented pink notepaper; you don't print a love letter on your LaserJet. (Well, maybe you do, but it generally isn't a good idea, and either would definitely send a wrong message...)
The Web is the same way. When people look at your pages, they're not just looking at the words; the frame around the words is important, too. Especially somewhere like DiaryLand, where you only get one template for ALL your pages. You can't just pick something to fit your mood for each entry - you have to choose something more enduring, something that says more permanent about you.
For example, people who pick that glaring yellow template are obviously saying, "I hate humanity, and I hope to burn out the retinas of as many people as possible in my lifetime." (Well, maybe not, but you can't blame me for interpreting it that way).
There are some diaries I won't read because it's too difficult. Font Size xx-small? Grey text on black background? Green text on red background? Obviously, they don't have anything to say that's important enough to make it legible, so I'm not going to waste my time trying. On the other hand, there are some really vapid diaries that I will read, just because they're pretty. A lot of diaries trick me into bookmarking them that way. I figure it out within a couple of visits, and feel silly for being fooled, but there you go. That's how it works in a visual medium.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go get that awful mint off my page... (but I like frogs! It seemed like a good idea at the time...)
The only drawback is that it will take all the closeness, all the emotional intimacy, and all the security you feel with other people, and it will cut those things to ribbons, and shred the ribbons into powder, and blow the powder away in the vast cavern of your now empty soul.
i hate the fact that the hopeless romantic, optimistic side of me is slipping away from my fingers and that i'm wistfully aware of it. i really adored that side of me.
I had so many million things to say to him. Jokes, heartfelt thank yous...something.
All I managed was a "half-hug" (you know the kind, the one-armed, buddy-ol-pal such) and an insincere, floaty "I'll miss you" line that sounded like something you would say....just to say, not because you meant it. And he said the same back to me.
Okay. I will now delve in to deep seated denial ... I don't want to meet my Knight in Shining Armor, I don't want to meet Mr. Right ... Actually, I don't want someone to rescue me - I just want someone to hold my hand while I try and do it myself.
when the radio announcer said that jackson was going to have a role in an upcoming horror movie, i was thinking that someone finally realized what a freak he is and was putting him in a movie as the psycho who sits in the corner talking to his dolls (chimps, little boys, whatever) until the day he finally disembowels an entire community.
From Chinacat (yeah, she gets quoted twice in one day. These things happen when I am lazy and don't update enough, and someone says something that makes me spit International Coffees all over my desk.)
the problem with this thinking is that there's a certain subset of people who like bad wine diluted with fruit juice (and perhaps carbonated), and it has nothing to do with gender.