The Too-Much-Information Age.
I'm extremely grateful that weblogs were not around when I was the
caught in the perfect storm of raging hormones, youthful inexperience,
and clumsy romantic yearning.
In 1986 I spent an entire semester obsessed with a red-haired nape perched inches in front of me in a cramped history class at Richland Junior College.
I quietly plotted for months, finally asking the nape's owner for a
study date in a nauseous mumble, and she shot me down before I got all
of the words out.
Given a worldwide publishing medium and the right content
management tools, I would have blogged about that future mother of my
children for days on end. She could have printed it out to obtain a
restraining order.
In an entry that was deleted after it had crossed the globe via
the magic of syndication, a weblogger in college recently described his
first sexual experience in a manner likely to prevent a second one.
The object of his affection, linked in the entry, was a blogger
too. She was so angry that she berated his weblog readers for not
telling him the obvious -- you really ought to think carefully before
giving the complete play-by-play of a sexual encounter, especially on a
site that's being read by her mother.
Unfortunately, the blogosphere is a harsh mistress. The entry
has made it into two caches, another weblog, and countless aggregators.
There really is no more inopportune place for moments of
ill-considered candor than a well-read weblog that supports
syndication. [Workbench]
5:39:44 PM 
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