Slow blogging is silly. It's called writing. I am most closely associated with the school of FLB (Fucking Lazy Bloggeury), revered widely for its general disdain of everything except fine cream-based cheeses, sophisticated chokeholds, and weekly nonsense posts molded together with a mysterious sticky substance that smells like sour cream (Note: I have seen the evidence of the sour cream facial and I believe in it. Just like I believe in Obama. The only problem is I would eat my face if I slathered it with sour cream, so I prefer the gentler Whale Sperm facial remedy.)

Members of the FLB, or bloggeurs, as we are apt to call ourselves, sometimes earnestly, sometimes with a tongue-in-cheek Palinesque wink, will barf filth all over the Internetz but still want you to call the next day to say you had a fine time. Bloggeurs will have phone sex wearing top hats. They'll rendezvous with Hillary while secretly whispering Shakespeare's Sonnet #54 to Barack through their microscopic collar mic. They'll take you out for ice cream, and expect no favors in return. You'll only realize you love them once you uncover their monocle in your top left sock drawer. Bloggeurs are Steampunks through and through.


Bloggeurs like the word shit-fuck; also fucking the shit out of fuck.

From the NYT article on slow blogging:

A Slow Blog Manifesto, written in 2006 by Todd Sieling, a technology consultant from Vancouver, British Columbia, laid out the movement’s tenets. “Slow Blogging is a rejection of immediacy,” he wrote. “It is an affirmation that not all things worth reading are written quickly.” (Nor, because of a lack of traffic, is Mr. Sieling writing this blog at all these days.) Ms. Ganley, who recently left her job as a writing instructor at Middlebury College, compares slow blogging to meditation. It’s “being quiet for a moment before you write,” she said, “and not having what you write be the first thing that comes out of your head.”


Ms. Ganley blogmedibating by the creek.



Later, after a day of contemplating both the beauty and violence of nature she sat down to write her blog masterpiece. That afternoon she had witnessed two ducks making love, followed by the excruciating horror of watching a sweet baby frog drown while its Daddy frog callously shouted "Survival of the fittest, my son!" and continued to play poker with the watersnakes. She took a deep sigh, and began to slow-blog:

ow put your hands up
Up in the club, we just broke up
I’m doing my own little thing
Decided to dip but now you wanna trip
Cuz another brother noticed me
I’m up on him, he up on me
dont pay him any attention
cried my tears, for three good years
Ya can’t be mad at me

Cuz if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it
Don’t be mad once you see that he want it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it

If her post sounds reminiscent of the lastest Beyonce single to you, you're right on: Beyonce also wrote her tribute to the patriarchy while sitting by the pond, with her new boo, who put like 8 million rings on her crazy roboto-finger.



A few points:

Beyonce wrote this while honeymoon-bloggeuring.

One of the Single Lady Dancers has a peen!

Beyonce is strangely socially conservative. Stay tuned for her next album "Dey Won't Buy the Cow if that Milk is for Free Girl" with songs like, "If You Want A Blow J, Give Me A Necklace", "It's Anal Only Until We're Married", and "Independent Bloggeur".

Luv,

Ur Bloggeur.