Wherefore art thou blog?

I do not count sheep when I find it difficult to sleep. No, instead I plan out blog posts. This is by no means intentional – I don’t lie awake drumming my fingers pondering what I might write about. Ideas for blog posts simply pop into my mind in the early hours. This is somehow akin to the proverbial sheep which fluffily pop into existence and endlessly jump over the inexplicably cartoon animation fence. I plan the blog posts, composing them in my mind and generally nod off when I have managed to assure myself that come the morning I will remember their content to the very last letter. Needless to say I regularly forget even the first words come the morning, otherwise this blog would have far more posts milling about its confines.

However, tonight a vaguely interesting question materialized from no-where. What makes bloggers… blog?

It occurs to me that there are any number of answers to this question. The very act of blogging has its roots deep within everything it means to be human. It is one of the basic functions which we as a race found, probably through a mixture of survival necessity and sheer accident: communication.

Looks far too happy about tormenting someone's waking hours.

Having nurtured communication – and so dialogue – through the birthing pains of speech into language and its diversification, we then saw to it that it flourished in the written medium. So it is in the present day that the written medium of slate and coal, limtus and stylus, paper and pen, has a comptitor. This is in the shape of the internet, which has enough space in the ether to store more opinions than an insomniac can count sheep. So one might say that bloggers blog because they can – monkey see, monkey do. And with some of the hogwash one might find in a blog, monkey may be a fair reflection of the origin. Look at this post, after all.

So, bloggers blog because they have the technology to do so. Wonderful. Yet people have been blogging for centuries – consider the common diary. Diaries are generally not published for the world to read and opine upon, but the effect is essentially the same. A diarist writes an entry because he or she feels the need to record that something occured, or record their thought processes and feelings about a subject, or that they feel an urge within themselves to put the day to bed, as it were; write it out, have done with it, and be ready for the next day. All of these are cathartic processes, be they expungent measures, cogent dialogue with oneself or a cylical routine preparing for a new day like the turn of the seasons prepares the earth anew. All of these are needs which blogging can fulfill. The only difference being for the majority of bloggers is that the entries are published and so the dialogue is opened up to external scrutiny.

Then what makes bloggers publicize their opinions instead of keeping them private? The profoundly obvious answer is the paradox given to us by the ‘monkey see’ technological age. As the internet increasingly makes information sharing faster, more economically viable and spacially limitless, the effects on society are evident. We are talking about the effects of social disassociation; vast numbers of people are far too busy in their own lives to cross paths with other people. Simply put, a lot of people out there are lonely; some of them crave more social dialogue than they have found time for in their real lives, and sending their opinions out into the void is one way to achieve it.

Yet we cannot suggest that all bloggers peck from the same roost. As with different chickens and eggs, different bloggers produce different posts.  They all have their place under the egalitarian term ‘blogging’, which is right and fair as each is entitled to their empowerment of communcatiom. What is likely becoming less correct as time goes on is that all of these posts are identified under this umbrella term of blogging.. Even now it is struggling to encompass  all from short posts, long posts, daily posts, subjective news stories – “from our own correspondant” springs to mind – to jaded rants, drunk ramblings, to name by a few types. There is a reason that there is no single word for a diary entry, nor a verb to describe the activity of writing in a diary.

Just like its precursor the diary, the blog is a means for the owner to share something. Unlike a diary, the blog is shared with the rest of the world – but instead of the other party of the diarist’s written conversations being hidden – or like as not, the person communing with their own mind – the blog’s audience is potentially any other person. This is still quite safe for the blogger; as opposed to the diary’s dialogue-partner going unnamed, the blogger himself enjoys relative  anonymity amidst the myriad of millions of other bloggers buzzing about their chosen topic. Perhaps then, the real question is which came first – the blogger or the need to blog?

Two opposing factions sizing each other up if ever I saw.

Even that is only an idle question, for it is clear that both exist and have done for eons. What will be intriguing is what happens to that chicken and egg, and the relationship between them. It is clear that blogging has arrived and reserved prime turf in the age of cyber-communication. It is alongside the prize herds of web tv serials, comics and films which have all trotted into daily life without so much as a bray of discontent from the old nags of media distribution.

On that happy farmyard note, the mental image of which is still disturbingly caricatured, I have finally broken the cycle of drafting a post while awaiitng sleep and actually got up to write it out before morning stole it away. If this becomes a regular thing I might begin to believe the blog fairies are here. That is never a good thing to contemplate at 1 am after emptying my mind of any attempt at profound thoughts. Where are the sheep endlessly jumping over obstacles?

In Memoria

The world begins afresh today. The frost edging it in crisp whites and pale greens is perhaps the world’s own acknowledgement of a corner turned and there, a new horizon stumbled upon. Or perhaps it is just another wintry morning come to greet us with icy indifference, disregarding any turning of human history to be fleeting as the melting dewdrops outside.

Yesterday we watched our history come full circle. Something which would have been unthinkable sixty years ago not only occured, but was accompanied by cheering, chanting and applause. Sixty years is the blink of an eye to the planet but to us it is the span of a generation. I do not think I fully appreciate the scale of what has been overcome; the idea that a black person should or should not be eligible to take up an authoratative post, based simply on their colouring, is something that does not compute in my head. Perhaps in this I am partially a product of my generation and benefit from the values that mankind has had to learn, or remember, in order to get to this point in history. If that is so then I am grateful. That experience of apartheid and the struggles thereof which has been absorbed into our collected heritage shows how momentous an occasion the inauguration of the 44th American President is. The reactions of those of older generations also show it, particularly those who lived through segregation and now feel their journeys ended and, perhaps, vindicated.

That in itself is something to give Mr. Obama great pride, and something which the rest of us should be humbled that it has taken quite so long. That the world, old and young, can look at a man as a man. A being of wit and wisdom, and measure his integrity and ability to lead a nation.  So let us consider that for a moment. Obama has stepped up into a pair of shoes which now have so many pebbles and jagged stones lurking in them that the wearing of them will be wholly wearisome.

He admits freely that the task before him and his country will not be an easy one; indeed he calls for all to pitch in as best they are able. He extends a hand of friendship to all other nations around the world, barring only any that would seek unnecessary violence. He calls for a return to the values that America was founded on, and depicts those almost as armour or weapons left in legacy, forged as America was also begun and since shed. Things, not quite concrete, but things palpable enough if folk believe in them, which can lend strength and protection to beleaguered people. All of this Obama delivered in one speech yesterday, proving him quite the charismatic diplomat.

There were also discomforting overtures to the speech. As he repeatedly extended friendship to the world, I almost expected Obama to go on to calmly announce that he would also step up to lead not just America but the entire world. Moreover, cynical as I am I could not help but wonder whether Obama had a reason to constantly iterate the point that all must work together in order to see through the crises. Whether, should things go awry further still and promises be broken, tthe burden of blame might be shouldered by the nameless masses. Certainly he was scathing of Bush’s administration, blaming without naming the previous administration as forgetting to wear the mantle of American values. I could not help but wonder what went through Bush’s mind as he sat and listened to that speech. It was almost as though he was being scapegoated without actually being named; perhaps it is necessary, in order to begin a fresh start. Perhaps.

But Obama does not seem like that sort of politician. That is to say, what we have collectively come to expect a politician to be; either a bumbling fool or Anansi, come to trap us in yet another web until the stuff blinds us. He appears to be someone who accepts responsibility and encourages his compatriots to do the same. Someone who accepts that the road will be long and possibly bloody but will walk it because it is necessary, and right to do so to show both retrospective gratitude and future well being. Someone who will not slough the blame off to cast it wherever, but instead encourage everyone to try a tad harder. A leader, in the very real sense of the term. That is what his demeanour would have us believe.

The speech itself was impeccably planned, its delivery splendid. It reached out to people of all walks of life, from all generations, and recalled speeches from presidents and ages past, both directly in its diction and indirectly in its carefully engineered layering. The speech was, simply, admirable. I say that as someone who not only did not avidly follow the election campaign, nor had the opportunity to vote either for or against such a spokesman.

However, having a talent for giving speeches does not remove stones chaffing one’s heels. It remains to be seen whether Obama can make good on his assurances, and that is something which will only be told as the world turns and time ticks. In either case history was made, in many ways, yesterday, and it was a pleasure to be a part of it. Indeed, even World of Warcraft players were reminded to pay attention to the world yesterday. But whether it was just a spark of hope floating on the wind to be snuffed out on stony ground, or whether something will catch light with it, we cannot know,:but we can encourage it. Whatever should come from this horizon, this time is a monument to generations past..I simply hope something good comes of it.

Education, education, eduhappiness

The week began as the country is meant to go on; with news that young children may be schooled in how to be happy. Sir Jim Rose has carried out a ‘root and branch’ review of primary school education in England and the forecast is dim.

The logic behind the overhaul is that the subtraction of educative definitions such as ‘Mathematics’ and ‘History’ should be balanced by the addition of themed areas of study such as ‘Human social and environmental understanding’. This would allow crossovers of knowledge from different disciplines and, it is said, create a more flexible and organic learning process. This equation is also to be enhanced, or multiplied, by the nth factor – the concept of teaching children how to be happy.

This in itself is nothing new. Proposals were afoot earlier in the year to school youngsters in the ways of happiness up to the age of 18 and for those themes to have tendrils edging into university life. Indeed, some educative institutes in England have embarked upon voyages into this foggy area of the mind and are offering courses or lessons on happiness to their students.

Yet doing this to primary school education is a step further. Breaking up the disciplines and allowing them to float throughout themed areas of learning sounds like as yet uncharted waters. One might ask just how pupils, or even teachers, are to orienteer themselves in these new themes, all of which sound unwaveringly broad.

I am no expert in primary school lessons today but I suspect when asked ‘did you enjoy school today, what did you learn?’ little Edward and Grace might well say ‘Yes (or no), it was history and maths and we found out about pyramids which are big blocks of sand, can we go to the seaside and make one?’ They will likely be fairly steady in their understanding of what these basic concepts, history and maths, mean. To begin introducing ‘human social and environmental understanding’ lessons would require a change in the way lessons and what they are teaching are presented.

The mentality of British primary education would have to be capsized and hope to be dredged up as something new. Should Edward and Grace be asked the same question after these new lessons, they might say ‘I don’t know, but teacher says we’re going to learn about different trees outside and how the Vikings used them to make ships and by the end of it all we’re going to be happy, and what are Vikings and where are there ships that are trees?’

This could indeed have a positive effect on youngsters. It could sweep their minds into new channels of creativity or instil in them an ability to think flexibly; link themes and thoughts, rather than sinking into a lethargic torpor at school. However one might argue that those with a penchant for making such connections do so anyway; and joyfully, and do not need to be taught how to think. Likewise those that do not take a joy in learning may struggle with grasping what it is they are actually learning in each lesson. If that is the case then casting pupils out into a shadowy unknown and hoping it will have a positive effect may not be the answer.

And there are shadows over this expedition into the proposed educative landscape. If we send our children into it they are purportedly going to learn how to be happy; excuse me, but when did this become a concrete that can be taught in a classroom of all places, and to people so young that happiness to them is the play time when not in lessons?

My guess based on the vagueries outlined by the institutes preparing to teach on this subject is that it will be taught in very open-ended manners rather than prescriptively. Pupils will be taught to examine what happiness means to them and the actuality of lifestyle choices related to happiness. It is astonishing, then, that educational establishments should make it their business to become nannies, teaching children things that parents – or even life itself – should have the right to teach. Even more so that schools would be partially judged on their ability to steer pupils towards happiness.

And should our children come out at the other end of this new curriculum what might they look like – simply, all the same. Empty. Smiling perhaps, because they have been taught what makes them happy, but empty because they have learnt it before life has had a chance to teach them it. Empty also because their heads have not had time to absorb anything academic.

“Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man.” That is the official line. I think there is a more fitting version which may be malingering at the back of many minds and should be trod carefully by those proposing these changes;

“Give me a child until he is seven and he’s mine for life.”

Ball of string

No, this isn’t a cat’s life.

This blog is not a cat’s musing on the ways of the world, between nipping off for naps and catknapping baskets of cat nip using the sweet-cat-playing-with-string diversion tactic.

This blog is a work in progress. The owner is lost somewhere in the dimly lit mesh of paths which meander around and away from, but never quite to, the shining cavern of blog-readiness. Needless to say I forgot the fluorescent chalk and the cat stole the ball of string this morning.

Proper posts and pages to come, as and when I find my way out of the bowels of blog setup.