Back home in downtown Denver, I find that a blogger I began following on St. John is a fellow Denverite. His blog, Rake’s Progress, has generated enough interest to get cited by fellow lit bloggers enough times for me to notice and check him out, but the number of comments left at the Rake’s blog is not much higher than the consistent number of comments left at The Chronicles, namely zero. He intriguingly posts only a photo and a one-line bio at his “About” link. I could e-mail him and find out where he fits in the Denver lit scene, but not yet. I’m going to lurk on his blog for a while longer. He’s got that blog-speak sass and snap down pat, a voice which simply draws you in, makes you feel as if you are already one of his smart, literary buddies. His posts are short, pithy, and filled with spicey links, like this one, to a Josh Levin essay in Slate comparing bloggers with rappers. I particularly enjoyed this excerpt from the Levin piece:
But rappers’ and bloggers’ self-importance also has something to do with the supremely annoying righteousness that rides along with those who believe they’re overturned the archaic forms of expression favored by The Man—that is, whitey and/or the mainstream media. Ninety percent of rap lyrics are self-congratulatory rhymes about how great the rapper is at rapping, the towering difficulties of succeeding in the rap game, or the lameness of wanksta rivals. Blogging is a circle jerk that never stops circling: links to posts by other bloggers, following links to newspaper stories about bloggers, following wonderment at the corruptions and complacency of old-fashioned, credentialed journalism.
And so, of course, I am happy to join the circle by blogging about the Rake’s blog. As for being home, that’s a concept which is being undermined by so much travel. With only a month here before we leave for France, the apartment this morning seems more like a very nice next stop on our trip than anything permanent. It’s scary and comforting to wonder if my real home is becoming a virtual place. Scary because, well that’s just weird. But comforting because you’re never more than a screen away from what makes you feel most grounded and real.