2 years, many posts, and none the wiser

Depending on how you look at it, 2 years is either an eternity or a period so short that it passes in the blink of an eye.  For 2 years with The GSB, it’s both.  A lot has happened: I got married, bought a house, adopted a dog, and showed Irene, Sandy, and Nemo that the GSB ain’t nothing to fuck with… it’s been real.  As far as this blog is concerned, I’m not sure whether or not my writing has gotten any better or if I’ve made any important existential discoveries over the last two years.  I’m not sure if this blog has been a fun release and a grand learning experience or a complete waste of my time.  Over the last 2 years I have routinely noticed that the posts into which I put the most thought, the most research, and the most brain activity are the posts that continue to go either unread or unacknowledged.  Maybe people don’t have opinions anymore, or maybe people don’t want to make statements that can be construed as politically incorrect or controversial or whatever.  Or maybe I’m losing readers.

In the continued unofficial pop psych experiment that is this blog, I gauge what people at large are into by observing which posts get the most searches and visits.  Prior to this year, the romper controversy was a runaway hit, followed by the search for “obnoxious running tights” (people still continue to call them running TIGHTS not pants or leggings and it continues to drive me up the fucking wall. Who the fuck goes out running in TIGHTS? Really.).  Whether or not moon boots are cool (hell yeah), whether Hello Kitty is an acceptable thing to purvey (hell no), and whether a cocoon sweater is something that most people can pull off (maybe?) have continued to be popular quandaries for the last year or so, along with the bizarrely insatiable need to discover “good things about turning 26″ <–one of the dumbest posts I’ve ever written in my life, and one I’m thinking about straight up deleting.  I mean, do you really need twenty-six good reasons for turning twenty-six?  Is growing up that shitty?  Has the quarterlife crisis taught you nothing?  Amazing.  Other than the above silliness, one big change to the GSB archive search landscape has been the pervasive dig for reasons why people are gaining weight on the Insanity program.  Hey, at least that’s indicative of the fact that lots and lots of people are attempting the workout, and that is wonderful.  People taking personal fitness into their own hands might just portend that maybe our rate of obesity might just be reversible.  I know, I know; dare to dream.

So based on my scientifically unsound research, people need justification for wearing gaudy shit, they need positive affirmation and soothing words about entering Phase 2 of their 20s, and weight gain on the Insanity program seems nearly inevitable.  But other than that, trackbacks and search query stats don’t seem to indicate anything else, and, over the last year, I seem to have gleaned absolutely nothing from blogging.

It’s also been a little sad to see the departure of many of my favorite blogs, either from WordPress to some other platform that is difficult to keep following, or off the web altogether.  One of the funnest things about a blogging network is that you log in, write a post, read everyone else’s posts, get excited for what will come next, and continue to write regularly as a result.  When half of your favorite writers jump ship, your own writing motivation dwindles and you cruise over to the Daily Mail to see what kind of salacious garbage they have going on.  And what fun is that?

I know that a number of bloggers, particularly fashion bloggers, have eschewed the virtual “brick and mortar” platform of writing actual posts with actual words and actual photographs in favor of slapping together Pinterest boards or Instagramming their goings on.  Some do this because they’re insanely busy and can’t afford to carve out daily time to compose a cohesive post.  Others do this because they’re low on motivation as well as inspiration.  Outside of the blogosphere, it seems like, in general, many people are entering the era of the overdone selfie.  I blame Miley’s psychiatrist.

I, myself, find my motivation reserves to be increasingly finite.  From fashion to food, my enthusiasm is dwindling. I don’t have a full-length mirror anymore and I feel a little ridiculous taking shots of myself in bright outfits from the waist up and trying to compose a post about same.  In the dead of winter, finding fun S/S’13 trends is just not appealing yet.  I haven’t had time to cook anything too spectacular in recent months, so a great recipe post is not in the foreseeable future either.  I have nothing fun or new to report on fitness, as I’m incredibly happy with my current routine and unprecedented weight loss.  There is just nothing fun for me to talk about.

Above all else, my views on both pop culture and my entire generation are becoming more and more disgruntled, and I’d rather not say (write) anything at all than share my true thoughts on what is going on with society today.  Because frankly, every time I turn on the TV or for some stupid regrettable reason visit Twitter or Facebook or the aforementioned Daily Mail, I feel more and more disconnected from my generation and from the world at large.  I have more in common with my middle-aged in-laws and colleagues than I do with my cohorts.  Heck, I have more in common with a snow shovel than I do with my peers.  I am a 47 year old suburban yuppie trapped in a 27 year old Gen Y-er’s body, and reconciling between the two diametrically opposed ways of being is neither fun nor easy.

Everywhere I look, I either see a mob of D-list famewhores demilebrities doing weird self-obsessed shit or a mob of meekyolocrites (my newly invented penumbra term for hipsters, millenials, and other young assholes who are egomaniacal entitled brats with zero backbone, life experience or marketable skills but endless opinions on microbrews and gastropubs and shitty bands that try to make vests happen harder than the Boss) yapping endlessly about stupid shit they saw on Gawker, feverishly dissecting the merits of some niche restaurant which they’ll visit on mommy’s dime or incoherently twattering about the newest Apple app with which they’re obsessed.  It seems like a considerable percentage of the under-40 population is suffering from a really bad case of lazy, vapid, self-aggrandizing over-consumption, and I want nothing to do with it.  See?  Overtly negative.

So I don’t know if this means that I want to shut down the blog.  Probably not.  the GSB does give me something to do on my lunch break and provides me with a tangible goal when I can’t sleep.  Sometimes when I post something that I think is thought-provoking, I get a feeling of mild accomplishment, even if it’s 180% guaranteed that nobody will read it, let alone leave a comment, because there are too many words and zero pictures.  But that shouldn’t matter anyway, because after all, I write mostly for myself.  It is quite apparent to me, though, that blogging is not nearly as fun as it used to be, and that I need to figure out a way to make it fun again or otherwise find a new hobby.

Last year my bloggy goals for the year ahead were to write less about material things that I wanted to purchase and more about the artistic aesthetics of fashion, because, you know, The GSB started as a fashion-y blog.  This year I can’t even think of a goal other than to take less hiati (plural form of hiatus?) and try to see the silver lining in what’s going on in mainstream culture even though my worldview right now is strikingly similar to that of Stan in South Park’s “You’re Getting Old” episode.  At least I maintain my adoration of Ke$ha, is that a good sign?

Maybe I’m just getting too old for this shit. I’m pretty much ready to quit Facebook and Twitter and let the “friends IRL vs. friends online” chips fall where they may, and blogging just seems like another juvenile thing worthy of giving up.  Maybe I’m having a 4/5ths-through-the-20s-life-crisis and I need some asshole to write a “28 great things about turning 28″ post so that I can have a super exciting pre-Valentine’s day birthday, relishing in fanfare and attention and utterly meaningless congratulatory Facebook comments.  Just kidding.  I have no qualms about turning 28, as I know exactly where I am and where I’m going, and I’m damn happy with it.

Maybe it’s just time, ennui, and sheer agitation that are pushing The GSB to permanently migrate from the garish streets of the city to a calm and happy life off the grid, AFK, hyperlinks removed and SHARE THIS! capacities disabled.  We’ll just have to see.