Was just directed via a blog to this amazing link. The author discusses diaries of old, blogs of last year, and YouTube viddies of today. What intrigues him is the shift in the meme of memory recording.
I tried keeping a diary several times when I was young--it seemed that every couple of years a well-intentioned relative would gift me wiht a li'l bitty diary with a li'l bitty padlock on the cover (and a picture of cute kitties, or a girl in a sunbonnet) so I could write down all me girlish secrets.
Well, even with a padlock I couldn't keep it going. It seemed the pinnacle of silliness to gush over how cute the boys were, and write my name blended with that week's favorite--Mrs. Spike Weisenheimmer, Mrs. Spike Jones, Mrs. Spike Schmooladoo. Especially because I was rather androgynous in my pursuits--it appeared that if I were ever to marry, the wedding party would consist of eight groom's men . . . and eight BRIDE'S men!!
And even with a padlock, I distrusted that anything I wrote would not come back to bit me someday.
And er, well, now I blog. And share my thoughts with however many readers pop by. The fact that I know not how many hits this spot on the web generates probably tells you how much I'm writing for external consumption. (If that don't do it, the paucity of comments might. I prefer to think it's quality over quantity. That's why I moderate--to keep out the spam, and the "Dittos, Rush" junk. If your say is important enough to you, you'll sign in to get past the gatekeeper, and I'll post what you have to say. Spammers generally don't have the patience; it's a numbers game.)
But now, as you have probably observed, and have certainly read if you followed the link above, it seems that the point of having secrets is to share them with as large an audience as is humanly possible. The more scandelous and gossipy, the better, it appears. Breaking the rules and wild behavior which used to be clutched to one's heart and relived over drinks with fellow instigators a safe distance in time later (statute of limitations, and all that) are now recorded via cell phone with video, edited for content (get the dull bits out), and posted on the web to share with one's chums, the school, and whoever else pops by.
It reminds me of nothing more than children playing by the pool--if Mama doesn't look and see you turn the backflip, did it really happen? Looka me, Ma! Looka me!!