Boys, as it has been said, will be boys. A lot of the time, left to their own devices, they are like puppies. Or lion cubs. Their play is rough. They say it is good natured, but I wonder. As the days have been warmer and longer my boys have been playing outside more and have taken up a game that they devised that is appropriately called, “Wrestle ’til You Cry.” We have met new neighbors because their young cubs have pointed in the direction of “Wrestle ’til You Cry” and said, “I want to go over there.” My long time friend and across-the-street neighbor said with a shrug, “We called it “Uncle.” Same thing.”
“Does that seem like a good idea?” say I, the continuing voice of feminine unreason,”playing a game where the stated result is pain?”
“We like it.”
Decorno began about the same time as Mrs. Blandings. I don’t know the blog author so I will not begin to speculate why she has stopped blogging, but I have been stalking the comments section of her last post. I think it’s interesting how often her readers, while lamenting their loss, mention their regard for her in relation to other blogs. Other blogs which they appear to loathe.
When I read the Kansas City Star, it makes me a little crazy to see the simpering smile of a certain columnist. It doesn’t make me crazy enough to, say, write the paper and complain, “I hate that woman and her narrow views and it ruins my coffee to know that my subscription helps pay for her syndication.” But it could.
But blogs are delivered to us voluntarily. We go there. And I say “we” because I do it myself. I read a couple of blogs that make me absolutely nuts. Then I rant to Mr. Blandings about them and he says, “So stop reading it.” But I don’t seem to be able to. There’s something about it that I must like.
That’s my question today, and I fear I am going to regret asking it, but
Why do we read blogs we hate?
