Blogocentrism   n.  

I) Having an overriding concern with blogs or how everything in one’s life relates to blogging or a conceivable blog.

II) Belief in the superiority of blogs over any other form of expression.

blogocentric    adj.
blogocentrically  adv.

Have you ever undertaken an endeavor simply to blog about it?

Have you in the midst of an exciting experience pondered just how you're going to blog about it?

When you are just out and about in the world, do you ever find yourself feeling like a “blogger”?

If you answered “yes” to any of these questions, it is likely that you are/were highly blogocentric in the first sense of the term.

I personally started out as a Type I blogocentrist, but after more than a year now of blogging, having gradually evolved into the Type II.  I think this transition from #I to #II Type is both healthy and eventual as the early, numinous captivation with blogging is replaced by a more considered preoccupation with optimizing one’s expressive possibilities within this ballooning literary form.  Still, though such growth is creatively embellishing, one must take caution against excesses that might attend certain forms of Type II hyper-blogocentrism, such as:

Blogging your resume or referring a prospective employer to your blog as the resume (unless, of course, you’re applying for a blogging job).

Preparing your legal defense in a civil matter on your blog and then submitting the URL in court as the deciding evidence.

Informing your high school or college instructor that your homework will be submitted via weblog and that they are to submit the grade as a comment.

Submitting your resignation from an abject and reviled job strictly via weblog by leaving your work PC’s monitor tuned to your weblog with a blog of 1) the record of time you spent on the job clandestinely blogging  along with 2) a departing  quip of “Take this job and blog it.”

Posting blogs via a calendaring time agent (cron) that will publish the blog likely long after your dead thus assuring you of a “continuing blog presence”.  (ok.  I’ve done this.  I’m guilty...but not stupid )

Carrying a bound printed copy of all your blogs around with you and reciting them aloud at random whenever given the chance (e.g., when someone asks you to say “grace” at a Thanksgiving dinner, or to eulogize a dearly departed friend at a funeral, or to give a speech acknowledging an honor paid to you in your professional field).

Preparing your own headstone for your grave in a cemetery by embedding in a block of clear quartz a nuclear powered wireless internet connection and monitor that will feature your revolving life’s blog and allow peeps to either comment via internet or via a keyboard provided at graveside (I’m in the course of copyrighting this but the process is so frustrating that it will probably kill me ).

related :   xangacentricity   n.   A form of blogocentrism which fixates all upon Xanga. Mwuahahahaha.

I killed Scooby-Doo.  No, I didn’t mean to.  I was just cruising down a narrow residential road  yesterday when a Scooby-type pup came bouncing out between two parked cars directly in front of my line of travel.  It’s what as a driver you dread most: a happy-go-lucky child or a pet too exuberant, too unaware, too unavoidable in the collision path.  It happened so quickly that I was almost unbelieving as I simultaneously screamed *fuck* in my mind and slammed on the brakes.  BAM! Thud and a single whimper.  It was too late.  And I figured the pup was probably midway under my car already so I decided just to pull ahead, stop  and get out.

But I didn’t stop.  How…Why…I don’t know. But as I slowly pulled up, checking my rear-view mirror for the probable bloody-smacked carcass and possible screaming owner (I envisioned a crying child running in my aftermath onto the street), there was Scooby Doo—bouncing around all floppy-eared, looking at my rear bumper as if saying *wha-tha-fu*,  and then taking off now ever-so-wary but apparently unharmed at breakneck speed until he was gone completely out of sight.

I was joyfully shocked and bewildered and then chuckled to myself the moral of this near-mishap:  Pup that Scoobs and runs away lives to Do another day.