The excellent James Blue Cat recently offered his readers an amusing tale of bad parking, a passive-aggressive note, two sexy lesbians and some rope. In fact, he only guessed that the two sexy lesbians were thus inclined, and I suggested that he only cast them as such in order to drive more prurient traffic to his blog. I was half-joking, I think, but the recent analytical bluebells and dogwhistles that came with my Blogger upgrade (it feels as if I’ve just managed to receive BBC2 at the point when everyone else is getting used to HDTV) have reinforced my gut instinct that my most popular blog posts in recent months were not those in which I ruminate on the Baudrillardian self-deception of modern culture, let alone deconstruct the primal weirdness of Asian street politics, but those that have saucy pictures in. The big eyeball magnets were posts that featured: a saucy picture of Helen Mirren; some saucy pictures of Charlotte Rampling, Anita Pallenberg and Princess Margaret; a saucy picture by (not of) Jack Vettriano; and a picture that may appeal to any reflexologists who need to get out more. (The only exception to this is Monday’s post, which benefited from an inevitable upsurge in interest about Osama, and an element of scepticism about the official line. Sorry to anyone who felt short-changed when their frenzied Googling brought them to a 40-year-old TV clip, but is it beyond the realms of possibility that the Dr Who community and the wacky conspiracy theory community might enjoy a certain overlap? Apparently not.)
Rubber masks and analogue synths aside, it’s not even that the punters prefer that I write about saucy ladies to writing about more serious, cerebral matters. Essentially, they aren’t really bothered what I write or whether I write at all; they just wanted to look at the saucy pictures, none of which were my own work, and none of which, I’m ashamed to admit, I credited properly (except of course for the Vettriano image, and I only mentioned him because I was discussing the essential badness of his art). I recently sighed at the explanation for Tumblr’s success (“With blogging you have to write, and this is just images.”) but now it seems that not only is writing a lost cause, the masses can’t even be bothered to read, beyond a few words that necessarily include promises of sex and celebrity. Of course, if you don’t agree, despite the fact you came here because you wanted a good look at horny topless smoking Lily Allen, please make your displeasure known in the comment box.
In short, where James went wrong was to talk about ropey sexy lesbians while failing to include a picture of them. Fair enough in this instance, you may think, as he never actually saw the ropey sexy lesbians, and doesn’t really know that they existed. But he’d unwittingly created an opportunity: he could have identified them as Kate and Pippa Middleton, with specific reference to the latter’s bottom. Because if a toxic casserole of sex, celebrity, photography and lèse majesté (with a bit of dead terrorist as an amuse-bouche) doesn’t save blogging, I don’t know what will.
Rubber masks and analogue synths aside, it’s not even that the punters prefer that I write about saucy ladies to writing about more serious, cerebral matters. Essentially, they aren’t really bothered what I write or whether I write at all; they just wanted to look at the saucy pictures, none of which were my own work, and none of which, I’m ashamed to admit, I credited properly (except of course for the Vettriano image, and I only mentioned him because I was discussing the essential badness of his art). I recently sighed at the explanation for Tumblr’s success (“With blogging you have to write, and this is just images.”) but now it seems that not only is writing a lost cause, the masses can’t even be bothered to read, beyond a few words that necessarily include promises of sex and celebrity. Of course, if you don’t agree, despite the fact you came here because you wanted a good look at horny topless smoking Lily Allen, please make your displeasure known in the comment box.
In short, where James went wrong was to talk about ropey sexy lesbians while failing to include a picture of them. Fair enough in this instance, you may think, as he never actually saw the ropey sexy lesbians, and doesn’t really know that they existed. But he’d unwittingly created an opportunity: he could have identified them as Kate and Pippa Middleton, with specific reference to the latter’s bottom. Because if a toxic casserole of sex, celebrity, photography and lèse majesté (with a bit of dead terrorist as an amuse-bouche) doesn’t save blogging, I don’t know what will.
9 comments:
I read all the words in this post, because I have no idea who Lily Allen is, and hoped you might enlighten me.
I have read virtually all of your writings here since Dave reached 70, and am still yet to find the week's winning lottery numbers, the whereabouts of Licorice McKechnie or photographs of Goldie Hawn's arse. Although that last phrase might increase visitors to your site.
I shall persevere. I still read Dave daily, after all.
I will NEVER forgive you for failing to deliver on this headline.
I goggled Goldie Hawn's Arse and am very disappointed.
The Daily Mail Website is now apparently the second most popular in the World. I suppose Cultural Snow is holding it off pole position?
Perhaps you didn't notice the current header on my blog, Rog. It's because of something you said on Monday.
She is a young chanteuse, Dave, whose comic ditties have achieved a certain notoriety in ballrooms and coffee bars throughout the kingdom.
Maybe Licorice is living up Goldie's arse, Vicus. Or in Rowan Williams's beard, since he was a big ISB fan.
Exactly how have I let you down, LC? Apart from the lesbians, obviously.
Was it the old hippy lady nestling within that ruined things, Richard?
I wouldn't hold an part of the Daily Mail, Rog.
Ooh, hello again, Dave. Perhaps you and Rog would care to sort out your differences in the car park? Ms Hawn will hold your coats. I’m not entirely sure *where* she’ll hold them...
Thank goodness for the reminder. I keep forgetting to add Charlotte Rampling & Helen Mirren to my tags.
Though I have less trouble remembering to put Joanna Lumley for some reasons.
Still, must do better.
Ah - I've written something about a rabbit. Must go back now and add the tag rampant. Might help, I suppose.
I'm still waiting in the carpark with a camera. No sign of the sexy lesbians yet.
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