The Vitality Of A Spoon: Faulkner's Critical Reception, And Friends Who Read This Blog

About a week ago I was out with friends from the English department at my school, and someone mentioned that I was the owner and proprietor of my very own blog. "He has this blog," the person said, "and it's funny. You should read it."

So the other person--the one being told about the blog--asked me for its address. I told him, and he recorded it on a notebook produced from his vest pocket.

Yes, this person was wearing a vest; yes, the vest had pockets.

About two days later I saw the new reader leaning against a tree. He stopped me, waving his hand with the conviction of a long-dicked man standing nude in a subway tunnel.

"I read your blog," he started.

"Yes?" I said.

"You really disappoint me."

"How? Why?"

"I thought you were a real writer."

"I said that I wasn't, didn't I? Didn't I say that it was just for fun? You thought that I was a serious writer...I told you that I'm obsessed with death, and failure, and identity crises. But in a funny way."

"Yes, you said that."

"So what disappointed you?"

"Your writing. The things you write about. Alison told me that you were very good. But you write with the vitality of a spoon."

"And you're disappointed with my writing?"

"I thought, after talking with you, that you were another Faulkner. I thought that you would be serious and abstract and insightful. I was looking for a tragedy--a tragic blog. But you kept writing about Sarah Palin's bikini wax, and how the poor Korean girl kept trying to ask, 'Well, what do you want me to do with those balls?' David, that's beneath you."

"It was a joke."

"I wanted Soldiers' Pay, you gave me Duddy Kravitz."

"Next time I'll try harder."

"You don't have to write a novel, but do something constructive."

"I will."

"And tell me something about the human spirit."

"Right now."

"Yes!"

"I think that you'd like it."

That's the problem with blogs: friends find out about them, friends read them, and friends criticize them. But when Hank Greenberg tells you that he's likes your take on Brokaw's The Greatest Generation, then only large snowstorms seem to matter.