I’m feeling cranky this morning. My Google Reader has 304 unread items in it, and one of the blogs accounts for 53 of those unread posts. I add your blog to my Reader because I want to read it. But if you’re churning out posts like a ticker tape machine, I will unsubscribe. I’ll do it.

Another thing I don’t subscribe to? The rule that you need to blog every day. As RSS feeds gain momentum, quality will outweigh quantity. I won’t need readers to remember to visit my blog, I bring my blog to them. So they’re not going to get frustrated coming to a stale page and lose interest. On the contrary, they will thank me when they’re not overwhelmed by 53 mediocre posts.

Can I also share with you my least-favorite tweet? Here she is: “In case you missed it earlier, new blog post: the 7 reasons social media can make your dreams come true. http://bit.ly/annoying.” There are no less than six annoying things in those 127 characters. The first person to name all six — or add more of your own — will receive an autographed copy of my latest book.

No, I don’t have a latest book, yet.

To add insult to injury, technology has found a new way to annoy me. Nay, disgust me. The following was a recent spam comment on my blog, with product names and companies X’ed out:

“This might be a bit off-topic but I believe there are a lot of smokers here on quepash.scroggles.com. I have recently decided to find a good manufacturer of e-smokes. I’m done with paying so much for tobacco smokes.A friend recommended XXXX. According to their website this is how they described their product:
‘XXXX offers supreme Electronic cigarettes with disposable cartridges that compose of the highest smoke volume in the industry. With a collection of flavors and nicotine levels, XXXX’s™ patented product offers convenience and performance that is unmatched. XXXX products have been independently tested for safety.’
I’m thinking of buying them. Anyone else have experience with this e-cigarette?”

I hate politics. I hate the heated debates, the pious opinions, the accusations and hatred that seem to bubble to the surface. But, since so few commented on my last post about politics, and more importantly, no one commented on the amazingly perceptive and ironic image that I created, we’re going in for round 2.
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I wore my lumber jack shirt twice in one week, to work. It’s red, flannel, plaid, comfy and surprisingly stylish with pearl snaps. I can wear this to work, because this is how they decorate the office: Animal carcasses line the walls like floorboards would at a normal place.

My attire has changed considerably since I started working, and I’m looking forward to what lies ahead. At my first job out of college, I coveted my coworker’s snappy pantsuits. They were clearly expensive, not a mere attempt at professionalism. Pinstripes, polished shoes … so this is what it’s like to be an adult.

Then at my next job, I spoke in traditional churches in the Bible belt often. My pantsuit wouldn’t quite cut it — as I learned. Not only did I need to be dressed up, but it was preferred that women wore skirts or dresses. I bought my “Republican suit” at Brooks Brothers and wore it proudly to Laura Bush’s church. At least, I told my parents that was her church when she wasn’t in D.C., but I never saw her there. The suit is very Sarah Palin, but I didn’t know it then (circa 2007).

And here we are today, where I wear jeans nearly every day. And I look dressed up compared to the bighorn sheep and birds, with signs that say, “Please do not touch.” No need to worry. … I usually avoid dead, stuffed animals, not touch them.

My last day of work here is Friday. Soon I will be working from home as a freelance writer. Hello, sweat pants and slippers! Goodbye, taxidermy.

My body hurts. Everything from my muscles to my jaw to my hair. Yes, my hair hurts.
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While it’s true that I scoff at bloggers, facebook status updaters and twitterers when they don’t adhere to my perceived standards, I still regularly steal my husband’s iphone so I can read the tweets of his friends and those he follows. I myself do not post tweets or subscribe to twitter, because I’m above all of that self-importance. … Now read my thoughts about why others’ thoughts should be up to par with my own.
I once blogged about my rules for blogging, and now I will do the same for tweets.
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I haven’t been scroggling, that’s for sure. Here are the top 10 things that have bogged me down, blogged me not.
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My mom doesn’t understand blogs. She said, of course, that she would read mine religiously, but she doesn’t know why anyone who’s not my mom would. She didn’t say it in so many words. But, she asked, why does anyone care what anyone else is blogging about?
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I was so 21st century the other day. I went running with my iPod attached to a strap clutching my left arm and my right hand clutching my Treo. I was waiting for an important call. And I may have responded to a few texts as well. Multi-tasking.

Somewhere between "Hey Jealousy" and "Hey, ya!" (part of my On-the-Go playlist) my thoughts went from my skepticism toward the emerging stylishness of shorts to what I know about the emerging church — which, in short, isn’t a whole lot. And then I wondered if Justin is really supporting Britney and there for her, or if it’s just a publicity stunt, which might be what a lot of relationships are, even outside of the celebrity world. Which is really an Inconvenient Truth, so I congratulated myself for running and not driving around and emitting toxins into the air.

If this had been a page in a future history book, maybe the subhead would have said Postmodern Times. And then if you flipped the book back a few pages, there would be a picture of me typing in a side ponytail and swooping bangs, on one of those old-school computers with the green turtles on the screen. And the subhead would say The Information Age Begins.

Because we information agers sure love to see pictures of ourselves. Just look at our Facebook.