Addiction, blogging and the slippery slope

I am a bit addicted to blogging.

Like most writers, I constantly mine my own life for writing material. I admit I am flirting with addiction because sometimes, in the midst of an everyday crisis or a funny moment or even a poignant one, I think, This is going to make a really good blog post.

But I don’t think I really have a problem.

I think Lenore Skenazy has a problem.

Lenore Skenazy is the writer for the New York Sun who was all over the media last week after she wrote this piece about her decision to let her nine-year-old son navigate his way home on the New York City subway by himself.

She thinks parents are way too over protective and that they need to let their children be more independent and I don’t disagree, though I do think leaving a nine-year-old child alone to fend for himself anywhere is nuts.

But that’s not what really grabbed me about her story and the resultant controversy.

What bothered me all week is the worry that Ms Skenazy slid all the way to the bottom of a slippery slope that could one day trip me up as well.

I have never put Graham in an unsafe situation because I think it would make for interesting reading and I never will. But I think all writers who document their experiences for public consumption run the risk of falling prey to the desire to give people something truly gripping to read.

I think Ms Skenazy feels passionately that children today are over-parented and she knows that this is a hot-button issue for many people. I think she is a savvy journalist who carefully considered how she could make a compelling statement that would focus a lot of media attention on the subject, spark controversy and ensure that her views would reach a large audience.

I think she gambled with her son’s safety because she knew it would make a hell of a story.

Last weekend Rob and I talked about taking Graham to the zoo this summer. I’m looking forward to it and during the discussion I heard myself say, "It’ll be great. I’ll take so many pictures - it’ll make such a cute blog post."

Not until Rob gave me a look did I realize that without even thinking I had considered whether an activity we all enjoy would also translate into something my readers could consume. In just a split second, I considered whether a normal family activity was worthy of documentation and thought about how I would do it.

Many times, I admit, I have thought about how much great material is sure to be generated as Graham grows and struggles to grapple with the world around him. And then I feel just a little guilty that I so obviously mine his life for writing material just as I have always mined my own.

I will not be letting Graham ride the subway in New York City or anywhere else when he is nine years old, no matter how many people would show up to read about it.

But I have pulled out a camera to capture a temper tantrum rather than deal with it straight away. I did get in a few shots of his discomfort in some designer overalls that I loved but knew didn’t fit him. And I am the one who took pains to point out what may one day make him a target for bullies.

And these things I fear, my friends, may well put me on the edge of the slippery slope that Ms Skenazy slithered down earlier this month.

Even more celebrity madness

Just a few weeks back I wrote a piece about celebrities and addiction.

Today I am writing about my own addiction.

I have become addicted to a certain celebrity gossip site which shall not be named. You know the one. It’s run by that ubiquitous, pudgy blogger famed for photo-shopping nasty drawings and observations over photos and generally being the snarkiest snark that ever snarked.

At first his cheery pink site seemed like such fun. I like to think I got on the bandwagon earlier than most people and as such I felt a certain amount of pride in having discovered him.

And as someone who works in the industry he lampoons, I took no small delight in seeing him mercifully expose certain celebrities as the horrible human beings we all know they can be.

But somewhere along the line the worm turned.

I’m not sure if the content of his site has gotten nastier over the last few months or if the same old nastiness, piled upon itself day after day has culminated in something that suddenly seems inexplicably dark and sad.

Maybe it's his refusal to stop making fun of the children of his celebrity targets, given my recent and sincerely heartfelt musings on bullying.

Maybe it’s his continuing potshots at Brittany Spears who appeared to spiral into a full-blown mental-health collapse right on his gleeful cue.

Maybe it’s my own shame at hypocritically bemoaning our culture’s crass obsession with celebrities, while still making the crassest self-promoter of them all rich with my guilty, surreptitious clicking.

At any rate I think I’ve hit rock bottom.

I’m not having fun anymore. I don’t feel good about my participation anymore. A pastime that once seemed harmless, if edgy and entertaining, now just seems skanky.

And while I don’t delude myself that it’s going to be easy, I’m ready to kick the habit. I’ve even decided to redirect my clicking to my favorite blogs, when the urge to surf the dark side becomes overwhelming.

Who’s with me?

Of celebrity moms and other madness

If you’re a gossip hound you probably heard this week that Marie Osmond’s 16-year-old son is currently in rehab for an undisclosed addiction.

Hell, you don’t even have to be a gossip hound to have heard this, so entrenched are the latest indiscretions of celebrities and their spawn in the so-called “mainstream media”.

But that’s a whole other post.

Anyhoo, this is what mommy dearest had to say about it: "My son, Michael, is an amazing young man, shown through his courage in facing his issues. As his mother, I couldn't be more proud of him."

To which I say: “Are you freaking kidding me?”

She couldn’t be more proud of him? Really?

See, if Graham goes to rehab at 16 and I feel compelled to release a statement to the international news media, I think it will go something like this: “My son, Graham, is a collossally screwed-up young man, shown through his inability to face his issues without abusing drugs and alcohol. As his mother, I couldn’t be more riddled with anger and guilt.”

But maybe that’s just me.

And maybe it’s just me, but I think that part of that young man’s problem is probably that he has been steeped in a culture that preaches it’s easier to say sorry later than it is to get permission in the first place.

I’m sick of seeing adulterers, criminals, abusers and drug addicts tearfully admitting their transgressions while Oprah and her ilk nod their heads sympathetically, strike up the applause and praise them for their courage in admitting their moral failings.

You know what takes real courage? Acting in a half-way moral fashion in the first place. Not cheating on your spouse when you need an ego boost. Not breaking the law when you think you can get away with it. Not succumbing to violent urges or drug and alcohol abuse when you crave a release or a quick emotional fix.

I have seen people struggle with addiction, real addiction, that for whatever reason seems to live like a parasite in the very core of their being. Few who seek recovery are inclined to do the press circuit. They are too busy putting their heads down and getting to the very difficult business of getting well.

Without the applause, without the compliments and without the praise which, incidentally, might be more effectively used to flatter people who have nothing they need to tearfully confess.

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Do I sound especially pissy today? I am. Remember this little $900 incident with my car? I had another bizarre and costly incident with the other car yesterday. Give. Me. Strength.