Our editor-in-chief came to my desk this morning to show me (47 and already the office dinosaur) how to post to our new blog. Terror struck. What should I do to get ready? “Er … how many blogs do you read?” he asked gently.
“Two,” I said proudly.
“You … might want to read a few more.”
I spent the next three hours clicking like a dog trainer, from Seth Grodin being cranky about meetings to Freakanomics’ haikus on the economy to a headless teddybear on Boing Boing to mirror neurons on Frontal Cortex to Zen productivity, which I’d thought was an oxymoron. By the time I met my lunch date—Arthur Litz, a retired judge who sports bowties and prefers conversation to email—I was frazzled and overwhelmed.
Judge Litz is one of the most erudite men I know. He loves history, literature and the quirks of human nature, and after two decades on the bench and a stint as presiding judge in St. Louis County, he’s seen it all. We went to Dominic’s—quiet, civilized, no technology in sight—and he soothed me with stories. Did I know who Roe of Missouri’s famous Roe v. Wade was? Norma Leah McCovey, who was working as a carnival freak show barker when she became pregnant, and who later came out as a lesbian. He told me about a local kid who uncovered one of those secret books universities keep, lists of weird scholarships (for a redhead whose parents were born in Ireland, etc.) that they don’t publicize so the money will stay in the endowment. We talked about the Harvard Club in New York (he’s a member, the rooms are cheap), the Algonquin Club roundtable and Dorothy Parker (“Brevity is the soul of lingerie”) and the days of good old-fashioned books, wit and conversation.
By the time I’d finished my chicken salad, I was feeling almost myself again. The waiter cleared, and Judge Litz leaned forward.
“How do you find the good blogs?” he asked. I ranted a bit about the sea of words and most of them (like this) self-indulgent. Then I told him I had discovered something that kept me sane this morning: Technorati’s list of 100 blogs, a starting place from which I could spider-walk all over the web.
He nodded, took out a fine pen and scribbled down the url.
I returned to the office chastened.
—Jeannette Cooperman
