lexrob.com

Some­times I read my posts here and I think I come across as hav­ing my head up in the clouds or some­where else. If you know me, you know that’s not me, at least not com­pletely. But what am I to do? I’m blog­ging with a pur­pose (“Pur­pose Dri­ven Blog­ging”). I ago­nize over pop cul­ture as if it were impor­tant because it is. The songs we lis­ten to, the shows we watch, and the stuff we read are ingre­di­ents in the mix­ing bowls that are ourselves/our selves/our selfs. The things we choose say some­thing about what and where our selves have been. The things we choose have some­thing to say about what and where our selves will be. Thus, even Jer­sey Shore and Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All deserve at least some mea­sure of rev­er­ence. At least they do accord­ing to my phi­los­o­phy, the­ol­ogy, world­view, hermeneu­tic, epis­te­mol­ogy, or whatever.

Then again, accord­ing to that same what­ever, irrev­er­ence is just as essen­tial. Four years ago, I might have said that, but I would’ve been cav­a­lier and angry about it, maybe showy, and I wouldn’t have meant it, not really. My expe­ri­ence with the sick and dying has changed that. My expe­ri­ence with God has changed that. I believe in irrev­er­ence now, and in rev­er­ent irrev­er­ence (I also rec­og­nize, but do not respect, irrev­er­ent rev­er­ence, which I fear pro­pels megachurches, etc., but that’s another topic). Rev­er­ent irrev­er­ence can be a heal­ing spir­i­tual exer­cise. If noth­ing else, it can heal anx­i­ety. Bet­ter, it can address pride. Best, it can smash idols.

Not that I write about idols. Just, let’s not get too sanc­ti­mo­nious about iCarly, all righty? And, in that spirit, I reded­i­cate my Tum­blr.

I think I was too old to “get” Tum­blr when I first heard of it. That’s unfor­tu­nate, because, my fond­ness for over­writ­ing about [take your pick] notwith­stand­ing, it seems like a bet­ter fit for my “social net­work­ing needs” than, say, Twit­ter or Face­book. In other words, I need a heavy dose of ani­mated gifs of Gibby danc­ing and Pam Beesly feel­ing God in this Chili’s tonight. I need con­sid­er­ably fewer sta­tus updates, with all due respect to you and yours (love y’all!). I’m sure my desire for such deper­son­al­ized dig­i­tal ephemera indi­cates some­thing about me. Maybe I should write about it at length one of these days (cur­rent word count: 394). For now, I’ll just scratch the itch on Tum­blr.