RECORDING HISTORY LITTLE BY LITTLE

No one is recording history all at once.

Those who try have a special name: kooks, nut cases, or bloggers.

None of those names are a compliment, but I’m changing that little by little.

Starting with:

Blogger.

More accurately, Boomer Blogger because we all like accuracy.

A blogger is not a journalist, a professor, or expert.

But they might be.

Speaking for myself, a blogger is a beacon of responsibility.

The common perception of a blogger is someone who thinks they don’t need to jump through the hoops needed for a more respectable title, like ‘Voice Of Their Generation.’

“Oh, you’re a blogger? Isn’t that special. Bless your heart.”

With enough engagement, likes, follows, and other evidence, bloggers feel the immediate rush of acknowledgement, acceptance.

That’s not what’s going on here.

My biggest day, with over six thousands hits, came with this post.

Did it make me an expert on Michelangelo? Italian sculpture? Marble penises?

No, but I did write a follow up.

The most read post on boomerpdx? Right here.

Did it turn me into a chronicler of naked dudes prancing around a dressing room?

Two people shower at the gym: sweaty guys and those who like to shower with sweaty guys.

It’s all in the same package, (excuse the pun.)

A current trend explains why so many people, like millennials, are uncomfortable in the gym locker room.

There’s good reasons why everyone feels a little, say, exposed.

Who Cares About A Blogger Recording History?

I’ve had a good look at history. I read and watch the History Channel.

And more. There’d better be more if you want to be a history guy.

I changed majors in college from English and Fiction Writing to History and News Writing.

The funny thing was the ease of transition. One didn’t feel that much different than the other.

Fight me.

Reading and writing is the foundation of both. Why did I switch? Because my job paid for the history degree.

I spent twenty years grinding in a history museum collection. It was the sort of work ambitious museum professionals pass through on their way to management where they can hire friends, allocate funding, and find their squirrelly spouses honest work.

Part of the job was cataloging collections so future curators would know that they’re looking at.

It’s recording history at its most fundamental level: What is it?

For me, that’s the question of life. ‘What is it’ starts with ‘What’s it made of?’

The same question makes the jump from History to Literature where we meet people on pages and think, ‘Who Are They’ and ‘What Are They Made Of?’

Good writers have good answers and readers turn the page to find out.

Or they turn up The Who.

Different History For Different People?

You’ve got your story and you’re sticking it?

If you’re convincing enough, go with it.

Just remember that history doesn’t begin the day you’re born and end the day you die.

That’s a common myth.

“How am I supposed to know if it’s true? I wasn’t even born,” is not a good excuse.

But people still roll it out. Adults work it the same way they worked their dog when they didn’t do their homework in school.

If dogs ate as much homework as they get credit for they would’ve crapped out a Library of Congress by now.

In recording history it’s important not to exclude things you find suspicious.

You go to church and the guest minister gives the history of man beginning with Adam and skips all of the evolutionary nonsense?

Take note.

A neighbor sees an old man on television who says he’s not old, a fat man who says he’s in peak condition with his doctor’s note, a moron who explains his gift of genius?

And he wants to be that man, not old, fat, and stupid, which, as we learned from Animal House, is no way to go through life.

Once you convert all previous questions and doubts, interests and inquiries, into old, fat, and stupid, life gets easier.

How? Now you have someone to blame. Nothing is your fault.

Some call it freedom. Good for them.

But even the sketchiest blogger sees through it.

In the act of recording history, don’t forget.