I was in Canada over the weekend, and, going through customs, they did not believe that my passport was valid (the picture was taken 6 years ago when I was going through a “pigtails are cute on grown-up ladies” phase). They decided to ascertain that I was not a terrorist by quizzing me for a while on what I did.
“I run a lady-mag on the internet,” I replied, which you know, at new media parties at Tom and Jerry’s is a totally valid job description.
“What’s that?” the custom official asked.
“A blogger. I am a blogger,” I replied to keep things simple, even though I hate saying that, because then people think you take pictures of yourself in pigtails wearing vintage dresses all day long, which I only do from 9 to 5, no longer, no shorter.
“What’s a blogger?” he asked.
“Oh, you know,” I said, “like Jude Law. In Contagion.”
Not to spoil anything, but I spent a lot of time at the customs desk answering questions. Not my fault! Everything I know I learned from the movies. In conclusion, here is what it means to be a blogger.