In which I ramble

I was musing a bit the other day after writing my criticism of Andrew Sullivan. (And I think we can all agree that his silence in the face of my take-down can only because I have totally rocked his world. Right? RIGHT???!!?) For good or ill, he looms huge in the political blogosphere, and I would honestly keel over for joy if he were to ever actually link to something I wrote here. But I am willing to bet that the vast majority of Americans, including most who watch the news and pay attention to politics, have no idea who he is. It was a reminder that the world of political blogging is ultra-tiny, and still not all that meaningful outside of its little echo chamber.

Somewhat tangentially, I was amused to notice yesterday that Sully had linked to an article by Maria Bustillos in defense of hipsters. Now, Maria Bustillos probably doesn't have any recollection of who I am, but I wasn't surprised to find that she and I have very different opinions of hipsters. She thinks genuine hipsters are delightful, while poseurs are horrid; I find them both equally obnoxious. I could have guessed that she and I would disagree, because we both participated in the online group read of 2666. She loved it. I hated it.

Maria and I have never met, and she's probably forgotten whatever impression she had of me. But in this strange little world of online intellectual cross-currents, I now have an impression of her as someone whose cultural insights don't congrue with mine and who considers literary ipecac great art, and she (in so far as she may remember me at all) probably thinks of me as someone who wouldn't know a great contemporary novel if the author came up and hit me with it.

It fascinates me how we can connect and communicate with each other, with such fragmented impressions and one-way conversations, and how big our small little corner can seem.

Sorry this doesn't have much of a point, but for some reason I felt like sharing these meandering thoughts of mine.