When all's said and done, it's a pretty sad thing to do, keeping a blog. For a start, you don't have to be any good at writing to become popular and widely read and quoted. You just have to post alot, which leads a lot of shite people thinking they are the absolute dog's bollocks. The apotheosis of this phenomena is, of course, to be found across the pond, where bloggers have such a high regard for themselves, they fondly imagine they can make a difference in the real world. The really scary thing is that they are right.
Over here, things haven't reached such a pass yet. Being noticed by the Guardian doesn't count, and the only blogger to make any sort of impact on planet normal is a probably fictional whore. There are, however, some Brit bloggers whose life in blogland seems to be the only thing in their sad bastard lives of any worth and who seem to think that any of it matters. All the regular commenters and some of the contributors at Harry's Place fall into this category, as does the most boring man in Britain, aka Oliver Kamm. (It could be argued that Kamm has reached a level of influence akin to his American cousins in that he has actually notched up real world publication, but I find it hard to believe anyone other than residents of Bloggo Bloggo land would ever read him, so I will dismiss this line.)
The Kid Cuthbertson once nearly fell into this category, but of late he seems to have disovered real life. It may be too early to tell if he has realised blogging is just a slightly more cerebal form of the most popular online pastime of all, (what? Oh, sorry, this is the internet, I have to spell it out for the lowest common denominator - wanking at the computer) but his mates over at Biased BBC certainly haven't.
I would go on about this at some length, but I actually have a life.