blogher 08: partial live blogging

The experience is still sinking in and I’m still trying to catch up on sleep as the two-day blog-love-fest was exhausting in itself, and the boy is doing a little night waking (eine kleine nacht…) again lately.

What I have right now are remnants: A pile of business cards yet to go through, a pile of memories I hope I can access, handwritten and typed notes, the sense of having had an experience.

I will say this: On Friday I stopped Bossy in the hall and said “Hello.” I didn’t actually have anything else to say to her. I just didn’t want to stay intimidated. If I could have said “Hi,” to Dooce, I would have also. (Sorry Eva! Actually, it was blogging about my intimidation, and your comment, that helped motivate me to bust through!) And similarly I would not have had much to say to her — except that the truth is that I occasionally read Dooce, and I’ve only been to Bossy’s blog once, to view the impressive video she made about getting no love from Dooce. (Must. Read. More. Blogs.) I would have told Heather Armstrong one thing, that her blog inspired me to blog. With writing that good on the Internet, I wanted to join.

As it was, Dooce’s segment, the closing session of Day Two, was fantastic. “What did she say?” Scott asked. I’m not sure it was the words themselves. I loved hearing her speak about her experience blogging. I felt exhilarated in the same way I had many years ago when I saw the performance artist (whose name I won’t mention because her lifestyle choices would scare the bejeezeus out of those who know and love me) who’d inspired me to pursue that route. I didn’t want to be or emulate said lifestyle choices of said performer. It was simply her skill, presence, and honesty that blew me away, and made me want to perform my own stories.

But 15 minutes before the end, I had to pee. And once I’d exited, leaving my seat at a table in the center of a ballroom filled with 1,000 people, I found it hard to go back. Scott was in the next room, wheeling the Boo around in the BOB while the sponsors broke down displays and packed their unswug swag. It was 6:00. We were all tired. So, home we went.

Below is the partial live blogging I tried to do on Saturday.

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I love that I’m in this room. There are four powerful women in gray arm chairs on a stage. Gold curtains hang behind. About 1,000 people, mostly women, sit at round tables that fill this “Grand” ballroom.

I’ve arranged for Scott to take the baby so I can “focus.” Yesterday, at the conference, I couldn’t focus. Blamed it on the baby juggling. Wore him part of the time, dropped him off at childcare part of the time, went back and forth to childcare, took him out of childcare, etc.

So here I am, plugged in to a power strip at the videographer’s station at the back of the room, surfing the internet, writing this post.

Words filter into my happily distracted mind. “Authentic,” “genuine,” “profitabilty,” “market penetration”…

Editor in Chief of Redbook gets my attention. “I’m 100% who I am, but 25% of me doesn’t get to exist in my blog. I have to curate my personality to serve my audience.”

She also said something about loving sex with her new boyfriend, after having been left by her husband when she took over Redbook, lost her house in a fire, lost two nannies… Suddenly I’m curious about the magazine.

God, it feels so luxurious to sit here and type, to listen or not as my brain wanders.

I want to meet every woman in this room. I wish that the name tags had the blog names bigger than our name-names (rather than vice-versa). I don’t want to know who you are, I want to know whom you’ve created yourself to be.

Yesterday, a New York Times photographer snapped my picture — so maybe you’ll see me in those pages (enabling me to continue to pursue my odd path of cameo appearances in all media).

She asked me for my name and blog. I gave her my card. “So, your blog appeals to pregnant women.” She concludes, confidently.

“Uh… no. It was a blog I started when I was pregnant. It’s not about pregnancy anymore.”

What’s in a name?

* * *

At the end of the session I go up to Stacy Morrison to tell her how much I enjoyed her presentation and pitch a story idea. I talk so fast, I’m not sure she understands a word I’m saying, and I’m pretty sure my eyes were bugging out from the adrenaline surge. She did say my mini business cards were cute (I gave her one of each of the three images I’d chosen from my flickr account and had printed on moo).

* * *

Am now in the “building traffic” seminar. Elise Bauer is speaking. I adore her Simply Recipes blog and am surprised that she’s so young. I imagined her to be the kind of woman who would swap recipes with Betty Crocker. I guess Betty Crocker was probably in her 40s. Who am I, again?

I called Scott between sessions and received this report:

The boy is sleeping in the stroller. They’re at Kinko’s. It’s warm. Scott is working, and he has the white noise playing on his laptop.

I’m so glad to hear this, I feel a little weepy.

I finally feel like I’ve arrived at the conference. Even though I’m writing this during a session, I feel totally present for this post and the speaker. Comfortably keeping my brain firing on two levels.

The question that nibbles at the edge of my consciousness, and sometimes breaks through to center stage as I move about among all these people is, Why blog? Who is going to read this? There are so many bloggers, so many stories to track. Why bother?

I’m easily lost in this question. In graduate school, I worried about this in terms of the many performance artists, telling personal stories, like I was. Now, that number of voices has expanded exponential upon exponentially.

The answers: Because I have to? Because my parents like to know what’s going on in my life? Because the keyboard feels good under my fingers? Click click click clickety click click.

Do it because it’s a marathon and you love to run, Elise says. Yes.

* * *

At noon, I met Mayberry Mom and two of her internet friends. IRL. So exciting! We traded business cards and Friend B reached into her bag and pulled out one of the spiky rubbery blinky lightball things!!! I was so excited, since I’d seen them around other people’s necks on Thursday night and had tried to find her to get one for myself. Ask and ye shall receive.

Then I met Scott at the Daily Grill for lunch. We traded off the Boo, Scott went to see Batman, and I wolfed down my soup and took my salad to go. We started walking and Jonah started crying and didn’t stop for an hour. Fun times. Now he’s sleeping, or trying to. We’re in the internet cafe of sorts which is also the showroom for the Roomba people, meaning there’s white noise in here but I’m not sure it’s enough to keep him sleeping. Better move on…

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