Google My Brains Out
The world of weblogging is full of the most appalling neologisms - blogosphere for example - but there doesn’t seem to be one for the sinking feeling I’ve been getting all week when searching Google, only to find results pointing, mockingly, at this very site.
There is something very disturbing about this use of Google as an interface to what ought to be in my own head. It’s end-of-year round-up time, you see, and lots of little things have to be written in praise of the most fabulous events of 2003. Since I’m writing some of these gobbets for people to idly read in a stupor over Christmas about Scottish artists - like Martin Boyce, Jim Lambie and Toby Paterson, who’ve all had an awfully good year - all the information is somewhere in my head, but the quickest way to get at it is via the search engines.
Some webloggers, with another one of these dreadful coinages, refer to their weblogs as outboard brains. I think I liked it better when my brain was onboard, thanks very much.
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