I blog the body electric

or "You seem so much taller on your blog. . ."

(Warning: This is probably going to be one of those posts where I get all postmodern and thoughty and shit. If you're looking for the usual "adventures in not gettin' any" schtick, come back tomorrow. If you can't hold out that long. . .seriously, that's sad. But feel free to flip back to yesterday and add your nominations)

To begin by giving credit where credit is due, MA's Word of the Week post on flirging, a subsequent e-mail exchange with some of my blog peeps (does that make you my bleeps? My blitchez?), and a brief convo with Jess about how people think she's lying about (among other things) attempting to sticker a duck, the rusty old wheels in my head set to spinning.

I've been thinking about embodiment--about the nature of having a body. More specifically, I've been thinking about how we portray our bodies in forums like this, where to one extent or another, we're effectively disembodied.

Except that we're not, or not quite. A number of the bloggers I read regularly--particularly a number of those in the DC blogoverse--post pictures, identifying their "blogging selves" with their "real"/physical selves.

But even those of us who stay anonymous (or semi- or pseudo-anonymous) embody ourselves in some way. We drop tantalizing hints about height or proportions. We refer openly or obliquely to age or race. At the very least, most of us own up to being of one gender or the other (if anyone can point me to an absolutely ungendered blog, I'd love to read it).

For myself, my body is one of the things I blog about most often--its delights, its discomforts, the peculiar tortures I inflict on it for vain, stupid reasons. I've been fairly explicit about my height, my weight, my bra size, and my motley ethnic composition. I've talked about my "ghetto booty," and my alleged likeness to Katie fucking Holmes.

The first question I started thinking about today is "why?" What investment do I have in embodying myself so insistently and in such detail? And why am I so selective about it? I mean, I don't think I've ever mentioned the fact that one of my legs is slightly longer than the other. I'm not ashamed of it, but I've never worked it in.

Retro suggested that we do it as a means of "flirging"--or blog-flirting. There's definitely an element of truth in this--in blog, as in life, I definitely try to create a good impression. And I'll admit that when other bloggers embody themselves favorably, I definitely react in a flirgtatious manner: I swoon a little bit everytime Claven mentions being "bigger than your average bear," or when Lance manages to work in the fact that he's "approximately 6'4", 215." And when Neil blogs about strutting around with a price tag stuck to his penis. . . me-ow. Just go ahead and hang a "Do Not Disturb" sign on my door, why don't you?

But is that really why we do it? Are we actually trying to make people swoon by blogging, or is that just. . .the Clinique bonus gift of the whole thing? Does it really make a difference to readers what we look like? Would you be here less if I told you I had hairy legs and three teef?

Then I started thinking about the difference between our own, active embodiment of our "blogging selves," and the embodiment enacted on us by our readers. I remember sometime this summer when Megarita "outed" herself as a blonde and Alley expressed shock. And I've seen a lot of comments along the lines of "before I saw your pictures(/met you), I expected you to be a lot taller(/better looking/gayer/blacker/a woman) based on your tales of reaching things on the top shelf(/scoring with chicks/scoring with dudes/competing with a step team/menstruating)."

Granted, some of these assumptions are based in logic--it makes sense to assume that someone calling him/herself "Princess," and coyly writing about his/her "visitor" once a month is a girl. But how does one "write tall?" What makes writing "blonder" or "better looking" than other writing?

And what does my writing "look like" to you? Granted, I'm in an odd position--a fair number of my regular readers have known me for years; others of you have met me at least once; still others have (by fair means or foul) seen pictures of me. For those of you who met/saw me after you started reading--do I look like I write? Not necessarily "as I describe myself," but rather is my physical appearance aligned with the authorial voice I've established here? How were your expectations different?

The third part is, what part does honesty play in this? I mean, I figure that most of you assume (as I do about you) that I'm fairly honest in my description of myself--elliding things like the short leg, the third nipple, and the veinous hands, but being truthful about the details I do include.

Then I was talking to Jess, and thinking about how her blog title--Lies & Fish--caused dcblogs to assume her recent exploits with emergent narrative were part of an elaborate hoax.

I believe I mentioned this on MA's blog a few months ago, but one could easily draw the same assumptions about my little enterprise here. The name encourages it. The headline quote encourages it. Using "Jordan Baker"--a woman casually dismissed as "incurably dishonest"--as my blogonym encourages it.

And in fact, I do lie. Probably more than any of you realize. But one of the things I've been unflinchingly honest about is my appearance (or have I. . .?). What does it say that the one thing I've consistently refused to rewrite is the one thing it would be easiest, and in some ways, most tempting to change?

When I was an undergrad, the U of X was in the forefront of MOO technology. We were encouraged to use it as tutors at the Writing Center, the theory being that it would enable us to consult with students in an atmosphere free of the baggage associated with race, class, physical handicaps. . .etc. But when you set up your MOO account, the first thing it asked you to do was to choose a gender for your account name. You didn't have to choose your "real" gender, but you did have to choose.

What does it mean that even in situations where, theoretically, we're freed of the limitations and prejudices attached to our bodies, we consistently embody both ourselves and others?

For all you know, I really do have hairy legs and three teef. For all you know, I could be a man. What does that change?