Current Mood: None of Your Cocking Business
I hate LiveJournal. Not qua blogging platform; no need to blame the messenger. But I hate the use (many, not all) people make of it. I hate, really a lot, The Blog As Public-Access Diary.
It's just a category error. Definitionally, a diary (NB: I employ the American usage here; 'diary' as 'personal life record', not as 'appointment book') is a private chronicle of the thoughts, events and deeds that are of import to the chronicler but, with rare exceptions, to virtually no one else. If you are, say, Winston Churchill, history may in the fullness of time elect to take a broader interest in said chronicle. Presumption of that interest before the fact is both irritating and idiotic.
I am not, mind, suggesting that many, many bloggers out there don't have fascinating and worthwhile things to say. Manifestly they do. In general, though, I think you'll find that the preponderance of those things are about something, and that further, that something is not a) the progress of their manuscript; b) the antics of their lovable but exasperating significant other; or c) their fuckridden cat.
The details of your life are for sharing with friends. Your diary, pending notification of your Nobel Prize, is for sharing with no one. And I will defend to the death my right not to know a single goddamn thing about your cat.