Lacking purpose

Yesterday a friend told me that he thinks blogs are boring. He doesn't want to see your vacation pictures, pictures of your new dog, or close-ups of your new baby. He cares about them, but he would rather not spend his time reading about your boring life and your boring thoughts. (I'm sure he wasn't referring to me, personally.)
I didn't say anything. I realized that he has a good point. But I thought, "Perhaps it is interesting to the writer. Perhaps writing helps to form nebulous, random thoughts into somewhat articulate, somewhat well-formed ideas that are worth sharing, at least with one's own conscience." I've been searching for information about the upcoming election and candidates who are unknown to me. A lot of what I found were on peoples' blogs from this state. And I love reading Mr. Chinchilla's interviews. I have learned about the diet of small woodland creatures, the nuances of engaging people in witty banter, and the fact that he is in love with Jessica Alba and that he is tired of hearing and reading about Tiny Fey (good stuff, Mr. Chinchilla).
There's a lot out there. Perhaps there is a purpose. Perhaps my friend is (not) reading this right now.