Dear Genealogist

I'm glad that you have traced your ancestry back to Alexander the Great, Carrie Nation and the guy who scalped Custer. But I don't want to hear about it. Here's our stuff for persuing your hobby, but leave me out of the rest. No, seriously, I'm tickled that you found great grandad's name on the 1880 census that showed his exact address in Missoula. But please don't tell me about it. I don't even care about my own family tree, so imagine what I think of yours. I look at it this way: a variety of (I'm assuming here) humans did the whole mate/spawn/die process (I myself have accomplished two of these lofty imperatives, BTW). One result was you. One result was me. THAT'S IT. At some point, I'm not going to be here and I don't particularly care if anybody ever digs up anything about me. It depresses me to think that someday somebody will bore some poor librarian someplace with details about my life.

"My great great grandfather was a librarian, too! He wrote this stupid thing nearly every day called a 'blog.' Do you have any information about what these blog things were? Were they a form of religion or something?"