The meta of blogging

Now there's some sort of term for this, but I don't know what it is. I think "meta" might be it.
As I write this, I'm being filmed. For a TV story about being unemployed. And, writing a blog about being an unemployed journalist.
It feels like going at some sort of space-time continum with a samurai sword. It reminds me of the time years ago when I wrote about a Miss America pageant contestant from a small town, and the media coverage that followed her around. I was in her backyard while a pageant camera crew filmed her, and our newspaper's photographer took shots of the camera crew. Her dad took pictures of everyone, and I got so dizzy from it all that I nearly fell in the swimming pool.
This is a little different, but then again, last time it wasn't about me. When you're trying to lure the cat into sitting on your lap while you have a laptop on your lap, because it would be a cute shot, you've gone into the realm of living in a media world of your own.
There is also the conundrum of sitting and looking like you're writing something when you're actually just trying to look busy. If I'd worked in government, I would've developed this skill long ago.
When they asked about starting the blog, I told them, "You can either get depressed, or you can try to be positive and stay engaged. And if someone reads the blog and says, 'He didn't get depressed, so I won't either', then all the better." Hah, get a load of me trying to pass this off as inspirational. May as well have a saying, "Today I will find a job, or at least watch my unwatched WWE wrestling on the DVR." Small goals being easier to reach, or something like that.
Job hunt update: Well, I'm still at it, and I've had one promising interview for a magazine writing/editing gig, with another interview in a few weeks. A pay cut could be part of it, but if it means I don't get to eat a Carl's Jr. Western Bacon Cheesburger (w/crisscut fries and Raspberry Iced Tea, big size) as often, well, at least I won't have keep buying bigger pants.
As I've been writing this, actually, I did get a phone call from a number I didn't recognize, which means two things: 1) Ooh, goodie, my dream job is calling! or 2) My factory warranty on my car has expired, for the 23rd time in the last two years, and for a mere $700 for six months I can restore it. They may not be aware that getting an extended warranty on a Toyota with a missing hubcap and pushing 200,000 miles is about like a billion-dollar bailout plan for banks that won't say what they're doing with the money.
Not that the latter would ever happen.