Why, it seems like just yesterday when I wrote my very first blog post. To think, after a whole year, my content still hasn’t improved. They say practice makes perfect, but I think that’s a load of crap.
Over this past year, I’ve learned many things, most of them the hard way. One was to read my camera manual (actually, I still haven’t learned that one). Another was to write my blog entries in a Word document first before copying them into Typepad, just in case the Typepad people are spying, criticizing all aspects of my creative process. You know, like department store staff behind the mirrors of dressing rooms. The bastards. This policy of paranoia also comes in handy on the rather frequent chance that your browser application might unexpectedly quit mid-sentence.
Every once in a while, though, I write something that’s just too stupid to even begin to ask you to read (like the one where I go to Confession after 15 years and ask the priest if my estrangement from the Church, as my dad has suggested, is the reason why Dunkin’ Donuts’ doughnuts suck so badly). I keep all of these types of idiotic posts in that same holding document forever and ever. Maybe for a rainy day when I’m willing to settle, maybe for a particularly depressing menstrual cycle when I find myself running outside to scream at the trees for no reason. (It’s just wind. Stop moving, YOU STUPID TREEEEEEEESSS.) For example. (I do try to weed out the menstrual posts as best I can, but I’m not always successful.)
Anyway, what I’m left with after this whole year is 86 pages worth of posts that never made it onto the blog for one reason or another. Eighty-six PAGES of rejects. That’s right, you’ve been reading the good stuff. Scary.
I’m not going to get all mushy on you on my blog birthday, don’t worry, but it’s true what they say about blogging improving your life in unexpected ways. This rather far-flung community of bloggers and readers has made me think, made me act, made me laugh, made me cry. Which means you guys suck way worse than Cats.
As we approach Thanksgiving, I’d like to thank my reader(s) for reading me everyday, with the glaring exception of Saturdays and Sundays (I don’t know what the hell you’re all doing on the weekends that’s so damned important, by the way). I’d also like to thank the people who comment regularly or just whenever the mood strikes because it adds so much to the conversation. Even if I get sad when you eventually leave me to live your own lives (Where are you Heath and Jim? Don’t grow up, yet.).
Anyway, blah, blah, blah, I really like presents (expensive ones). I also like lurkers who get brave and delurk. Except that I figure some of you might be lurking for good reason. Like the hair you’re growing out is still at that awkward stage. Or you have a gimpy left leg. Or the mental illness. I figure you have your reasons and I can respect that. In fact, do me a favor and keep that shit to yourself. I don’t need any competition for crazy on my own blog.
But if you do want to drop me a line, the magic number is 13. That’s the record number of comments I’ve received (on this post and this post), and that’s the number to beat. It will make the difference between a good blog birthday and a shitty one. No posting twice (you hear that, Self?). To make things interesting, I shan’t be posting again until we get there. Will I be back for a second year? We’ll find out.
Happy birthday, FotF.