This post initially began with a smartass remark about blogging being covered as a social disorder in the upcoming edition of the DSM IV. I opted to dispose of that because this is a semi-serious post and it deserves a better joke than something as weak as that.
Anonymous blogging is an issue that generates strong feelings on both sides and one that is beginning to be discussed with increasing frequency. The primary complaint is that anonymity provides an abdication of personal accountability for what is written. It is a reasonable concern. I have stumbled upon more than a few blogs that served as vehicles to attack the character of a person(s) and or businesses.
If you have been on the receiving end of some these hatchet jobs you might have found yourself frustrated with an inability to confront the writer or writers of the posts in question. I know of several cases which led to the use of the legal system to attempt to gain the true name of the blogger.
More than one post has been written in which the author suggested that anonymous bloggers are cowards. I understand where they are coming from and appreciate why they might think that those of us behind the mask don't really stand behind our principles. Of course had they been a student with me they would know that I usually stood before the principal, but I digress.
As the seventeen long time readers know I have been wrestling for a while with revealing my true identity. In concept pulling back the curtain should provide more advantages than disadvantages. It allows me to retain the benefit of my brand while simultaneously growing it more quickly than I have in the past.
After more than five years of blogging I have an established readership and name. For years many of my friends and family have made repeated requests to get a chance to visit this corner of cyberspace. With very few exceptions I have always rebuffed those efforts. I like the anonymity because it allows me to write more freely. Take off the mask and some of the more self introspective posts will disappear.
I kind of like writing those. Of course there is nothing preventing me from continuing or establishing a new blog to keep writing them on. It is not that I can't discuss those introspective posts, because I can. But I don't really want to. Some of them are pretty raw and I don't feel like having to go through a 27 hour explanation with some of the people who will ask about them.
I have very realistic expectations about how many of my friends/family will read this thing. A bunch will take one look and never come back, but I can guarantee that more than a few will hang around. So I really need to ask myself if I am prepared to open that can of worms.
As for setting up a separate blog, well I have five now and barely have time to keep them going. Setting up something new is going to require giving something up, which might not be such a bad thing.
In addition to the benefits of retaining my brand taking off the mask would make it easier to get more writing jobs, at least I think that it would. In theory if they didn't get scared away by the wacky world I write about it would provide a ton of samples of my writing ability for them to review.
As it stands now it is a bit more challenging to produce as many samples as they'd like.
I don't expect to make any quick decisions about this. The good news is that I don't really have to, but I kind of expect to do it. At least I think that I am probably going to, but I suppose that only time will tell.
Save The Last Dance For Me- 75 Years of Marriage
Not so long ago I explained my belief in astrology. It is very simple. If I like my horoscope than I believe wholeheartedly in it and if I don't I write it off as being nothing more than superstitious bunk. I do the same thing for most of the new agey stuff.
Don't tell me that if I ask the universe to give me a gift it will come true. Because if that was true than back in high school good old Ann Stacey would have been really attentive to my needs. But I digress.
This afternoon I saw something that might have made me question my beliefs a bit. This afternoon I watched two 95 year-olds dance themselves back in time. And then I saw them kiss in a way that made me remember that Sarah was older than my grandmother when she gave birth to Isaac.
Great googly moogly, grandma and grandpa kissed each other like they really meant it. If nothing else they managed to make my son ask why grown ups like to kiss so much.
I told him not to worry about it and to watch them dance because he might not get to see it again to which he replied, "are they going to die?" I rolled my eyes in mock exasperation and said yes. For a moment he stared at me and they I told him that I didn't expect it to happen today.
But the truth is that this might have been the last dance and that makes me a bit sad. My grandparents are one of the constants of my entire life. For forty years they have always been a part of it. I have seen them dance at untold numbers of family parties, weddings, bar and bat mitzvahs etc. They always spent time together out on the dance floor. It occurred to me that I am not sure when I last saw them dance.
I hadn't realized until that moment that dancing is one of the images I have of them. But when I think about it is easy to envision them gliding around the floor. Confession time. I remember being about 15 and thinking that if I could dance as well as my grandfather it would make it a lot easier to find a girlfriend.
For a brief time I tried practicing in front of the mirrored closet doors in my parent's bedroom, but that didn't last long. As a 15 year old boy dancing wasn't something that I was real comfortable with. I didn't want to talk about it and wasn't about to ask for lessons. Maybe I should of have.
Nah...
Anyhoo, it was all part of an anniversary party that we threw to celebrate their 75th year of marriage. The best part of it was seeing how much fun they had. Later on we went back to my parent's house for dinner.
I got a kick out of watching them sit on the couch holding hands. It was very sweet and I couldn't help but wonder what they were like 75 years ago. They got married twice. The first time was a secret wedding at the court house. So for a year they lived at home and pretended to be dating.
I'll share more about them in part two of this story.
Don't tell me that if I ask the universe to give me a gift it will come true. Because if that was true than back in high school good old Ann Stacey would have been really attentive to my needs. But I digress.
This afternoon I saw something that might have made me question my beliefs a bit. This afternoon I watched two 95 year-olds dance themselves back in time. And then I saw them kiss in a way that made me remember that Sarah was older than my grandmother when she gave birth to Isaac.
Great googly moogly, grandma and grandpa kissed each other like they really meant it. If nothing else they managed to make my son ask why grown ups like to kiss so much.
I told him not to worry about it and to watch them dance because he might not get to see it again to which he replied, "are they going to die?" I rolled my eyes in mock exasperation and said yes. For a moment he stared at me and they I told him that I didn't expect it to happen today.
But the truth is that this might have been the last dance and that makes me a bit sad. My grandparents are one of the constants of my entire life. For forty years they have always been a part of it. I have seen them dance at untold numbers of family parties, weddings, bar and bat mitzvahs etc. They always spent time together out on the dance floor. It occurred to me that I am not sure when I last saw them dance.
I hadn't realized until that moment that dancing is one of the images I have of them. But when I think about it is easy to envision them gliding around the floor. Confession time. I remember being about 15 and thinking that if I could dance as well as my grandfather it would make it a lot easier to find a girlfriend.
For a brief time I tried practicing in front of the mirrored closet doors in my parent's bedroom, but that didn't last long. As a 15 year old boy dancing wasn't something that I was real comfortable with. I didn't want to talk about it and wasn't about to ask for lessons. Maybe I should of have.
Nah...
Anyhoo, it was all part of an anniversary party that we threw to celebrate their 75th year of marriage. The best part of it was seeing how much fun they had. Later on we went back to my parent's house for dinner.
I got a kick out of watching them sit on the couch holding hands. It was very sweet and I couldn't help but wonder what they were like 75 years ago. They got married twice. The first time was a secret wedding at the court house. So for a year they lived at home and pretended to be dating.
I'll share more about them in part two of this story.
Idea #237 for Wooing a Woman
This is part of an ongoing series in which I train men how to woo women. For the prior installment please click here.
Women love men who can dance and sing. When you find a woman that you wish to woo it is always good to gather some friends and dress up as The Village People. I have had great success dressing up in leather and singing Macho Man to the women of my world. You ought to try it too.
Women love men who can dance and sing. When you find a woman that you wish to woo it is always good to gather some friends and dress up as The Village People. I have had great success dressing up in leather and singing Macho Man to the women of my world. You ought to try it too.
The Ultimate Birthday Party Revisited
If you asked me to describe the birthday party I wouldn't hesitate to say that it felt a bit like these two videos by the Red Russian Army Choir & Leningrad Cowboys. Stop wiping your eyes, you read it correctly the first time.
Simple tunes that were turned into major productions that magically retained their simplicity. Don't ask me what that means, I am tired. I just finished cleaning up mystery items that were left as gifts by the hordes of children and assorted guests.
For those of you who weren't fortunate enough to witness the dark haired beauty in all her glory let's undergo a short recap. As previously stated this venture into the dark side took place here on the Ponderosa minus Hoss and Little Joe, although I am pretty sure that Rooster Cogburn made a guest appearance.
There was a Hello Kitty theme to this party. This made the dark haired beauty's eldest aunt quite happy as she had a thing for the ferocious feline too. It included basic entertainment, much of which was provided by your's truly.
I suppose that I should clarify by saying that I found it exceptionally entertaining to tell the children that I had stuffed the pinata full of broccoli, zucchini and brussel sprouts. SInce most of them were five or younger they were naive enough to believe that I was telling the truth. One girl was positively irate until I told her that her mommy insisted that she only be given apples to eat. Once I said that she shrugged her shoulders and said, "you did speak to her."
Additional entertainment was provided by the bounce house, also known as a moon bounce, bouncie and that big blue noisy thing. Again it served as a major source of entertainment for me as I took great pleasure from jumping alongside the kids. Let me tell you, they loved it. Every time I landed it launched them fifteen feet through the air. There was much squealing and only a few tears. But that kid was a total baby, I told him to watch out. It is not my fault that I landed on his toe.
On a side note, it is implortant to remember not to call a kid stinky in front of his mother. For some reason they frown upon grown men taunting their children. Again, not my fault that he is proof that some people are born with the ability to break wind upon command. Seriously, he could be a superhero of some sort, Flatulent Boy.
If I was his publicist I'd market his ability to clear a room to law enforcement or the military. He might even replace the Taser. "Hold still sir, or he'll shoot."
Anyhoo, I am here, stuffed full of 235 slices of pizza and ready to cut a hole in my gut to relieve the pressure. Please remind me that I don't have to imitate a puppy and keep eating until there is nothing left on the plate in front of me.
The most important thing is that the dark haired beauty had a great time. Not to mention that she told my MIL not to bother me because daddy is the boss of the house. I am not sure what prompted that or the context of it, but when my sister told me the tale I immediately called American Girl and placed an order for the entire store.
Did I mention that I am positively delerious with exhaustion.
Simple tunes that were turned into major productions that magically retained their simplicity. Don't ask me what that means, I am tired. I just finished cleaning up mystery items that were left as gifts by the hordes of children and assorted guests.
For those of you who weren't fortunate enough to witness the dark haired beauty in all her glory let's undergo a short recap. As previously stated this venture into the dark side took place here on the Ponderosa minus Hoss and Little Joe, although I am pretty sure that Rooster Cogburn made a guest appearance.
There was a Hello Kitty theme to this party. This made the dark haired beauty's eldest aunt quite happy as she had a thing for the ferocious feline too. It included basic entertainment, much of which was provided by your's truly.
I suppose that I should clarify by saying that I found it exceptionally entertaining to tell the children that I had stuffed the pinata full of broccoli, zucchini and brussel sprouts. SInce most of them were five or younger they were naive enough to believe that I was telling the truth. One girl was positively irate until I told her that her mommy insisted that she only be given apples to eat. Once I said that she shrugged her shoulders and said, "you did speak to her."
Additional entertainment was provided by the bounce house, also known as a moon bounce, bouncie and that big blue noisy thing. Again it served as a major source of entertainment for me as I took great pleasure from jumping alongside the kids. Let me tell you, they loved it. Every time I landed it launched them fifteen feet through the air. There was much squealing and only a few tears. But that kid was a total baby, I told him to watch out. It is not my fault that I landed on his toe.
On a side note, it is implortant to remember not to call a kid stinky in front of his mother. For some reason they frown upon grown men taunting their children. Again, not my fault that he is proof that some people are born with the ability to break wind upon command. Seriously, he could be a superhero of some sort, Flatulent Boy.
If I was his publicist I'd market his ability to clear a room to law enforcement or the military. He might even replace the Taser. "Hold still sir, or he'll shoot."
Anyhoo, I am here, stuffed full of 235 slices of pizza and ready to cut a hole in my gut to relieve the pressure. Please remind me that I don't have to imitate a puppy and keep eating until there is nothing left on the plate in front of me.
The most important thing is that the dark haired beauty had a great time. Not to mention that she told my MIL not to bother me because daddy is the boss of the house. I am not sure what prompted that or the context of it, but when my sister told me the tale I immediately called American Girl and placed an order for the entire store.
Did I mention that I am positively delerious with exhaustion.
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