As I’ve spent the better part of this year writing stuff here, and since the number of people who check it regularly has grown beyond a set of readers composed by my wife, parents, and mother-in-law, I suppose I’ve earned the right to bear the label “blogger”. So, then, officially, I am puddin, blogger.
Earth-shattering, I know, but it’ll be important soon. Bear with me.
Having accepted the mantle, there are a certain number of responsibilities I now bear. For instance, I’m not permitted to be a blogger and then not post anything until 2013; I’ll get kicked out of the club. I must produce content, with some regularity. Beyond that, it’s admittedly a pretty flexible arrangement. If I wanted to do nothing but write hateful innuendo about ex-girlfriends, that’d be perfectly acceptable. Probably wouldn’t do much for my traffic here, since I doubt my core readership is into that sort of thing. Also, I have remarkably few of them, ex-girlfriends, that is, and don’t really bear any of them ill will. So, you know, probably not a lot of entertainment value there. But that’s all beside the point. I could do that if I so chose.
However, one of the few well-recognized contractual obligations for every blogger is the publishing of a Year-End Review post and the New Year’s Resolutions supplement. I will tell you now, this is not that post. I might do that tomorrow, we’ll see.
Today, I, um, need to honest. I have some things to come clean about. I can’t go into a new year with such a burdened soul. So, then, in the interest of proceeding with a clean slate, I give you My New Year’s Eve Confessions*:
- Blog. Blog. Blog. I have a blog. There, I said it. Out loud, without hesitation. The fact is, though, that I despise the word blog. I’m not sure why, honestly. I suspect it has something to do with the fact that it’s a shortened form of web log (two words!), and the abbreviation seems like a bastardization to me. Seriously, how do you shrink a phrase by gluing stuff together then use only the last few letters? You just don’t do that; you’re supposed to keep the first part of the word, at least. “Deets” for details, “Vacay” for vacation. But “blog”, really? Ugh. For the record, I also hate it when people use “deets”, “vacay”, and “whatevs” as well. Our society truly is doomed. In the long run, I guess maybe I’m just opposed to shortening words. It smacks of laziness. Honestly, who can’t take the extra 50 milliseconds and say vacation properly?! OMG…three whole syllables! Gasp, So. Much. Work!! So…there, I’m a word snob; I feel better already.
- As I mentioned in the first post when I re-launched puddintopia and dedicated myself to actually writing for it, I had for years pretended that I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. I was lazy, though, and afraid, so I wrote little and daydreamed. What, then, was the catalyst that got me to actually sit down and produce something on January 29th, 2010, of all days? Well, I hesitate to admit it, but it was Julie and Julia, a damned chick movie. The Puddinette and I watched it one cold night in late January last year, and I was struck the next day with the sudden inspiration to finally get off my lazy arse. So, I owe big thank you’s to Julie and Julia and Columbia Pictures. And I’ll thank the rest of you to snicker politely behind your hands and pretend you’re laughing at something funny a coworker told you earlier today.
- I still eat cheap-ass store-bought ramen noodles. I’m supposed to be like a food snob and stuff. I mean, at least a low-level one. I have too many kids to shell out the cash necessary buy my way into true foodie-ism, but that doesn’t mean I don’t watch the Bocuse d’Or special when it’s on Food Network or dream wistfully of being served lovingly-made cheap pig parts with Anthony Bourdain and/or Michael Symon. So, seriously, ramen noodles that are a quarter a pack? Admittedly, I’ve gotten to the point where I chuck the horrifyingly salty Ramen Powder Of Certain Circulatory Doom, but still, I’m making replacement soup with bouillion of all things. It’s not like I’m producing a fortified stock from ox tails. The thing is, though, street vendors aren’t handy in Suburbville, Northern Kentucky, ramen’s freaking quick and easy, and I’ve eaten things far less tasty. For a dude with four kids and not enough time to write what he wants, sometimes that’s the best I can do. I welcome suggested substitutes. And anyone offering frozen microwave meals as an option will be shot.
- I can be a sexist jerk. No, not in that “Hey, dame, why doncha fetch me a martini and my slippers while I wait for you to finish making my dinner,” kind of way, thankfully. The Puddinette would put up with that for about 2.8 seconds, and rightfully so; I can make a better martini anyway while she’s getting my dinner ready.** But for some reason, I mostly assume that my primary audience is composed of women, and I’m not completely sure why that’s the case. I suppose it’s because a good portion of what I produce here is intended to entertain my wife, and so, by extension, I figure that it’s other people like her that read puddintopia. But I know that’s wrong. Facebook’s statistics show that while traffic does skew slightly higher towards the ladies (oh, yeah, I am teh Ladiez Man!), it’s not even 60-40. And of the handful of instances when someone has taken a moment to actually offer me an in-person, unprompted compliment about my work, it’s come from a dude. So, fellas, let me apologize for my sexist ways. I promise that I love you all just as much as the ladies. But as readers, you know, not like that. Wow, sorry, this is kind of awkward now, huh? Um…how ’bout those Bears?
So there. I feel better having unloaded all of that. I think I can toast the New Year now when it’s comes rolling in at midnight. Until then, try to keep your tuxedos, dresses, and noses clean, and for the love of all things holy, be responsible; don’t drink and drive. Let’s all get to 2011 safely, and with consequences no more painful than a searing hangover.
Happy New Year, People of Puddintopia! When you toast each other tonight, clink your glasses an extra time for us. The Puddinette and I will be sure to toast all of you.
*This is the point at which the Puddinette is starting to worry and is thinking, “OMG! What has he done!?”
**Just kidding, really.