Right now, the "web…blah…log" is not being updated regularly, but feel free to peruse the archive, and check out our carefully selected highlights from Season One, Season Two, and Season Three.

Friday, September 3, 2010

welcome to me

I want to find the perfect opener, to begin all of my postings. Like Army Archerd’s “GOOD MORNING” in his old Daily Variety column. I poached that when I did the Playbill.com guest blog - crediting the man, of course - and I enjoyed that bit of consistency and identification. Kind of like how Stan Lee must feel whenever he signs his autographs with “Excelsior!” It’s so damned perfect, and uniquely him. I’ve had that problem with autographs, too, for the few people who’ve wanted them. I never know what to sign in front of my name. Stan Lee never has to worry about whether signing it “best wishes” is too cliché or if “xoxo” is too cutesy. 
Yes. I know who Stan Lee is. And yes, I am a girl.
Right now my opener is “Rats.” Would you read a blog that began like that every time?
Closers are important, too, but we’re not up to that yet. Cronkite knew what he was doing when he picked his closer: “And that’s the way it is.” Simple, clear, unique, and unmistakably him.  Oh, to be Uncle Walter. (Not to be confused with Unca Walt Disney, though they did both have mustaches.)
Yes, this is self-imposed pressure, but when one enters the land-o-blogs, one knows that one is just a one in a vast land of zeros and ones, and frankly, I want to be more than a mere one. I want to be a 72. 
Carol tugged her ear, Dean slid down the fire pole, Babe pointed to the stands, Johnny swung the invisible golf club, Harpo honked, and Dick Clark saluted. Cindy Adams had her “only in New York, kids, only in New York,” and Jack Benny had, well, everything. I don’t want to be any of these people, and I certainly do not seek fame, but in a world that still thinks I was in “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” because some other brunette chick was singing with a puppet, I just want to find a way to be unmistakably me. 
So here we are, in a ridiculous conundrum that was entirely self-created for no good reason at all, as the rest of the world crumbles around us. How very me. 
Hmm. So here we are. That’s not a bad opener. Better than my other idea: Oh, it’s you again? What the hell do you want?
Yes, indeed. Welcome to me. 

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