guest columnist: a message from 2016

So here we are, after a very long time.

The nice thing about having a generally defunct blog-that’s-not-a-blog is that when you write something that you think is good enough to submit somewhere, and you do, and that somewhere does not necessarily agree with your estimation… you have somewhere to put it. The writing does not go to waste. This “web…blah…log” ensures that no part of my creative buffalo is lost, for better or for worse.

I was awoken by this initial thought at 4 AM on Monday morning (before the deaths of Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds). I wrote this a few hours later. I submitted it to a place I am too embarrassed to name. It wasn’t good enough for this particular place but I did want to share it with whomever of you might still be out there.

Note: In the days that have passed, I have seen some similar sentiments on Twitter. But I swear that I didn’t copy ‘em. I have not edited the piece since I wrote it.

Happy New Year to you all (few as you may be). Let’s keep a good thought for our uncertain future, whilst doing whatever we can to help that along. Hope is not a passive endeavor.

And now, I’ll hand over the reins to our guest:

from the vault: high school essay

So here we are.

It's been a while, I know. And I still have nothing new to say. But with the Internet all awash in misty watercolor memories of a seemingly ancient political scandal, and seeing all sorts of fallout articles about how Millennials view feminism, I thought I'd dredge up an old, unpublished gem from my laptop's innards that I think is a wee bit timely. It's a parody essay about feminism, written from the view of an ignorant-yet-trying-to-be-intelligent high school student in 1998. It was rejected - years ago - for publication elsewhere when I initially wrote it in 2007, so hell, why not here?

("Hell, why not here?" is, coincidentally, a rejected tagline for this site.)

I reiterate: it's a parody essay, written in another character's voice. It does not reflect my own opinion, beliefs, or general knowledge. Don't be all snarky and quote any lines out of context. And again, think 1998. Oh, and it's supposed to be funny, or maybe it isn't… but that's the way it always goes here at "web…blah…log."

I shouldn't have to qualify a post that much, but it's the Internet, so you know that I do.

Enjoy:

3rd blog-iversary

So here we are, on the third anniversary of “web…blah…log.” 

It seems appropriate that today, on this [insert adjective of your choice here] occasion, I should let you know that there’s going to be a bit of a change here: we’re retooling.

internet debate

So here we are.

There is no such thing as a slam dunk on the Internet. There is no such thing as an uncontroversial opinion, no matter how innocuous it may seem to be. You can’t win. Let me repeat that: you can’t win.

For example, let’s make an innocent little point:

Point: I like cookies.

And now, the rebuttals:

priceland

So here we are. 

If the world was like The Price is Right, everyone would be so happy just to be here. There’d be excitement in the air every day, just because of all of the possibilities.

mixed messages

So here we are, at my 250th post.

I can’t say that I’ve learned a lot from my 249 previous posts, or, for that matter, from my 41 years of living, mostly because everything I’ve learned so far seems to be contradicted by all of the other things I’ve learned.

To wit:

dear singers

So here we are.

Here is mostly what Every Sound Guy/Gal says to singers, more or less:

Hey, man, how’s it going? Okay, so this is your mic, and here’s how the mic stand works. Yeah, it’s the kind you squeeze to adjust… right, like that. You got it. Oh, and it’s better if you slide the mic in from the back when you put it back on the stand. The clip is a little wonky. We good here? Ready to check? 

Now, here is what Every Sound Guy/Gal secretly wants to say to singers, but doesn’t ever say because every sound guy/gal is very laid back and cool and would never want to do anything to mess up a show because he’s/she’s just that professional:

rejection letter

So here we are. 

An odd thing happened when I tried to post something to this web…blah…log earlier this year. I got the following form letter:

apology

So here we are.

Whenever a public figure messes up -- or, rather, messes up and gets caught -- said public figure usually puts on his most contrite face, stands in front of a podium, and no matter what the scandal actually is, recites the same, generic, carefully worded speech:

fine line

So here we are.

Ten years ago this month, AVENUE Q came to Broadway. It began previews on July 10, 2003 and opened on July 31, 2003. I was in it, making my Broadway debut. Ten months later, the show won the Tony. There are so many things in this paragraph that still seem unfathomable to me, but there you have it.

In honor of this anniversary, today’s post is all about the fine, fine lines there are between things. (It was the best song in the show, after all.)

hovering

So here we are, in a parallel universe:

I can’t wait for the day that we finally develop cars that run on the ground, and I don’t understand why we don’t have them yet. 

aspiration

So here we are, in the mind of someone else:

WHAT I WANT TO BE WHEN I GROW UP

by Billy K, age 10

hollywood diet

So here we are.

Ooh, what have we here? A toothy entertainment news gal is chatting up a brand-new-mama actress on the red carpet! Let’s eavesdrop, shall we? 

al fresco thanksgiving

So here we are.

Two summers ago, I wrote the post “christmas in july,” likening Independence Day to essentially a secular, summertime Christmas. It seemed like a decent analogy at the time. Both holidays revolve around vacations and food and department store sales. 

I was dead stupid wrong. Independence Day is not secular, summertime Christmas. Christmas is global and ancient. Christmas is presents and peppermint. Christmas is silent and holy. The Fourth of July is none of these things. The Fourth of July is American and gluttonous and filled with illegal fireworks.

No, Independence Day is casual, summertime Thanksgiving. Our big celebration in the seventh month of the year is exactly like our big celebration in the eleventh month of the year, only hotter and al fresco. 

asylum

So here we are.

I know that America’s birthday isn’t until next week, but I have an early present to give to my country: the assurance that I won’t ever commit treason, and if I did happen to commit treason by accident (say, if I knocked over something at the Smithsonian), I promise not to flee overseas. 

I can make this bold statement because I’m pretty confident that I would have no way to navigate the complex waters of international political asylum. At all. 

long day

So here we are. 

There is so much sunshine. I wake up in sunshine, no matter how early my eyes flutter open. I stay up late, past what seems to be never-ending dusk, and even the night seems less dark. It is absolutely beautiful.

And I can’t stand it.

everyday agita

So here we are.

I know that a lot of big, bad things have been going down this week. But take heart, for it’s not the huge, grand problems in life that give us the most agita… it’s the many, many little things:

after-living the dream

So here we are.

Come here, honey. Mama wants to talk to you.

You know that actor you used to like, sweetie? It’s time you knew the truth. They didn’t send him to a farm like we told you they did. He’s not out in the country with your Uncle Fred. He’s in actor heaven.

But don’t you worry, baby. Actor heaven is a great place. Really it is. 

gaps

So here we are.

I’m a member of Generation X, strictly by nature of my being born in 1971. Being a member of a generation is the only membership that no one signs up for, yet it still defines you. 

For a while, we were the worst. Just the worst, with our flannel and grunge and tragic realization that none of us would ever get a pension, ever. We were deemed worse than the Baby Boomers, if you can believe that... and they were the ones who created disco and took all that cocaine and became yuppies and gave my generation the idea of helicopter parenting!

happening

So here we are.

Holy cow. These are exciting times. I mean it. 

I don’t want to sound conceited, but you wouldn’t believe how full my email inbox is. Not with boring old messages from friends. Not with silly old job offers or invitations to dreary galas and assorted springtime soirees. No, this is really amazing stuff. Big, big news.