There are so many little accomplishments in this world that go unnoticed. Little Jeffy doesn't get a prize when he wakes up one morning to a dry bed. Grandpa is not awarded a medal when he goes outside to fetch the morning paper without breaking his hip. Does anyone give accolades to the mom who tirelessly, day after day, has to be seen in a minivan? No, these people are not given the proper due for these achievements (both big and small). Thus, I submit to you the small milestone of writing the 100th post on Almost Enlightening (formerly Dribbling Drivel, a direct rip-off from Steve Martin's book Pure Drivel).
I have had a very firm stance against blogs, most specifically livejournals. The thought of the pomposity that one has to posses to believe that someone else would be interested in how their boring day-to-day life went sickened me. I don't care if you went to the mall, hit up Hot Topic, and then chain smoked all day. Who gives a shit?
It was with great trepidation that I created this thing. I tried my best to avoid having it fall into a self-serving discussion of my everyday life. While backlogging all of my previous posts, I realized that something like that is unavoidable. When you write what's on your mind it is directly affected by your every day life. During the time that I had trouble finding girls, I wrote about how they don't understand guys. Feeling out of place at home, I wrote about the disconnect between home and the place your stuff is while you’re away at college. There is a string of four or five posts with one word, lowercased titles when my two-year relationship ended.
I didn't spill about what she said or what I did; that is not important. I felt the emotions of the situation were important and relatable. I guess I just can't escape, well, myself. My only hope is that it reads as a sort of sharing effort and not a "and then I did THIS!" blow-by-blow account of my dull life. Probably against my best intentions, my life is on here, for all to see; all 487 days, all 128,175 words.
What constantly surprises me is how many people read this (let alone for why they do). I have a tracker on the site, so I know who comes to the site (through their ip address). I also get some fun little stats, like what kind of web browser you use, where you come from if you’re directly linked, if they found me on google, under what search terms, etc. So far it's been 24 countries all in total, although most have come from some wacky ass google searches. Some of my personal favorites:
sucked Allison Murphy (a Thai boy wanted to see my friend get sucked, apparently)
24-Hour Erotic Film Fest
Between a toilet and a hard place (the only direct title hit)
Bloodhouse pissing concert
My Vaginoplasty (which has since garnered 2 return hits from the same person, so I'm cornering that market)
men who tease too much or try and make girlfriends jealous
My biggest supporters in terms of linking have been the wonderful ladies at Chickball who really don't post enough. They're an absolute joy to read, so check'em out. Do it if only so I'm not as embarrassed by the fact that I give them around 1/3rd the hits they give me. I also give great thanks to those of you in the BU community. Thanks to the university for making a unique IP for almost every on-campus residence. This gives me the opportunity to see who reads based on where they live (55 Buswell, 10 Buick St. and their individual floors, brownstones on Bay State). Thank you Mom for reading, cause what other mother would?
The biggest debt of gratitude I owe to New Jersey, specifically my hometown of Park Ridge. I have not always been fair to you, but you really helped to shape me to be what I am now. For the number of readers I get, about half are from Boston, and the other half are from all over Jersey. Lord knows why you read, but keep it up. You puzzle and gratify me at the same time. Big thanks to Katy, Sasha, and Maggie for reading when this started. Another big thanks to Kels’s friends for being the first people I don’t know to look this over: you legitimized me.
So now I reach a crossroads. What the hell now? I always said I'd try and cull this into some sort of 100-200 page book to shop around. Maybe I could even self-publish. My biggest question is not unlike that of anyone else, really. It's a question of identity. I always had a problem with how the media handled Kanye West's "George Bush doesn't care about black people." Not for the racist undertones, or that they took it as an indictment rather than a bombastic exclamation point to get his message into the realm of headline news. What angered me the most was the title that they all gave him: Rapper. They couldn't call him "recording artist" like at any halftime show (regardless of genre), or "music artist," or simply "producer." He is stuck with "rapper," a subtle condemnation on his position to make such statements. Basically, they had "STUPID" running underneath the name "Kanye West."
The term "blogger" doesn't seem to be a fitting term. It doesn't hold the same disparaging tone of "rapper," but I'm not Matt Drudge, nor do I write for Deadspin. I'm not a columnist, because I am far too irregular in my posting pattern and have absolutely no structure. I am not a comedian because I don't go on stage and discuss these things, nor am I always very funny (intentionally or otherwise). I'm not a dramatist because I'd rather make people laugh. I’m not a storyteller, just when the situation calls for it. So what am I? Am I a writer? Storyteller? The only thing I know is that I'm long winded. Dear lord that's a lot of text up there. And what am I talking about? Oh well, time for 101 to make up for this self-serving nonsense....