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(this is a post that is completely rambling out loud with little direction, but I’ve been hearing the term “authenticity in blogging” used a lot recently.  It was even the the subject of the final keynote at a recent woman’s blogging conference, as presented by Karen of Chookooloonks and Brené Brown.  “Authenticity” is one of those terms that makes me uncomfortable, especially because I don’t really understand it, and you’ll notice that this post is a little edgy when I discuss it.  But I am also self-aware enough to know that when something makes me uncomfortable, there is usually a reason I am fighting with it.  So, I hope if either of these two bloggers end up coming here, they don’t think I am being a downer in questioning the idea, but being authentic in taking it seriously, in my own way.)

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OK. A “dating” question for women, single or otherwise.   It is all hypothetical, and has really nothing to do with dating, and more about the subject of directness and authenticity. If you’re a straight man, put yourself in the man’s part of the scenario.  Unless you are gay, and then you’re on your own.   Or change the gender.

Hypothetical situation: You’re a woman.  You’re at a bar.  You’re single.  You’re wearing your best dress and sexy shoes.   I approach you.  Or some other studly guy approaches you. But let’s assume it is me. Which encounter would be more endearing and/or successful?

1) Me (indirect and inauthentic): “Sure is crowded in here tonight.  Must be the World Cup game on the TV.  Didn’t realize that there are so many Brazilians living in LA.  You into soccer?…”

2) Me (direct and authentic): “I was looking at you from across the room. I don’t usually say this to a woman immediately, but you have a nicely-shaped ass.  I’m hanging out at this hot, noisy bar, hoping to meet someone, and I’ve picked you out of everyone else here tonight.  I would like to get to know you better. Boy, I am nervous asking you this.   But that ass!  Wow!  Would you want to go to the Chipotle next door and talk?  I know it is only a fast food joint, but I’m a writer and not making a whole lot of money, so I’m hoping that isn’t a big concern to you. What do you say?”

Should I use approach number 1 or approach number 2?

Of course, this is a rather silly example. #2 borders on the rude, even if “the guy” is being more “authentic” in his dumb reason for going over to the woman, and even more direct with his request to leave and go to Chipotle. Why spend a half hour talking about the soccer match when it is all just small talk?

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I frankly think the best approach would be somewhere in between the two. I think we need directness AND artifice to effectively communicate with each other, especially in the beginning of a relationship. And I’m not just talking about male-female relationships.

When brands online start talking about being “authentic,” I say bullshit.   Social media is hardly authentic.  We speak to each other in 140 characters. Very few people come out and directly express their motivation.  I know when I write dialogue in a script, the biggest sin is “on the nose” dialogue.  I know that what people say and what they mean are usually two different things.   Sometimes they don’t even know WHAT they want.  Very few people come out and SAY what they really want other than James Bond villains wanting to destroy the world with a solar deflector.

I respect those who want to protect their privacy or business interests, but since when do we call that “authenticity?”  How can there be authenticity when there is also so much selling and promoting.   The very concept of marketing or advertising or “giveaways” involves artifice and manipulation, much like a woman wearing make-up before hitting the clubs.    When consumer product brands sponsor “green” events, they are usually more concerned about good publicity than the cause.   More power to them for doing good, but not terribly “authentic.”  Food stylists making McDonald’s hamburgers looking juicer is artifice.  Clever copywriting is artifice.   I find it odd that as the internet becomes more and more about business and social manipulation, people advancing their careers by touting community, writers feigning interest for connections, more and more people are discussing authenticity. Is it really THAT complicated to be authentic? What does the word authentic mean? Authentic to others? Authentic to yourself?

I once wrote a post about Dunbar’s number, where a scientist theorizes that we can only deal effectively with 150 people.  Doesn’t that mean we are being inauthentic to the thousands of followers we all hear gurus touting on their blogs as a way to show their influence? Why do we want them? If we really cared about helping others, like so many writers like to say, why don’t we just go into nursing?

Here is an authentic advertisement for McDonalds: “Hi there. We are in business to make money. People love our burgers. We know they are not healthy for you, but you like ‘em, right? And no one complains when your kids run around and make noise, right? And we are pretty cheap, if you go for the dollar meal, right? McDonald’s. We are authentic (except for the doctored photos of our burgers).

Art can never be authentic. It can strive to be an authentic representation of ourselves. We can be authentic. But very very very few of us  get anywhere close.

By the way, you all have nice asses.

via the fabulous Schmutzie!

P.S.  Just read this post over.  I know it makes very little sense.  And I am using the term authentic all wrong.  Sorry.  My blog.

P.S.S.  Juli from Wellington Road just made an excellent point via IM about the dating scenario that made me see this post in a whole new way.  Talking to that woman in the bar about her ass is just crude,  and not authentic, especially since I would never say that anyway.   The differences in choices  #1 and #2 are about the politeness of the words.  The authenticity comes into play with the ACTION.   #1 could be more authentic if the goal is to get the woman into bed, and this is how I seduce a woman.  #2 could be all bark with no bite.   I might be just shooting into the wind, with no real confidence or adherence to my goal.   My words might be brash and tell it like it is, but I would not be authentically striving for my goal.   The alpha man is not about how strong his words are, but how effectively he takes action.   In the second scenario, it reads like I am trying to sabotage myself.  By acting so blunt, I wonder if my REAL intention is to get rejected so I feel bad, because I am neurotic, or whatever.

I guess if your goal is to become a popular blogger, you are being authentic if you stick to your game plan.  The same can be said if you want to write a novel and are using your blog as a calling card.   I was misusing the term authenticity.  I was expressing the term in the traditional way, where authenticity meant removing the mask in relationships to others.  It appears that the term “authenticity in blogging” means something else — discovering your goal or your purpose and staying true to that path.  It is more about personal journey than community.

Do these two versions of authenticity conflict with each other?

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[Edited to add intro]

I have over 600 blogs in my feedreader, which means that at any given moment there are at least 20 new posts popping up. If I had the ability, I'd comment on every single post, because I feel like it's the sense of community that blogging creates when people read and comment (as long as you don't fucking comment on my post via Twitter. I hate that).

Since I can't comment on every post that shows up, though, I still make an effort to comment when I can (if I have your blog in my feedreader, that is). And, being the meticulous control freak that I am, I make lists:

Things that will make me comment on your post:

• Your post made me laugh.
• You're one of my closest friends.
• I noticed that you're experiencing a birthday, anniversary or other event.
• I read your blog for the first time ever.
• I have something I consider worth saying.
• I've been reading for awhile and haven't commented recently.
• You wrote something that blew my mind.
• You're having a contest AND you're someone I read regularly.
• You're a ninja, or you purport to know a ninja.
• You're a celebrity and all I want is for you to come over to my blog out of curiosity. *ahem* Zach Braff and Allison Mack.
• You've said something particularly stupid, hateful, or ignorant.
• You call the cops to my house because you're insane.
• I saw a tweet of yours that made me laugh.
• You linked to me in a post and I wanted to acknowledge my appreciation for the link.
• I cleaned out my feedreader and your post happened to show up and I had some free time.

Things that will discourage me from commenting on your post:

• Wordless Wednesday.
• You email me and ask me to read your blog.
• Every comment you leave includes a link to your blog in the actual comment.
• You send passive-aggressive tweets about your posts.
• You think I'm elitist because I haven't commented on your blog but don't have the balls to talk to me about it.
• It's difficult to comment on your blog, thanks to moderation, Typepad, Haloscan, Disqus or captchas.
• You close your blog every three weeks and reopen it a week later.
• You seem less interested in the interaction and community of blogging and more interested in promoting something or getting attention.
• Your post is password protected and I have to email to get the password.
• Every post is about how you haven't been blogging.
• You're really fucking boring.
• Every post is rife with spelling and grammatical errors.
• I read your post on my phone.

Things that will have no effect on my desire to comment or not comment:

• You comment on my post.
• You tweet your post fourteen times.
• I disagree with your opinions.
• You post ten times a day.
• You post once a month.
• You don't reply to comments.
• You do reply to comments.
• Your posts are 2,000 words long.
• I like you as a person.
• Your blog is hosted by Blogger.

What makes you want to comment or makes you want to stay away? And do you think I'm way too anal retentive for my own good?

After dinner with Avitable last night, a dinner than included our agreement that the “Clearly You’re Retarded” radio show should be resurrected–and soon–I decided to make a case for my being the first guest.

I said farewell to my friends Coal Miner’s Granddaughter, Copasetic Beth, Houston’s Problem, and Darned to Heck Grant before dropping Pretty Bride off at our house to relieve the neighbor’s babysitting gig so that I could turn around and get the eldest child from her friend’s house in Dunwoody.  This meant taking 400, a toll road.

I pulled into the booth and opened my center console to notice a quarter and a nickel.  I was sure there were more quarters and nickels below these two coins, and I also knew I had a checkbook and a debit card with me, so I had no concerns.

Me:  Hey, it, um, appears I only have 30 cents here, so I’ll write you a check right quick.
Her:  Do you have any pennies?
Me:  You’d rather have pennies than a check?
Her:  We don’t take checks.
Me:  Debit card?
Her:  Nope.
Me:  What do y’all do when out-of-towners come here, or like, illegal immigrants who have no money?  There’s nowhere to turn around!  Does Georgia hate poor brown people?
Her:  Did you just say ‘poor brown people’?
Me:  Um, no?
Her:  Was that supposed to be funny?
Me:  Here’s 7 more cents.  We’re up to $.37 now.  I don’t know what I should–

(from behind me) HOOOOOONK!

Me (extending a middle finger toward the back windshield):  If I didn’t just have a wonderfully enjoyable evening, I’d be tempted to spout profanity right now.  So, what do I do?  I can’t back up with 5 cars behind me.  There’s nowhere to turn around if I go forward.
Her:  Just go.  *tosses 50 cents into the bin while putting my 37 cents into her drawer*  But don’t drive on this road again with no cash, you got me?
Me:  I’m sorry I suck so badly.

The last time I had tickets to a David Gray concert, the som’bitch got sick and canceled after Pretty Girlfriend flew down from her PhD program in Pennsylvania, and, having run out of ideas for entertainment with no concert to attend, we decided to get married and start repopulating the great state of Georgia.

We found ourselves, again, with David Gray tickets Saturday night.  But here’s the rub:  last time, he was slated to perform at the Fox, a rather classy old venue where Gone With the Wind opened.  This time, it was at the Civic Center.  Do you smell what I’m about to step in here?  Not as classy.

Still, the performer, I figured, would attract a more sophisticated crowd, so I was sure all would be well in Muskratville.

Only it wasn’t.

When dude opened with some faster-paced songs on guitar, everyone stood and sang or clapped or smoked weed.  But when he slid under the piano, folks started sitting.  I didn’t want to sit, but I’m a pussyboy crowd-follower whose under-insured and with hungry children at home, so I sat.  However, the two giant women two rows in front of us did not.  I could still see.  My bride could still see, so I didn’t really give a damn.  But the Chesterfield-smelling trailer queen beside me cared.  A lot.

She leaned her bulky body across the sitting persons in front of her, stretched out her right hand, and beat on the back of the girl on the right’s shoulder.  They exchanged some words.  Trailer Queen sat back down.  The standers kept standing.

Yells of “sit down” and “down in front” and “chill concert, so sit” came from varying directions to my left and behind me.

But the fleshy monoliths continued their defiant stand.

Trailer Queen then did some serious outside-of-the-box thinking, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and threw it at the back of the fleshy monoliths.  At this point, I braced myself for a scrap and, naturally, put it on Twitter:

Throwing popcorn at her back will not make a large woman sit down. In case you were wondering. 9:47 PM Apr 10th via Tweetie

This too failed to make them sit.  It did bring some exchanged “f” bombs, though.  Then, the popcorn tosser tapped my shoulder.

Trailer Queen:  Hey, how does he look?
Me:
Trailer Queen: HOW DOES HE LOOK?  CAWS I WOOD-ENT KNOOOOW!
Me (deadpan):  Dreamy.  I’d totally lick his bottom if these seats were closer.
Trailer Queen (shifting in her seat and leaning away from me now):

A woman in front of us tapped the angry monoliths’ shoulders, whispered something to one, smiled, and they actually sat down.  I cringed in anticipation of the clapping and “Finally!” eruptions that came fewer than five seconds later.

Luckily, Trailer Queen had only come to hear “Babylon,” so she left right after it finished.

The rest of the show was dreamy.  I would’ve licked his bottom if the seats were closer.

****

Friday night, I totally hung out with Bossy and friends!  See how happy we are?  Blogging friends are way more considerate than are concert attenders who happen to have nearby seats.

In August, I will be attending BlogHer for my second time. Last year was a great weekend, even with the poor organization and supervision provided by some of the people who run it (my experience as a volunteer was extremely illuminating with regards to the chaos among the higher ranks of BlogHer). One of my favorite parts was getting the chance to speak on a panel entitled "Vaginally Challenged: The Men of BlogHer". You can read a transcript of our hilarity here. Moderated by the only person in the world capable of wrangling and channeling our awesomeness (and quite effortlessly, too, I must say), I, along with Jim and Matthew, talked for an hour to an absolutely packed room. We discussed the differences and difficulties encountered when you are a male personal blogger. Our room was standing-room only, and people were in the halls trying to listen. From the reports I heard, it was one of, if not the, most popular Rooms Of Your Own at BlogHer 2009.

And now I'm submitting it again. This year, the title is "The Male Personal Blogger: Myth, Legend, or Valuable Contributor?". The voting is still open, and I'd love to have your support! All you have to do is go here (you have to be logged in if you're not already!) and click "I would attend this session". That's it. Even if you're not able to attend the conference, your interest in attending the session will help TPTB in deciding which sessions to include this year.

Thank you!

Photo from fostercorrin

Edited to Add:

Before I win the award for "Worst Friend Ever", let me also pimp out the ROYO submitted by one of my favorite people in the whole world, Faiqa. It's called "Cross Cultural Encounters of the Virtual Kind: Achieving Understanding, Tolerance and Maybe Even World Peace Through Blogging" and promises to be an interesting look at how blogging transcends cultural and racial barriers. So, while you're voting, vote for hers too!

I had Saturday, January 30th marked on my calendar for several weeks:  we were going to the zoo at 10, a 40th birthday party around 3, a wedding reception at 7, and a “twitter meetup” at some point that evening.  See the picture?  Proof I don’t make this stuff up.  And yes, I have itineraries for Saturdays.

When the temperatures were 20-something accompanied by freezing rain, however, the zoo plans were scrapped.  Instead, I spent several hours on the phone or in the yard talking to neighbors about a possible lawsuit we’re filing against the city…but I probably shouldn’t write about that.

As the day progressed, I just didn’t feel like hanging out with a bunch of peeps from lawschool or peeps from our church.  So, I skipped them and went to Manuel’s to wait on these people:

And I wasn’t really sure why.  Sure, it’s probably my favorite bar in Atlanta.  The place where this happened and where I had my “I made it back alive from war” party in 2003, and where I spent countless Thursday nights after class in lawschool.  But I’ve found myself doing more and more ditching of friends IRL to spend time with strangers whom I know from twitter or blogging.  I did the same thing last time Dave came into town.

This actually bothered me yesterday enough to give it some thought.  I don’t want to become one of those people whose friends are all online.  I came up with a few hypotheses:

1)  I like visiting with folks who are from out of town and will let me choose the venue.
2) Because most of these people are from out of town, I feel like I should work harder to schedule seeing them (even though there are plenty of folks I know well who live within the 20-something counties that are “metro Atlanta” whom I only see at weddings and funerals).
3) I like beer, and most of my online friends do, too (though a couple have given it up recently).
4) I like getting to know new people who are from different backgrounds, countries, professions, etc.

But more than those 4, I think it’s

5) I’m more honest online than I am in real life and, accordingly, enjoy hanging out with funny, interesting people who know a side of me I often keep concealed.

Which is ironic to normal people who don’t waste spend time reading and writing blogs.  For instance, when I told my part-time assistant last year that I was going to Chicago to meet a bunch of blogging friends, she made a scrunched up “who just opened the diaper pail?” face and said something about how people lie when they’re online and put on airs and that I should expect to be disappointed.  I tried to argue that I thought it was just the opposite–especially in the “parenting blogging” arena, because everyone’s got kids and is married or was married and has no real incentive to try and engage in puffery, but she wasn’t buying it.

Of course she was wrong.

But back to the “more honest online” bit:  I wrote on here before I told anyone IRL about quitting my job, my dad’s cancer diagnosis, our unexpected pregnancy, the gender of the last 2 children, etc.  And then there are those stories from childhood involving public excretion.

So why stand up a bunch of folks I’ve known 10 years for avatars I’ve known 10 months?

Because Clay, Katie, Apryl, Ali, and Janet are way more attractive in person than they are on Twitter.  Especially after 8 beers.  I mean, have you seen Clay?

One of my twitter friends mentioned a few days ago that Rob Kroese’s “humor blogs” site was down and then wrote a blog post about it.  I visited myself and saw this (go ahead and check the link).  My heart sank.

I thought about how when I first started my blog and had a “.wordpress” in the middle of my URL and wondered if anyone would want to read my stories from childhood and child-rearing after enjoying this activity called “blogging” with surprising success during my deployment to Iraq a few months earlier (thanks, New York Times!).  I wrote every day and hoped the readers at the “humor blogs” site I’d found on accident (which had >1000 blogs on it) would vote favorably on the level of humor in each post, and after a couple months, I was on the first page!  Top 30!  A few weeks later, I was top 10, and then top 5 for several months.  I think I actually called Pretty Bride from work on the day I cracked the top 5.  I was such a dork back when I was 33.

Participating waned a bit when my work situation changed, but I still enjoyed the blogs there, especially last July when they became tangible after I met Margaret, Kathy, JD, Anna, and Meg in person.  I could tell they thought I was as funny-looking as I was funny-reading.  We bonded.  Humor Blogs suddenly became a smaller place.

So, now that my posts aren’t automatically sent to H-B for voting on whether they’re funny or not, should I start being more serious?  Turn this into a “personal blog” or “daddy blog?”  Or try to stick with “humor blogging?”  Or give it up and concentrate on other activities (i.e., something that pays well)?

I’m not sure.  Probably a hybrid.  I enjoy being part of the blogosphere.  Hell, I’m meeting several twitter friends this Saturday night for the first time for a night of debauchery (unbeknownst to them).  I’ll probably take them to the bar where I did this:

I have no recollection of how I met the guy on the mic with me.  I don’t think I want to know.

I’m planning to go to NYC in August for BlogHer 2010.  I’m entertaining Adam when he comes up for a wedding in May.  I’m debating South By Southwest with Johnny Truant.

Okay, internet.  I can’t quit you.  I’m just not sure what will follow the “form of ….” command after I tap fists with my Wonder Twin. Whoever the hell that is.

In one week, I turn 33.

This little blonde tasmanian devil I know turned 30 over the weekend, and it got me thinking about your thirties and what it means.

This is the decade for things to happen. Whether you wanted to fly a plane or see the world, you need to have already started taking those preliminary steps towards your life goal.

Here are some of my goals that I will have accomplished by the time I finish out my thirties:

1. Become a millionaire. I started my business when I was 27, and I have a 10-year plan. Give or take a year or two.
2. Travel to Europe. I've never been, and I'm finally in a position where I could see that being fruitful and exciting.
3. Write a book. I have a million ideas, jotted down in Word documents scattered through my computer. One of them is going to end up a book.
4. Learn to dance or sing. I want to be able to do one of these two things, or both. And since I can't hear rhythm and can't hold a tune, it's going to probably be one of my most difficult accomplishments.
5. Be happy. I know it seems like I already am, but I think this is one of those accomplishments that should be on the horizon at all times. Never be complacent. Never settle. Always strive for happiness, even if it's a difficult path. I think it's unlikely that anyone ever achieves true and complete happiness, but the closer you can get, the better.
6. Reach 225 pounds and keep my weight there. I still have a ways to go, but I know I can do it. I will do it.
7. Carpe diem. I don't want to be a grumpy spectator, criticizing the participants. I will be one of the participants joining in wholeheartedly. I will seize the day, and fight for what I want.

With that being said, I'm going to take about a week off of blogging. I haven't read anyone's blogs in almost a week, and I just have too much going on right now to worry about it. If you're a friend, you have my email address, and if anything monumental happens, I'll definitely pop up, but I need a little break.

Today, as I received yet another email about this post I wrote last week, I understand what it must feel like to be a politician after a story is leaked to the press that YOU DID inhale during that one time you said you smoked pot in college, and now you have to pose  at a press conference, your conservatively-dressed wife at your side, your hooker girlfriend as far away as possible, as you strongly condemn all forms of drug abuse and promise, if elected, to start a new WAR ON DRUGS.

In politics, these leaks always come from an old roommate still pissed at you for stealing his girlfriend twenty-five years ago.  In blogging, proof that bloggers are mostly idiots with no career potential, we LEAK THESE INCRIMINATING STORIES ourselves!

Of course, as blogging becomes more professional, bloggers are growing smarter and more media savvy.   Let me re-phrase that.  Some bloggers are growing smarter.  As we become brand enthusiasts for Kraft and Walmart, we move beyond just telling stories about our lives.   We become representatives of something bigger than us.   A company or a cause.  And that is great.  But it gives me pause.  I wonder if I would have written my post, or many of my posts, if I was a brand ambassador for Nintendo or Sony?  Would my writing feel stifled?  Would there be any repercussions for writing about my past real-life actions?  Is my image, and what it represents to the company, more important to the company than my “real” self?  Is this what the exciting field of social media is all about, turning us all into one-dimensional avatars, the online equivalent of air-brushed celebrities,  so we can effectively market products  to each other?  No wonder why social media mavens love Twitter.   Marketers can speak to many at once, without really interacting with anybody.

Frank Rich, in one of his last NYT columns of 2009, named Tiger Woods as his “person of the decade” because he symbolized everything wrong with a decade where branding, PR, and illusion became more celebrated than the reality outside.  Frank Rich sees the decade as filled with con men, “influentials” eager to bamboozle their gullible victims.

The men who played us for suckers, whether at Citigroup or Fannie Mae, at the White House or Ted Haggard’s megachurch, are the real movers and shakers of this century’s history so far. That’s why the obvious person of the year is Tiger Woods. His sham beatific image, questioned by almost no one until it collapsed, is nothing if not the farcical reductio ad absurdum of the decade’s flimflams, from the cancerous (the subprime mortgage) to the inane (balloon boy).

Enron?  The Housing Market?  The Stock Market?  Baseball players with monster steroid bodies?  “Reality” Television?  Bernie Madoff? That was the decade. The blogosphere mirrored this fakery as marketers, SEO, and PR experts became our gurus, promising us big bucks and millions of followers, but mostly making themselves well-known by writing about marketing.

For six years, Tiger Woods was the multi-million dollar advertising face for Accenture, the big consulting firm.  While this firm has nothing to do with golf,  Accenture liked having their advertising campaign revolve around “high performance,” and Tiger Woods certainly fit that bill. The firm just didn’t realize how “high performance” he was!

Accenture is “a global management consulting, technology services and outsourcing company,” but who cared about any fine print? It was Tiger, and Tiger was it, and no one was to worry about the details behind the mutually advantageous image-mongering. One would like to assume that Accenture’s failure to see or heed any warning signs about a man appearing in 83 percent of its advertising is an anomalous lapse. One would like to believe that business and government clients didn’t hire Accenture just because it had Tiger’s imprimatur. But in a culture where so many smart people have been taken so often, we can’t assume anything.

After Mr. Woods confessed to infidelities, Accenture had a PR nightmare.  They immediately purged all record of Tiger Woods from their existence.

On Sunday, hours after Accenture ended its sponsorship deal, the golfer’s face was replaced by an anonymous skier on the company’s home page. His name was scrubbed almost completely from the rest of the Web site. The company’s advertising campaign is about “high performance,” and Mr. Woods “just wasn’t a metaphor for high performance anymore,” a spokesman for Accenture, Fred Hawrysh, said.

By Monday afternoon, Accenture staffers had swept through the company’s New York office and removed any visible Tiger posters. The next day, marketing and communications employees around the world were asked to turn in any remaining Tiger-emblazoned posters and other materials. Accenture marketing employees did not respond to requests for comment about the Tiger purge on Wednesday.

This was a relationship based solely on business, not unlike so many of the “friendships” we have online, where we follow and unfollow each other daily, depending on the direction of the wind.

So, basically  — Can a Walmart Mom write a post about the time she stole some jewelry at Walmart when she was 17 and still remain a Walmart Mom?

If I start sleeping with a high class hooker, do you want to hear the stories about my adventures, or do you want me to hide them from you, so that I maintain my good “brand.”

Do I know any of you at all?

Last year at this time, I picked a favorite post from each month and gave myself props.  This year, I’ll just summarize some highlights, since my blogging was sporadic anyway, and some months had multiple incidences of greatness, while other months had none (like that piggy with the roast beef).

In January, I modeled my least favorite Christmas gift in “My Snuggie.”  Every day, I get blog traffic because of this post.  Because you people are sick and twisted.

A couple weeks later, Pretty Bride’s nine-year-old car broke down, and we replaced it with our family’s first minivan. I felt castrated and called the post, “As of 8pm on January 24, I’m hung like a ‘Ken’ doll.”

In February, I announced to the internet that I was about to quit my job to start my own firm in “Standing on a Suspended Bridge, Holding a Sword Above the Rope that Keeps Us Suspended.”

On April 3, I left my secure office and said “Farewell” to the Turd Burglar in “It is Finished.”

In mid-May, I flew down to Orlando for a conference and met–for the first time–people I’d only known from blogging.  I had dinner with Avitable and Miss Britt in “Muskrat to Meet Bloggers, Take 5.”

In June, I listed some noteworthy moments with Maddie in “On Father’s Day.”

In an attempt to reclaim some of my pre-family-of-my-own spontaneity, I went to BlogHer in July.  I found event tickets and lodging via Twitter less than a week before the conference.  The description of the experience itself is here:  “Jet-Setter Muskrat, or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Mommy Blogger.”

In August, I went to Las Vegas and spent time with Nancy from Fear and Parenting in Las Vegas and the notorious BHJ.  Recaps are at “Son, Your Government’s Writing Checks the Muskrat Just Cashed” and “A Glimpse into the Life of a Dark, Slapshotting Deity.”

Also in August, I opined that our infant was ingesting weed in “My 10-month-old Totally Loves the Indo,” and I offended a bunch of people with “Social Media is for Losing Friends and Offending People.”

I crossed Maine of my “states to visit one day” list in “The Maine Event” and wrote an uncharacteristically emotional recount of my September 11, 2001 experience in “Again.”

I used the 7-month point to update the internet on how my new firm was doing in “Pay Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain.”  This seemed to encourage people.

Then we accidentally got pregnant–right after we’d both decided we weren’t going to have more children–in “Things of Which I Am Not a Fan:  God’s Use of Irony.”

2009 was the year I wanted to go by quickly.  Several times in March and April, I said, out loud, that I wished we could jump ahead to January 2010, so that I wouldn’t have to go through the hard months of living off savings and worrying about building a successful firm during a horrible economy.  I even had a $400/hr legal marketing consultant tell me I shouldn’t go out on my own this year–that I needed more money and transferable business–but I’d already made up my mind, so I did it anyway.  And even if I’d failed, I’m glad I took the risk to pursue work that means something to me.  I’ll be 40 in June 2015.  I don’t want to turn 40 and wish I’d had some balls when I was younger.

In any event, thanks for your help, Blogosphere.  What blogging has taught me about social media helped immensely in my low cost marketing strategy (as I can do for < $100/month what some attorneys I know pay consultants $5,000/month to do).

Thanks for the encouragement and needed diversion you’ve provided at just the right times, and I can’t wait for more trips, conferences, meetups, and Davelantas in 2010!