Thursday, December 29

...The Party's Over. (Year Of The Me!)

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Hello there. This is the last post of 2005. Thanks for coming out. I must warn you, there's rampant egotism and pretentiousness ahead; basically business as usual. Proceed with caution.

2005 was a busy year here at the CDP. You know, I did over 180 posts this year; about 1 every other day. That's pretty good, considering that most of my posts run many pages. By "good," I mean "very obsessive and sad." Everyone needs a hobby, and mine is writing about insignificant minutiae and tiny life experiences. I love what I do.

But there's a dark side. A very dark side. Like, so dark, you can't even see where your key is supposed to go, and you end up putting a big gouge into the side of your Mom's Taurus. That dark.

Around the middle of 2005, I started to get torn about what I wanted to do on this page. At first (February 2004), it was just an excuse to keep my creative writing chops sharp in case something ever came along (something did come along, for a bit). I told nobody about the page, and those who did know didn't care. I got 4 hits a month and I could say whatever I wanted. I cursed and shed personal details at will. Life was good.

Then, things started to change. More people started to show up. Friends and relatives started reading. Co-workers would stop me in the halls and tell me how much they liked my latest post. Other Blogs started linking to me. Strangers started e-mailing me. I was getting hundreds of hits a day. The CDP was in the bloodstream, and it sort of freaked me out. In the grand scheme of self-important 'net attention whores, I'm less than a stain on Wil Wheaton's Dockers, but it was enough to change my style.

I had a wee audience, so I became instantly self-aware of what I was doing. I didn't want to say bad things about people that might be reading. I was afraid to say anything negative or incriminating about work. I stopped talking so much about my real life, for fear that Internet psychos would show up at my doorstep or steal my identity. That tended to stifle my creativity. The outlet that allowed me to fully explore my hobby was the very same one that started to screw it all up.

So, like I was saying, in the middle of 2005 I changed my style a little bit. I took shelter in the safety of television conversations and album reviews. Pictures of myself turned into pictures of Tony Little, and I went from an online essayist to a pop culture commentator. More people showed up, but it made my time on here less and less enjoyable. I was doing whatever I could to bring people in while still writing what I wanted. It worked for a while, but I started to get really bored.

I'm sort of a shallow guy. When you're in Elementary School, shallow people are referred to as the "Class Clown." When I was younger, I would find out what got me attention in school, and rolled with it. I'm a comic at heart, and it always made me happy to see people laugh at my jokes. Sometimes, I would tell jokes that I didn't think were funny, just because other people did. Sure, the laughs were still there, but it made me feel like a sell out. I try not to do that anymore, but you know that I do.

That's what's going on right now at the CDP. I don't feel like I'm doing this for myself anymore. I used to type whenever I had a funny idea or story to tell. Now it's like a job that I don't get paid for. If there's one sure way to destroy something you enjoy doing, it's by turning it into a career. The attention-whore in me says that I shouldn't mess with a good thing, but man, I have to.

I know exactly what you're thinking. "Who cares? If you're so miserable and tortured, do something about it, you self-absorbed prick. Stop writing. Better yet, why don't you go outside and take in the actual world for a minute or two. Get off your high horse and find a rope just long enough to hang yourself with. Take your emo glasses, pretentious photographs and snobbery and stick 'em straight up your chute, because the last thing the Interweb needs is another sad asshole."

You're totally right. Sorry about that. I tend to take a lot of stock in the non-existent.

Doing something like starting a Blog takes a huge amount of egotism and pride. You tend to pour your heart into it (the good ones, at least). You value it more than anyone can understand, and you defend it when it's insulted. You make sure it's well-maintained, and you get sad when you say something funny and nobody laughs.

Why? Because it's YOU.

2006 will be the start of something different here, but not too different. I've set a few goals for myself that I really want to accomplish, and there's a rad new template on the horizon (a few of you have already seen it). I'm excited to start things over here, and hopefully do 180 more good posts. I'm not getting rid of any old posts or anything (for now), just looking forward and onward. Besides the 2 or 3 things I said I wanted to work on this year, I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do. This is exactly what I want, and it's been awhile.

I'm excited. I also said "I" 56 times in this post (count it). The Year of the Me has officially begun.

I will be attending New Year's gatherings on Friday and Saturday. The switch will be flipped on the new CDP on the first of the year. Thank you so much for your support, and so long 2005.

Write about me, that would be more interesting. Ha!
I'm all over it.
You're really getting your money's worth out of that picture of you when you were little. :)
Yeah, I know; but this is the last time!

There's about a thousand funnier pictures of me when I was a tyke, but this is the only one I have in my personal collection. It's probably better this way.
I have some good pictures of you, should I put them up.'s going to be a lean year!
I'd rather you not. At least not without proper board approval.

I don't want to get cancelled now, I've just been picked up for Season 3!
A childhood photo of me with a mullet is like a $2 bill. They're way too common to be considered valuable.
I don't think I ever had the she-mullet, thankfully. I did have the early '90s perm though. For many many years.
I've said this before, but bad haircuts are like chicken pox; once you have one, you don't get them again.

You should rock the she-mullet, and wear a baseball jersey and smoke Kool cigarettes all day.
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