Archive for December, 2012
Well, yesterday was a pretty great day for me. This is how December’s stats shaped up:
Now, my blog generates no revenue whatsoever, no matter how many clicks I get; but even if it did, that’s not what I’m talking about. It was the astonishing outpouring of support and encouragement that made it just completely wonderful. So many people took the time to write a letter to my editor — and boy, I know how busy people are right now! That in itself was fantastic.
But what struck me most of all was how articulate, sincere, witty, and above all happy you all sound. And then you sent me personal emails, messaged me, passed the word on Facebook and Twitter, and left encouraging comments everywhere encouraging comments could be left. You guys. I don’t even know what to say. I’m just so glad to have people like you for my friends.
And it doesn’t hurt to have an endlessly generous, indefatigable, angry Irish combox berzerker like Mark Shea gallantly drawing off some of the crazybrain fire. And then one of the funniest, most insightful, most crap-cutting cultural commentators I’ve seen in a long time, Tom McDonald references Spartacus and The Big Lebowski (well, there was a nice marmot, anyway) on my behalf. I . . . I now feel able to stand tall against the scathing disapprobation of, um, Spirit Daily. And Pewsitter. And Selfrigithous Marmot-Fanciers United for the Magnesium.
Also, Al and Chuck’s Gay Travel Blog is getting a huge bump in traffic this week. They must be so damn confused right now.
Oh, happy, happy Advent to all of you.
Folks, so many of you have been so encouraging and so generous with your prayers already. Thank you! If you have a moment, and if you’ve enjoyed my writing here or at the Register, maybe you could drop a line to the Editor-in-Chief, Jeanette de Melo. She’s been getting lots of calls and emails about me lately, and I’d love to have some friends add their voices.
FYI, I am in communication with my editors at the Register about how to respond to all the complaints about my and The Jerk’s remarks about Michael Voris’ cruise. Stay tuned, and prayers are welcome. Thank you.
First, a shameless plug: order today with standard shipping from my CafePress store, and get a free shipping upgrade so your items will arrive by December 24.
Doesn’t your beloved wife deserve some Dignaroos? Or won’t you step up and protect her honor on her semi-annual Trip Outside the Home by furnishing her with this presumably finely-crafted aluminum Pants Pass? Or some other ridiculous crap I threw together?
Then let’s retreat from crass materialism. I hope everybody knows Tasha Tudor, whose gentle illustrations are always full of sweet grace and warmth. They are what Thomas Kinkade and Precious Moments fail so wretchedly to capture: simplicity, innocence, and the small joys of the family. My favorite Tasha Tudor book is
Endlessly fascinating, this book takes you through a year of traditions and celebrations from the old days. It makes you feel happy and nostalgic for things you aren’t actually old enough to remember. I still feel, deep in the heart of me, that someday I will send a multi-layered birthday cake floating down the river for an evening party, or we will make our own tin can firecrackers to scare the corgis. Some books that hearken to a simpler time make you feel melancholy and guilty when you’re done, as you compare your life to what you’ve read; but this book doesn’t have that effect. I’m not even sure why. Maybe because, like Norman Rockwell, she injects enough realism — skinned knees, chapped lips, burnt fingers — to remind you that life was never perfect; and that children are still children, and always will be.
Back to books tomorrow, but I couldn’t resist adding in one non-book item:
Perhaps you have found yourself sitting in the waiting room of a doctor’s office, and the wall-mounted TV is on, and you aren’t quite up to answering the question, “Momeeeeee, what is a ‘twanssexual wuv twiangle?’”
Or you’re sitting in a restaurant for your biennial date with your husband, waiting for your bloomin’ onion to arrive, and you realize that your precious evening is being devoured by the eleven wall-mounted screens, all showing the Laker Girls?
Or heck, maybe you’re sitting in that same restaurant and Michael Voris comes on, and you actually listen with an open heart for once and you suddenly realize that he actually is a fearless prophet who will save the world, and is, as one of my readers pointed out, “completely faithful to the magnesium?” But, because of your heart of stone, you are unwilling to take back your calumnious words, and so you wish you could just TURN THE TV OFF?
That’s what the TV-B-Gone Universal TV Power Remote Control Keychain does. It turns off TVs. Point and click, and whatever’s troubling you on the silver screen goes away, so you can wait for the phlebotomist or bloomin’ onion or continue to dwell in non-Vorisian darkness in peace and quiet for another day.