To all of you who have accessed my blog today—who am I kidding. This is my blog. No one has accessed it today.
To anyone who may have stumbled across my blog today and might be friends of mine, students of mine, people who follow me on Twitter hoping I will come to you with my vacation plans or click on your dirty pictures. Or the random Farmville addict friending me in hope of expanding your plantation—ah we have come so far since the Civil War. At some point each of you made the commitment to follow my activities online, to read my tweets and my updates, to suggest that I join you in seeing whether “this rhubarb pie can get more fans than Demi Lovato” and in the spirit of finding out “Which Member of Jersey Shore Are You?” sharing all of my personal information with everyone you have ever met, or just people who typed the search term “douche bag” then hit “I Feel Lucky!”
Through the wanton and slutty use of social media, we have developed a relationship. We have created what on the internet passes for trust and camaraderie. We have nurtured it like a mold spore and refined it like weapons grade plutonium. But by now several of you have found out that I am, in fact me. Not only am I me, I have deliberately and willfully been me for most of my adult life. For that I owe all of you the most heartfelt, sincere and humble apology that my public relations handlers can muster.
I am here today in front of this curtain left over from last night’s Ponte Verde High “Night of a Thousand High School Kids” prom photo setting to read these words for what my deliver will make appear to be the first time:
First to the people who have been maligned in my previous posts:
To the fashion models—you are weak and underfed. I had no right to malign your profession and call your wranglers idiots.
To the Tea Party Movement—I should be admiring your inergy and cumitment, not defaming what I am sure only from the outside seems to be a minimal grasp of reality.
To the radical anti-abortion groups that I labeled terrorists—If I disagree with you, I should be giving you constructive criticism not just tearing you down. For instance, millions of cats and dogs are spayed and neutered every week. Cats and dogs are God’s creatures too. You should look into that.
Next, to the students and ex-students who continue to sustain relationships with me in hope of further refining your capacity to use what you have learned in life. You spent four years and around eighty grand studying source credibility and media ethics, yet you still sustain relationships with me! With Me! To you I give a humble apology and a valuable life lesson. Your tuition money is gone. Let it go. More forward. Learn a trade.
While my intentions are sincere, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. The home is the home, and that is private ground! My domestic intimacies have not and will never be subject to public discussion. Whatever proper, improper and yes sometimes downright disgusting things have taken place in the marital bed are and will always be strictly between me and the spouse with whom I was cheating at the time. If you ask me any of those questions, you should expect one of only two replies:
- DNA-shmeNA!, or
- Can’t Maury, I have a previous obligation the week you are shooting.
Next, I want to say a word about my family. Nothing I am writing here is really relevant to my immediate family, because technology and computing aren’t among their strong points. My family thinks “abacus” is the word a magician says before Cadabra! My family thinks routine, facility scalability is the quickest way to the top of the monkey bars. I don’t owe them an apology for anything that has happened here. Are apologies due them for my existence in the real world? Oh yeah! Been there; still doing that. Every day they think of new things for which I should apologize. Then they sew those reasons into pillows and sell them at local craft shows, paint them on their garage doors or write them on parchment, put them in bottles, and float those bottles down stream toward Social Services. Besides, I am pretty sure any problems I have with my children have already been taken care of. Last week while I was in New York, a group of well meaning Baptists from Texas was wandering around town asking for my home address. And this time they’d done the paperwork!
Last, I understand that it is traditional in national apologies to say a word or two to the children. Children, you don’t really know who I am. At least you don’t think you do. If you follow PinkCandyPrincess139 on the Disney boards, you might have run into me, but that’s not really what I am talking about right now. What I want you to know is that life is precious. Grab it while you can. Live life to its greatest! Honor your mother and father! Work hard in school! And for goodness sake, if an old guy in a Purdue Sweatshirt and one of those red-checked winter Mountie hats with the ear flaps comes up to you in the park and offers you the rest of his Skittles because he only likes the red ones, he means it. Should you take them? No. Should you run screaming for help? Absolutely. But should you just give him a little head start before you do? Use your best judgment in the moment, but I say yes.
Well, the gaping maw of whiteness at the bottom of my notes tells me that this is all I apparently meant to say. Except that I do recognize that I have a problem, and I am going to take steps to solve it. What steps? I don’t really know. They don’t have group therapy for people who are so obnoxious that they get beaten half to death every time they form a group. I prayed to God that I might be born again, but he told me that he checked and couldn’t find a legitimate reason why I’d been born the first time. I said “But doesn’t the Holy Bible teach mercy and forgiveness?” He showed me the passage “Whosoever believeth in me shall not perish, but have eternal life.” Then he pointed down to that little tiny “1” representing what scholars believe is the only known foot note in the Bible followed by the itty bitty stream of Aramaic that spelled my name.
When will I get back to blogging? I can’t really say when? Could it be this year? Maybe. Do I have a couple of good ideas for “5 Things You Need to Know About People Gullible Enough to Accept Public Apologies?” Oh yeah!
Until then, goodbye and good luck. I’m not taking questions.