This Weekend – Join The Herd!

Why not stop on out to the Eagles in Stillwater on Friday or Saturday from 8PM til Midnight?

They seem to like us in Stillwater – back in April, we slew at the Stillwater Lanes and Lounge (it’s a much better venue than the name suggests), and this is like our fifth weekend playing the Eagles.

Come on out and join the Herd!

Pledge Drive

I’ve been doing this blog since 2002 – and while my traffic remains gratifyingly high even as the “glory days” of blogging have passed, I’d still do it if I had five readers a day. I just plain enjoy it, and every reader just adds a little more fun.

But every once in a while I like to pass the hat. I didn’t do it last year – but I figure why not?

So if you can throw a buck or two in the pot, it is much appreciated!


UPDATE: Thanks to everyone who donated yesterday (I’ll send personal thank-yous later on here). I’m going to push this for one more day.

Thanks, all!

Big Personal Data

I’ve never gone into a lot of detail about my personal live – family, relationships, jobs – on the blog.  Not only are there too many creepy stalkers, but the left’s culture of “othering” means they’re far from above trying to screw with the personal lives and livelihoods of people they disagree with.

But to make a long cryptic story short and more cryptic – I’m leaving my contract job of a year and a half to go to a full-time direct position.  I’m wrapping up at my current contract in about a week, and will be starting the new job in the next couple of weeks.

Now, it should surprise nobody who has followed this space, or otherwise knows me in any way, that I take job hunting very seriously. I was a single parent for a long time, so cash flow was, to borrow a Joe Biden quote, “a big f*****g deal” to me. It maybe the one thing in my life I’m seriously OCD about.

And so I keep statistics. I have a googledoc spreadsheet on which I keep the details of every job search I’ve ever been on since I got into the IT business as a technical writer in 1993. I keep them partly out of morbid curiosity, and partly to show myself that I’m really not doing all that badly so don’t get depressed.

So since I’ve got nothing else going on, let’s take a look.

Aggravated Aggregation

I’ve had 29 job hunts since 1993. An average of 2 per year during my five years as a tech writer, and a little less than once a year since I’ve been in UX.

The *average* job hunt – from starting the hunt to getting an offer – has taken 33 days (plus an average of 10 days after the offer before starting the job, whether my choice or their paperwork). This past one was 54 days almost on the button, plus three weeks from the offer to start. (The worst was 2003 – almost five months. The shortest was 2010; I made my first call Friday as I was holding my layoff notice, interviewed Monday at 10AM, got the offer at 11:30).

BUT – in the 54 days I was on the market, I made it to four final interviews – from initial contact to final interview. Three of ’em I didn’t get. The one I actually got? 15 days from initial contact to offer. I’ve been tracking *that* time – the cycle of the final, successful opportunity from first contact to offer – since 2005. The average time for *successful* cycles is…15 days!

Not All Hunts Are Created Equal

Of course, not all job changes are the same. I break ’em into three categories (I said I was OCD, and I meant it):

  • Green: Job hunts where I’m looking while I have another job.
  • Yellow: Job hunts where I have a fixed end date on my current job. It’s been anywhere from 2 to 11 weeks, usually 30 days, but it’s notice.
  • Red: Jobs that end with no notice. Note that I’ve never been fired for cause in my life – even in radio – but sometimes, jobs just end with a bang; an immediate layoff, a contract losing its funding, whatever. Either way, the “Employed” switch gets flipped to “off”.

This past search started as “Green” but changed to “Yellow” – I was told my contract was ending two weeks after I started shopping.

And it’s interesting (well, to me): the times of searches from start to offer are:

  • Green: 37 days
  • Yellow: 29 days
  • Red: 46 days. Although if you leave out the outlier, my five month slog during the 2003 tech recession, it comes down to about 30 days, too. But then, recessions happen. I’ll keep it in the numbers).

So it seems that it’s true – it IS easier to look for work when you *have* a job already! But it also seems that having a fixed end date adds to the urgency a bit…

Jobs Is Jobs?

Oh, yeah – the vast majority of my jobs over the past (koff koff) couple of decades have been contracting (some of them “contract to hire”). Does that make a difference?

Nope. 28 days either way (if I leave out the outlier in 2003).

Glass Half-Empty: I’ve had way too much experience at job hunting.

Glass Half-Full: Stumbling, completely by accident, into the career I’m in was one of my life’s happier accidents. After all this, I still love going to work in the morning.

(Well, OK – I’ve got short-timer syndrome pretty bad, here).

Notre Dame

It was a Sunday morning in the second week of June, 1983. I had just gotten out of my sophomore year of college, and was on the trip to Europe I had been saving for since I was 14.

For the first three weeks, I was in Europe – the Netherlands, Belgium, France, Switzerland and what we used to call West Germany (kids, ask your parents) – with the Jamestown College choir. I’ve written about the choir before – it was the little college choir that could; at one point, it had been rated as one of the three best small college choirs in the United States. And 11 years earlier, 1972, it had been the first American choir to be allowed to sing at Notre Dame.

It was 11 years later – a period that doesn’t seem so long anymore. We were getting ready to sing one of the big masses on Sunday morning.

And I had a horrible cold.

And for a beautiful, glorious hour and change, I didn’t care.

The cathedral was built centuries before amplification – and yet the spoken voice carried clearly through the sanctuary; it seems like you could hear every congregant praying, individually, as you sat in the choir.

And singing?

It was one of the most sublime musical experiences of my life.

After the mass, the cold reasserted itself. I needed sleep. I found a cabinet in the basement that looked like it’s been there for hundreds of years, and was covered in dust that looked like it remembered Napoleon. I didn’t care; I slept for two hours and got i shape for the afternoon concert – a full performance for the afternoon audience of worshippers and tourists.

And in that room that had been built halfway between Leif Erickson and Christopher Columbus, I stood and sang and marveled at the sheer acoustic glory of the whole experience.

Not my choir.

I was still sick – but I wasn’t going to waste a gorgeous summer Sunday in Paris. I went to rhe Louvre – because who goes to Paris without going there? – and then got intentionally lost in the Latin Quarter, spending a few hours wandering around quite happy not to know where I was or what I was doing.

I knew I could find my way to the Seine river – and of course, the spire at the Cathedral was almost always visible, wherever I was.

I thought about that the other day, as I watched the spire come crashing to the ground.

And that’s really the last I want to think about that image.

The Squeakiest Wheel

So last Monday and Tuesday I went to see *both* nights with Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes at the Dakota.

Now, this’ll be the fourth year, I think, I’ve caught Johnny and the band at the Dakota – which is as far west as they ever go, since their fan base never got far west of New Jersey even during their commercial heyday (big album sales in the seventies; some big placements in the eighties; one top-forty single with the help of Jon Bon Jovi, Springsteen, and Steve Van Zandt in 1991).

Now, they are perhaps the tightest band I’ve ever seen. LIterally – the whole seven piece band (guitar, keyboards, bass, drums, trumpet, trombone and sax) taking cues on the fly and launching songs from a 45 year career instantly.

And once every night – just once, a little before halfway through – Johnny seems to decide to test the band on that, by asking the audiene “What do you all wanna hear?”

And then he filters through the cacaphony from the audience, and finds a song, and calls it out – or sometimes just starts singing the first line – and the band counts off and plays.

And in previous years, the call from the stage caught me flat footed.

But not this year. I spent time practicing, drilling on my response, so I’d be there with a title when the challenge when out.

Monday night, when Johnny presented the opportunity to the crowd, I was right there. I donned my projecting radio/command voice, and shouted out “Got To Be A Better Way Home!” – a deep cut from their 1978 album “Hearts Of Stone”.

And a second or two later, boom. There it was.

(Not *quite* that fast).

Now, I do believe gluttony is a sin. But doggone it how many times do you get to go for a bifecta in life?

So the second night, when we got to that part of the show, I was ready. “Sweeter than Honey!”.

And darned if they didn’t launch straight up into it:

I’ll be attending both shows next year, God willing. But I think I’ll sit out the request time. I had my fun.

When Making Plans For The Next Three Nights

Tonight: The House DFL may be trying to amend their Universal Gun Registration and Red Flag Confiscation bills to the Omnibus Public Safety bill. Debate may well happen tonight. It’s entirely possible we’ll need to get a huge turnout of people down to the Capitol or the State Office building to show the Legislature what Minnesotans really think about the erosion of our civil liberties.

That’s still up in the air. What I’d suggest is that you sign up for the MN Gun Owners Caucus’s email blasts – then, you’ll be getting the latest news. Also, make sure you “like” the MNGOC’s Facebook page – that’s also being updated constantly.

And maybe I’ll see y’all at the Capitol (or somewhere in the Capitol complex) tonight!

Friday and Saturday nights: My band, “Elephant in the Room”, is playing at the Stillwater Eagles both nights from 8-midnight. We do everything from Elvis to Nirvana, from the Cars to, well, The Eagles. I mean, we gotta do Eagles at the Eagles, right?

Stop on out, have a drink, say hi!

Cold Shock

One of the advantages of being almost 6’5 is that there’s a lot of room to pack away weight before people – and, well, you – really notice.

One of the disadvantages? When you finally do notice, it’s pretty shocking how bad things have gotten.

I was a downright scrawny teenager. When I was 14, I was 6’2 and probably 130 pounds. When I graduated from high school, 6’4-5 and about 190. College? I think I was like 220 pounds.

There’ve been ups and downs, of course. From 2007-2010, I biked to work most of the time – and got into some decent shape. And then went back to car commuting, and fell back out of it.

But over 30-odd years of life, somewhere along the line I got out of the habit of stepping on scales. For, like, 15 years. I didn’t really want to know. In the past few years, I knew I’d packed on a bunch of weight, and had a gut going on, and was getting kind of jowly. I knew my knees were killing me. When I took off my socks at night, there was some ankle swelling. One of my co-workers described me as “heavy-set”, which was a first (and a kick in the head, for someone whose self-image has always been and still is “Scrawny”. Also, she was a *really cute* co-worker, so there was that). But there were always bigger, nastier things to worry about.

A year ago today, I went in to the doctor for my first routine checkup in probably five years. I suspect the doctor knew that I’d been one form of denial or another – maybe I’m not the only middle-aged guy he’s busted on that. So I’m fairly sure he tricked me into looking at the printout with my actual weight on it – I think he said it was some billing stuff I needed to sign.

But I don’t honestly remember, because I almost blacked out. My actual current weight was right there, in big numbers. And I nearly soiled myself.

In my mind, I figured maybe, absolute worst case, I’d be 280 pounds or so. No more.

Nope. I was over 300.


How significantly? I still don’t want to talk about it. Picture a hypothetical number, “n”, in your mind. We’ll come back to it.

The doctor – who must have been a psychologist earlier in life – eased us into a talk about the need to update some lifestyle choices. The weight wasn’t the last of it; my blood pressure was borderline-high, and, well, the list kept going.

And as I left the appointment, I thought – who do I know that’s actually pulled this off?

My thoughts turned to my friend, former producer and now lead singer, Tommy Huynh, who’d been writing about his experiences on the Keto diet.

Now, Keto had always been a joking matter to me – “How can you tell if someone at a party is Atheist, a Cross-Fitter, or on Keto? Don’t worry, they’ll tell you!”) – but at this point I figured I had nothing to lose – and with effort, drove past McDonalds on the way home, made an omelet and some bacon, and started researching.

Keto involves a diet that’s about 50-60% fat, 30-40% protein, and less than 10% carbohydrates – and to get started, you keep it to 20 grams of carbs a day. A regular tortilla is almost 30 – so potatoes, rice, legumes (including peanuts) and of course wheat, flour, corn and corn meal, and especially processed sugar are all right out. Even fruit is problematic. We’ll come back to that. You also operate at a calorie deficit – but the goal is, through restricting your carbs, your metabolism starts burning fat for energy instead of muscle.

And so I dove in.

It got worse, of course. That Monday, I went to the gym, worked out, and got back on the scale. The scale at the gym read “n”+15 pounds – worse than at the doctor’s office.

So I just kept going. I figured out how to eat a diet that was more than just eggs, meat and cheese; spinach, almonds, coconut flour and flaxseed meal all became staples, sooner than later.

And to avoid obsessing, I limited myself to weighing in every four weeks, to start with.

And after four weeks? Down 15 pounds.

Four weeks later? 12 more.

At my follow up checkup with the doctor, I was down some more. Blood pressure was down 20 points. Blood sugar well in the “safe” zone. Cholesterol a *little* high, but then I had no baseline. We’ll be seeing in coming weeks what’s happened there.

It was about that time that I noticed my knee pain had nearly disappeared, that climbing stairs wasn’t an effort, and that a day outside hacking away at hedges, which used to be a nightmare that I’d be trying to get out of after half an hour, was kind of fun again.

I was down 50 by mid-July at my niece’s wedding. Around 70 by fall.

And it almost feels bad to say this, because I’ve had friends who’ve struggled mightily with their weight – but it wasn’t that hard. It was a huge lifestyle change, of course – I haven’t had fast food in a year, I read menus and nutrition labels VERY carefully, I log what I eat pretty religiously, and even now I “cheat” very, very rarely (as in, I’ll eat a pita with my greek food once a month or so). The gym is now 3x a week, rather than 3x a year. But once I got it into my head that nothing tastes as good as getting healthier feels [1], and learned how to cook tasty stuff I *could* eat anyway, it *actually wasn’t all that bad*.

And I did figure out how to make some fun stuff; I make a pretty serviceable pizza crust out of mozzarella cheese and coconut flour; I make root beer floats out of diet root beer and whipped cream; and since I started replacing half and half with heavy whipping cream in my coffee, my morning Java has never tasted so good. I’ve changed my restaurant habits – pizza and nachos are out, dry rub wings are in, and I’ve become a regular at some of the local barbeque joints, and it’s been a wonderful thing.

I’ve been plateaued at about 75 pounds since the fall – I need to get my metabolism kicked up, which means I have to hit the biking hard when the ice is finally gone – but I’m OK with that for now.

Yes, I know – keeping it off is the hard part. Which is why I’ve pretty well resolved there’ll be no back-sliding into the regular American diet. I may transition from Keto to Paleo – introducing some unprocessed fruits and the like – but the days of wolfing down a frozen pizza are pretty much donesville.

Anyway – I’m writing this to encourage those of you who might be fighting that battle; if I can do it (so far, one picky, label-reading, carb-hunting day at a time), you can do it too.

[1] As I write this, I picture me falling over with a heart attack tomorrow, and some social media twerp writing a photomeme: “Pundit PWNed after ironic last Facebook post”.

Deep breath.


One of the best-known, and certainly longest-running, series in the history of this blog was my 130 part series of 20th anniversaries of events between deciding to move to the Twin CIties in 1985, and my oldest child’s birth in 1991. The series took (doy) six years to write.

One of the characters that popped up was a roommate I had at the time. I gave him a pseudonym (as I did with a couple of the people that were, er, on the “colorful” side) – “Wyatt“. He had a thing for the ladies, was addicted to pretty much everything to which one could be addicted (and dealt in some of it vocationally), He gave off certain signs of mental illness, although I was pretty bad at noticing that kind of thing back then. Our roomate situation ended one night in 1988, when he shot up the house we rented in what I had ascribed to a cocaine-fueled frenzy.

I’ve neither talked with nor heard from “Wyatt” for over 30 years. I will confess, I googled him about ten years ago, and found from a few news stories – a break-in at a liquor store, a trial and sentence – that showed that his habits were keeping him in just as much trouble as they did when I knew him.

I also knew he had a father – a fairly wealthy man, a former Navy frogman who had done well in, I believe, real estate or insurance or something like that – and a mother. And I knew his family loved him, and spent a lot of money and, I suspect, a lot more effort and emotional energy, trying to get him on the right track – including sending him to treatment in Minnesota, which of course led him across my path in 1987.

And when I became a parent, his story – the whole family’s story, really – terrified me; it was possible, no matter how you loved your children, for the unreasoning, cackling spectre of mental illness and its sidekick, addiction, to take that kid from you no matter what you did and how hard you clung to the hope you could do something about it.

A bit of curious googling over the weekend brought it all back.

“Wyatt” had a real name. And he died in 2010 – ironically, not long after his departure from the series. Tragically, but not in the least bit surprisingly, he died of mixing drugs and booze.

And I’m going to admit – while my “Wyatt” tales in “Twenty Years Ago Today” were true down to the last comma and semicolon, they painted as one-dimensional a picture of him as one might expect someone who, twenty years later, was still kicking himself for letting that kind of dysfunction into his life, and the consequences it brought.

The article – featuring his parents, who have stayed involved in trying to help the mentally ill over the years – brings a human aspect to “Wyatt” – Wyeth – that I wasn’t ready to acknowledge when I wrote the series, over a decade ago.

My very belated condolences to everyone involved.

A Couple Of Birthdays

It’s been a little crazy lately, and in the rush I neglected two birthdays.

The first, of course, is today.


Note:  This is an “encore” of a post I wrote in 2013

Today would be the 108th birthday of the greatest president of my lifetime.

People say “there’s no Ronald Reagan in American politics today”.  And they’re right – but as his son Michael told me in an interview a few years ago, it’s not that there couldn’t be.

Because Reagan had three great talents:   he was a great, natural communicator (who, unlike a lot of “natural communicators”, honed his craft with relentless discipline);  he developed a vision and he stuck to it with determination and focus; and most importantly for today’s  conservatives, he knew how to build coalitions, rather than exclude people from them.

We have plenty of people who can communicate well, although the conservative movement has had its share of duds in that department too.  And we have not a few who can visioneer with the best of them  – in fact, with the rise of the Tea Party, our movement’s best years may be to come, provided they keep the faith.

But as to building coalitions?

Today, we’re better at building silos.

Reagan did something that conservatives are terrible at today; he got social conservatives (at the peak of their notoriety and political cachet), blue-collar Democrats who the economy had turned into instant fiscalcons, Jack Kemp-style economic hawks and paleocons together…

…by focusing remorselessly on what they agreed on;  fixing the economy, and ending Communism.

And once in office, that’s what he focused on.  Oh, he paid lip service to issues that were to him tangents – and lip service from the world’s greatest bully pulpit ain’t chicken feed. But he didn’t fritter his political capital away with excessive natterings about issues that were tangential to his vision, and the vision his coalition all agreed on in electing him.  He spoke eloquently on issues – many of them – and that speaking had its effect.

Some call that an abdication; it was in fact a matter of leaving that work to the members of his coalition (example:  he exerted very little executive effort on abortion and gun control – but the efforts to roll both back at the state and local level started to coalesce during his time in office anyway – in part because of his leadership from the bully pulpit.  But for all that, always, the focus was on “dancing with the one what brung him” to DC at the head of an impossibly-diverse coalition; his rock-solid, bone-simple two point agenda, fixing the economy and toppling the Commies.

As I moderated the “Where Do We Go From Here” event last week at the Blue Fox, and listened to some of the friction and cat-calling across the party’s various factions, I thought there was a lot of focus on what divided us.  And so my final question to the panel was “what do we all – all of us, from socialcons like Andy Parrish to libertarians like Marianne Stebbins, actually agree on?”  Because that is the only real way forward for any of the factions – since if any faction takes Parrish’s (tongue in cheek?) advice and forms a separate party, it’s the road to mutual palookaville, with multiple parties that are less than the sum of the parts they once were.

So for my annual Gipper Day celebration, it’ll be the usual; jelly beans at my desk, taking the kids out to dinner to talk about what Reagan’s legacy has meant in their lives (other than the uninformed, out-of-context crap the DFLers in their lives’ll say)…

…and asking my fellow conservatives “what do we agree on?”

The second? Well, that’ was yesterday.

Shot In The Dark

Yesterday was the 17th anniversary of my starting this blog.

Hardly seems possible, sometimes.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year to you and yours!

It’s gonna be a light posting day, as this whole holiday season has been.

But to tide you and the world over until tomorrow, here’s a good New Years resolution from Amy Alkon:

Now, go out and smack the world and the year upside the head with some kindness.

When Making Weekend Plans

So – if you’re out and about and need to warm up and work up a sweat tonight or tomorrow, stop on by the Eagle in Stillwater. My band Elephant in the Room will be playing from 8 ’til Midnight, Friday and Saturday.

It’s in the old Famous Dave’s, on Highway 36 at Greeley.

We’ve got some music for the holidays, too! [1]

Good food, not-too-expensive drinks, great location, pool tables just around the corner, fast service – and EITR. What a perfect way to decompress from the holidays?

(And don’t forget – we’ll be at the Outpost in Ramsey on Friday, January 11. Two weeks from tonight!)

[1] OK – to be accurate, it’s two songs. But hey, you’re not gonna get that from a dance club DJ, are you?

When You’re Making Your Weekend Plans

My band, “Elephant in the Room”, is playing Friday and Saturday nights at the Eagles in Stillwater.

We’ll be playing from 8 ’til midnight.   We’re a classic rock band that does stuff from the ’50s through the ’90s.   And it features our “new” lead singer, former NARN producer Tommy, who can do Led Zeppelin ,Guns and Roses and the Offspring with style.   Seriously – this isn’t your grandpa’s Elephant in the Room.

It’s a fun room, excellent food, drinks aren’t too expensive, and we have a lot of fun playing the joint!

When Out And About Tomorrow Night

My band, “Elephant in the Room”, will be playing at the Outpost in Ramsey Saturday night at 9PM.

It came up pretty suddenly – so our leather-lunged lead singer Tommy “The H Bomb” Huynh won’t be interrupting his family vacation for it.     It’ll be the old, four-piece version of EITR.

Anyway – come on out to the Outpost Saturday night.  You never know what’ll happen!


I started this blog 16.5 years ago – and one of the things I learned early on was that the key to making it work, day in, day out, through writers block and manic creative bursts, was to write to a schedule; whether it was a couple times a day or twice a week, just write, even – maybe especailly – if it was krep.

This past few months my cycle has been more “block” than “maniacially creative”.  It’s been a busy, exhausting couple of months for a variety of personal reasons – most of them very good, but pretty taxing.

I’ve been though the cycle often enough to know it’ll pass; I doubt I’ll ever feel the creative doldrums like i did in 2011, after throwing myself neck-deep into writing about the 2010 gubernatorial race and coming out completely exhausted.

But you know what they say – the first step is admitting you’re overstretched and exhausted!

Much more to come.

Play Stupid Games, Get Stupid Prizes

Joe Doakes from Como Park emails:

Story 1:

Some guy riding a bicycle in downtown Minneapolis at 11:30 at night.  Blows a red light, collided with a motorcycle and was struck by a car.

Plainly, the drivers of the motorcycle and car, being wanton spewers of carbon dioxide poisoning our Mother the Earth, were at fault for failing to recognize the moral superiority of the bicycle rider and to acknowledge his right to disregard the traffic laws governing lesser mortals

Story 2:

Some gal riding a bicycle in Stillwater weaves around the barrier and falls into the river when the lift bridge began to rise.

Plainly, the bridge operator and the pilot of the boat for whom the bridge was opening, being wanton spewers of carbon dioxide poisoning our Mother the Earth, were at fault for failing to recognize the moral superiority of the bicycle rider and to acknowledge her right to disregard traffic laws governing lesser mortals.

Plainly, there is a crisis in Minnesota.  When will Governor Dayton act??  When??

As biking has become more popular (especially in places like the Twin Cities, were perverse incentives drive a lot of people to bikes), it’s axiomatic that a lot of those new people will not know what they’re doing.


In 1998, I’d had a pretty busy couple of decades.

I’d started in radio (koff koff) 19 years earlier, in 1979.  That lasted until about 1992, when – tired of trying to raise two kids with another one on the way on $7 an hour, I got into technical writing – mostly writing user manuals, online help, reports and fdjdjweim asklssssssssssssss….

…sorry  I fell asleep just remembering that phase of my career.  Technical writing didn’t agree with me much.   It was good for me – it got me into the software business – but a good technical writer is a stickler for details in a way that I really just don’t much care to be.

I’d been a technical writer for about a year, working at the old Cray Research facility in Eagan, when I ran into a fellow tech writer who was in charge of building a “usability lab” – a room where users could be observed doing the jobs they were supposed to be doing on Cray software, noting the problems they had, developing trends, and eventually making recommendations on how to design the software to be easier to learn, less obtuse – better.

And I thought – instead of explaining how to work with badly designed software, why not just design the software to be more self-explanatory, and make more money and get more respect in the bargain?

It wasn’t quite that easy; at the time, user interface / human factors / Human Computer Interaction design was seen rarely outside of highly regulated industries like medical devices or defense contractors.

And most of them had masters degrees in industrial, cognitive or experimental psychology.   I had a BA in English.

But I spent four years of spare time reading, practicing designing things, and learning about the trade from the few people I could find as mentors.  And twenty years ago today, I walked into my first User Experience job at StorageTek in Brooklyn Park.

And, to my amazement, succeeded.  For twenty years.

Some Of Their Best Friends…


EVENTS:  “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Upper Middle Class Democrat from a Nice Neighborhood:  We’re going to fulfill a liberal goal and start busing your kids and seriously integrating your school district”.


The Blog Can Drive

And for its sixteenth birthday vehicle, it chooses a 1968 Lotus 49.

Shot In The Dark started sixteen years ago today.  I was in my isolated basement cube at a doomed startup just about the time the dotcom bubble started popping.  I read an article on about this new phenomenon, blogging, bringing unprecedented number of people to the marketplace of ideas.

Having been a frustrated pundit in my twenties, it called out to me; I started reading Andrew Sullivan, and that night I went out to and started “Shot in the Dark”.

The neighborhood’s changed since then.  Other blogs have come and gone.  Others – Ed Morrissey, Powerline – made it big, and turned into self-sustaining ventures.

Me?  I just kept on writing.  And here I am today.

Anyway – thanks to all of you for joining me on this ride.  It’s never gotten old.

Kind of like the Lotus 49.

Rumors Of Demise Greatly Exaggerated

Blogging is dead.

It has been for a while.  Andrew Sullivan – my blogfather – wrote about it not all that long ago (in re the death of The Awl, a blog I don’t lament in the least)

William Jacobson at Legal Insurrection attempts an autopsy of blogging – at least, of blogging as a cultural phenomenon and business model.  Both were killed by the loathsome Twitter:

Social media really is a sewer, and I attribute much of the evaporation of the blogosphere to Twitter. It’s much easier to find an instant audience on Twitter than to build the relationship with readers to get them to come to your website. Twitter pundits are the worst pundits, counting their worth based on “followers” (many of whom are fake and purchased). The NY Times had an amazing expose on the purchasing of Twitter followers in order to create a fake reality of popularity that then can be monetized as an “influencer.”

The financial pressures also are real, as ever-increasing demand for clicks to drive dwindling advertising payout creates so much noise it’s hard to be heard. And yes, the financial pressures are real in this superheated media environment.

Monday will be my sixteenth anniversary as a blogger.  I’ve never been especially sensitive to the ups and downs of the field; I never became a superstar like John Hinderaker or Ed Morrissey or Rachel Lucas.    I didn’t go down in a wave of shame and humiliation, either, like Duncan Black or Oliver Willis or pretty much a anyone who ever blogged for “Minnesota Progressive Project”.  It’s always pretty much just been me, with the odd contribution from First Ringer (and, back in the day, Johnny Roosh and Bogus Doug).

And it was about the time Twitter and its hordes of droogs took over the job of facile instant political analysis that people stared hitting the gates.

And, like the other highs and lows, I didn’t care.  Twitter bores me stiff.  I use it mosty to promote the show, and to gauge the cowardice of liberal politicians (the ones that routinely block conservatives are, in fact, gutless cravens).

But the “death” of blogging interests me not in the least.   I got into it because I enjoyed writing.  And while I’ve gotten the odd paycheck out of the deal – back in 2007, I think I was gettting $200/months in ad revenue, which has plunged to maybe $100/year lately) and my annual pledge drive always adds a nice bump to the vacation budget, I do it for the pure unadulterated love of writing stuff for people to read.

Dead, schmead.  As far as I”m concerned, it’s just beginning.