Blogging Greatness: The Worst Burrito Ever

Look, I can't compete with this. This might be one of the best blog posts ever written. Plus, his own illustration! Just read this:

Dear guy who just made my burrito:

Have you ever been to earth?

On earth, we use the word “burrito” to describe a tortilla filled with things you eat. Pretty simple stuff, and I’m surprised you at least got that part right. My burrito was, in fact, filled with food. In this, you and I agree and are friends. But this is also where my lifelong hatred begins for you and anyone else whose brain has been repeatedly scrubbed with the same mixture of bleach and Pop Rocks as yours has. Because that should have killed you, but left you around long enough to do what you did to me today. Let me explain:

You’re an idiot.

Let me further explain:

Burritos are eaten from one end to the other. So that means when you assemble a burrito with motherfucking ZONES of ingredients going that direction, you create a disgusting experience for the burrito’s end user. When you make a burrito, you should put the ingredients in layers lengthwise. That way, every bite has AT LEAST A FUCKING CHANCE of getting at least two types of ingredients, and there is little chance of becoming almost hopelessly trapped in a goddamned cilantro cavern.

Yeah. It's all like that, and better. Stop reading this and go read Luckyshirt's blog. Tell him I said hi.

Which is which?

I've slowed down on this blog, and here's why.

I have two different identities. I have my own name, my own identity, online. I'm on Twitter and on Facebook and on myriad other websites, using my given name. I have hundreds of friends IRL - in real life - and hundreds of online connections.

And then there's this identity. This version of me: this identity that I have constructed over eight years, before I had a son. Before Facebook. Before Twitter. Waaaay before Pinterest. My online identity has existed since 2004. I've written about politics, about music, about my family, about popular culture, and a bunch of other things.

And now, I write on Twitter and Facebook and in other places about pop culture, and music, and my family.

See the problem?

So I've had to reassess, constantly, which version of me will exist on this blog. The more I share under my name, the less material I have left for the blog. It sounds odd, but there it is. And the other thing is that I find it somewhat comforting to be able to write under my actual name. I enjoy seeing that there are people who have known me (and met me, and worked with me) who stay in touch with me online.

Every person is a brand now. Every person markets himself and herself with everything they say, everything they tweet, every comment they leave on a blog. And so now I have two brands. It can be a bit confusing at times.

Some people know me on both sides, under both names. A few people. I say things here that I can't say under my own name. Mostly about my employers. (And interestingly, I find that my Twitter stream is mostly used for profane messages about Seattle traffic.)

So there will be things I talk about on both sides. Here, I'm going to talk about my son. My son has been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, and I'm going to talk more about in the months and years to come. It's important. And I can be more candid on this blog than I can under my own identity.

It's important for me to talk about it here because some of you have known me for years and years. I know a few of you used to read this blog back when it was a Salon blog. I have longtime readers - I suppose I could say you're friends, at this point.

I'm still going to talk about my son's diagnosis under my real name. But I can be more honest here, more unguarded. I can talk more about my own challenges, my doubts, the struggles.

In both of my identities, I am a political animal. I am a writer. I am a dedicated husband. And I am the father of a boy who has Asperger's Syndrome. Whoever I am, these are the things that will never change.

Blog Ads - No, Thank You.

Why don't I run ads on my blog? Sure, I could make a little money. Maybe I could make a lot of money - who knows? but I also open myself up to having brands on my blog that I don't support.

Say, for example, Filipino dating services.

No, thanks. If I'm going to put embarrassing pictures on my blog, I'd just as soon do it myself.

My New Year's Resolution

I will write next year.

I will take, at a minimum, fifteen minutes every day to write. Not at work, not while watching Oliver, not while watching tv. I am going to isolate myself and write for at least fifteen minutes every day.

The wisdom I've always heard is that if you want to be a writer, write. If you don't write, you can't call yourself a writer. I haven't been taking that seriously.

I wrote sporadically. I do it when I think of it. Sometimes, inspiration hits me. Or sometimes, there's a news story that I can't resist commenting on. But it's not a habit anymore. It hasn't been for a while.

I write, sure. I write tweets. I write on Facebook. I write as part of my job, which I love. But posts - long, prosaic, thoughtful posts - I haven't been doing this kind of writing very much this year.

I need to get back into fiction writing again, too. I have a novel in my basement that I started writing in college, in 1991. I think of the characters often. After 9/11, I thought I had the inspiration to start writing again, but it never lasted.

But I'm not going to set goals of finishing the novel, or x number of posts per month, or x amount of short stories. 15 minutes a day. That's the goal. That is the resolution.

10 New Year's Resolutions I Will Not Be Making

1. Give up caffeine.
2. Begin using "sock it to me!" as my new catchphrase.
3. Give Glenn Beck the benefit of the doubt.
4. Master the Moog synthesizer.
5. Find out what this Brazilian wax thing is all about.
6. Get that eyebrow piercing I've always wanted.
7. Launch a rave club in my basement.
8. Find out if I really need to shower more than once a week.
9. Launch a Tumblr blog, because Blogger is so totally 2005.
10. Shave all the hair off my body and begin dressing in black suits and hats.

"Julie and Julia" and Me

This is going to be a little bit self-indulgent, so bear with me. I just saw a preview for Julie & Julia and I got unexpectly choked up.

I'll explain. Julie Powell started her Julie/Julia project as a Salon blog, around the same time I was starting up my original blog. I feel a kinship to her, even though we've never met and for all I know, she's never even looked at my blog. She was one of us, along with Meg and Patia and the Grumpy Girl and Phil and Nancy and the guy who did Fried Green Al-Qaedas Virtual Occoquan.

And then Julie exploded into a huge phenomenon. I don't think I knew at the time how big it had gotten, but I knew she had gotten to a level that most of us hadn't and probably weren't.

But that's was cool. I'm proud of her, even though, again, nothing whatsoever at all to do with her success. I can't wait to see the movie. And when in the trailer, they showed a quick shot of her computer with the old blog banner (albeit a completely different blogging service), I got a bit verklempt.

So congrats, Julie. I feel a little like the kid who used to play playground basketball with Michael Jordan before he became Michael Jordan. But I'm thrilled that it's come this far, and hope you're having all kinds of success and wish you nothing but more.

P.S. Oddly enough, I just looked up the old blog, and stumbled across this article about the movie. Apparently, there's a bit of controversy about the way her blog is depicted in the movie. Salon's Kerry Lauerman is quoted.

Adrian Belew-Oh Daddy

My friend Nancy is hurting today. It's the first birthday she's celebrated since her dad passed away.

I promised I'd post some stuff to make her smile, so here's my first try. It's also the goofiest song I know about being a dad. Hope it helps, Nancy.

Save the Bryant Park Project

NPR has cancelled the Bryant Park Project.

I fell in love with this show from the first time I heard it. It was brash, loud, taunting, occasionally obnoxious. The hosts were not afraid to be wrong. They talked about trivial subjects and made them seem enormous in their significance. They talked about obscure subjects - public art! astrophysics! Sigur Ros! - and made them accessible. Except, um, Sigur Ros. (If you haven't seen "the worst interview in the history of electronic media," you must see it now.)

It was everything that NPR was not. It was sharp, witty, engaging radio. The hosts loved their audience and spoke to them, not at them. They cared about the people on the other end of the speaker. I have never felt like I was part of Morning Edition's audience. On the other hand, I always felt like was part of the BPP's audience, and I always felt like I could make a suggestion and they would actually listen. And probably, they'd write back. This was a radio show made of people just like me.


This is a great show. It is great on a level with This American Life. Imagine if NPR had snuffed out that show in its first year. "Oh, gosh, it's not getting the audience we wanted." No, they allowed it to grow and to find its audience, and in the process, Ira Glass' little show changed the face of public radio.

The BPP was changing radio. It was exploding radio into the 21st century, blending a traditional radio format with a live website, an active blog, videos from the studio, a Facebook following, and tweets from Twitter. It was a 360º radio program. After Radiolab, it was the second great radio show of the new century. Not good - great.

Don't let NPR kill this show. If you ever listened to this show, let NPR know they're making a mistake. The good people at Radio Sweethearts have the details on how to get in touch with NPR:

If you, too, dislike their cancellation, please call the people at these phone numbers, and let them know (politely) how you feel.

• NPR media relations: 202-513-2300
• NPR listener service: 202-513-3232

Laura Conaway, the BPP online editor, posted the following on the BPP blog:

A lot of you have asked where you can write to register your unhappiness with NPR’s decision. Here’s the answer: Go to npr.org/contact/. Click on the “I want to contact a program” option and pick Bryant Park in the drop-down menu. I’ve been assured that NPR has set up a special folder for these so they’ll be separated quickly from the rest of the audience e-mail and directed to the right person. Don’t send it to “contact an NPR office/management,” since it will go into the general pool of incoming mail and will take longer to be forwarded.

You can also write to our Ombudsman, Alicia Shepard. She can be reached here.

There is now also a “Save BPP” Facebook Group.

Do it. Get up out of your easy chair and do it now. If you haven't heard this brilliant show yet, go to the website and check out a few stories. You don't know what you're missing. Check it out now before it's too late.

A Moment of Silence

Steve Gilliard is dead.

He was 42 years old.

I never met the man, yet I found myself tearing up at my keyboard yesterday when I read the news. I was one of his readers, and I felt like I knew something about him. He wrote prolifically - exhaustively - on his site The News Blog. He blogged about politics and ancient war history. He blogged about spaceship-shaped rice cookers and recipes for everything from chicken to cornbread. He mercilessly attacked the Yankees ("fuck the fucking Yankees" will be his virtual epitaph, immortalized by a foul-mouthed teddy bear given him by his blogging partner, Jen). He praised Manchester United and wrote enthusiastically and intelligently about soccer. He wrote about race better and with more energy than anyone else I've seen.

No, I never met Steve. But I knew him. I thought of him as a friend. He was really more of a virtual mentor. He showed me what was possible with a single blog, a supportive audience, and raw passion. When he fell ill, months ago, his readers literally took over the blog. Jen wrote some posts and heroically kept the blog running, but it fell upon his other online friends - dozens of friends, acquaintances, and fellow bloggers - to submit guest posts and keep the site filled with content.

I was lucky enough to have one of my posts accepted to Steve's blog. It felt silly and trivial, my little smartass post in there amongst all the brilliant political commentary and analysis. I felt like an elf among giants. But I was proud to be there, to be doing my part to keep the site running until Gilly came back.

He's not coming back. And I don't know what's going to happen to the site. It will never be the same. It might become a super blog a la HuffPo, but it'll never be Gilly's blog again. No one could possibly replace him. He was a force of nature.

Raise your glasses, folks. Here's to Gilly.

And here's to Jen, who kept me and everyone else informed on Gilly's health, until his family intervened and asked that the details be kept private. She honored their wishes, rightly so. When the final word came down, Jen shared it with everyone, dimming the virtual lights on the blog in tribute. Thanks for everything, Jen.

And oh yes. Fuck the fucking Yankees.