Today's blog is dedicated to Hastings, my old co-worker who for months kept telling me to put a comments capability on the blog. It went. A little something. Like this.
May.
Hastings: "I read your Africa blog. You should put comments on your blog."
Ness: "You should tell everyone in New York that we need more Africa stories."
Comments will make your blog a more collaborative experience.
I don't know anything about programming. That ideas is out the do'.
You should do it. I gotta go finish a story.
Yeah, I gotta go finish a book.
August.
Hastings: "It's my birthday"
Ness: "Sweet sixteen already?"
H: Twenty-three. One year outta college, and I'm already working on my first cover story.
(Mimicking Hastings by repeating what he says in the voice of a crazy old woman) Mum mear mutta mummage and um malready murking on my murst muver mory!
Yep!
Eh.
But your blog's an interesting read.
Well it outta be. I'm gonna go public with it any day now and then I'll need giant foam hands to hold all my cash.
But you should put comments on.
You should run out and get a job with that big glossy cover story before you drive yourself into a professional cul-de-sac. Before the inevitable stench of desperation settles over your wardrobe.
October.
Hastings: There's this new study out that says a repetitive drinking shrinks your brain, even in small quantities.
Ness: Shrink my brain, schmur... Schmur... Shrinks my brains, shimmerinks my brain.
H: Maybe laying off the slurry sauce would help the development of your ideas or the clarity of your writing.
N: I'm always in favor listening to the scientists.
H: You know who I listen to? Eminem.
N: He seems a bit the bigoted ass to me.
H: Yeah, a lot of old people feel that way. They don't get the hip-hop.
N: (Mimics what Hastings just said in a Big Dumb Guy Voice) Uh, a loota ode poople fooh duh way. Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuuhh!
H: Which is strange, when you think about it. Since rap is like 20 years old. But I think a lot of raisins were just hoping Nirvana and Pearl Jam would stay popular forever.
N: ....
H: There was a time when people thought Foreigner and Boston would be popular forever too.
November.
H: "Hey, my cover story ran this week."
N: "Hey, I just had tilapia and raw dough for dinner for the eighth meal in a row."
Does tilapia smell like desperation?
December.
H: "I checked out your blog the other day. It reminded me of a piece in the New Yorker about hip-hop lingo in Africa. You should read that story."
N: "Whatever. My blog tears the New Yorker a new poo exit every morning. Proper."
H: Did you know that when you get a cover story, Newsweek lets you dip yourself in the corporate Lazarus Pool, exposure to which renders you young forever?
< ElmerFudd > Oooooh... < /ElmerFudd >
You should put comments on the blog.
* * * * * * *
So I gave in to the relentless youthful charm and activated the comments. And the response has been overwhelming (See also: December 4: "test.")
Why was I tenative about putting the comments funtion on? Because I know you people. You are flop-a-doo clownsacks. Wouldn't matter if you were locked in McDonald's Playland with a Nintendo system, pots and pans, an EZ-Bake oven, a chocolate bar, a jar of peanut butter, and "I Got My Mind Set On You" blasting on the radio: you dumpuses still couldn't make your own fun.
A curse upon you! As your lives continue their tailspin toward submediocrity, I wish self-awareness upon you all. Cowardly fence-sitters, resume your wasted existences! Back to work, crapsacks!
