On Monday, the actual date of IWillDare.com’s 17th anniversary, I only remembered the event for about 10 minutes over lunch. Then I got swept away in the Scaramucci news and freezing some green beans. You can see how these things happen.
Most of yesterday was dedicated to hanging out with Jaycie & Walter and unclogging the kitchen sink. Pro tip: don’t shove two quarts of green bean tips down your garbage disposal. It will not end well for you. Or it will, but it will take like 18 hours filled with googling variations of “how to unclog garbage disposal without dumping poison down the drain;” swearing; plunging; and a sort of magical thinking that involves wondering how long until the vegetable bits rot and then slide down the drain in a stinky fermented slime.
It’s fitting that I started with this sort of mundane bullshit, because that’s exactly what I was blogging about seventeen years ago, when I got my first cell phone. FYI: I still use my cellphone to talk to Kari aka BFK, though I would never actually call her. We text now, like civilized people.
So. . . SEVENTEEN YEARS OF BLOGGING.
How did this happen? Seventeen is a number of years that I can’t quite comprehend.
First of all, my writing voice in 2000? BARF. Super Barf with a side of barf and smothered in barf. So cloying. So self-aware. SO NOT MY ACTUAL VOICE ANYMORE. I kind of want to die of embarrassment. One should never have to deal with who they were seventeen years ago lest we die of humiliation and wanting to strangle our own annoying selves from the past.
I spend a lot of time trying to figure out what compels me to come here to type words into this box and send them out into the ether where they might wash up on someone’s digital shore. Why do I continue to send these little messages in a bottle*? Especially now, when the chances of anyone seeing them are so slim?
Fuck if I know.
What I do know is that having someone see it was never the point. I didn’t start I Will Dare to gain a following or find an audience for my thoughts or to brand myself. Though I’m still waiting for that sweet, sweet Nutter Butter sponsorship to come in. Seventeen fucking years of begging for Nutter Butters and so far, nothing. What gives Nabisco?
As I’ve said about 783 times, I started doing this because I wanted to. I keep coming here because I want to. I wish I would make time for this because writing here makes me feel good about myself. It makes me feel like I’m doing something and not just waiting around for death while watching “The Office” for the 982nd time. Writing here feels like I’m creating something and putting it out into the world, which I guess I am.
Nobody writes personal blogs anymore and they haven’t for quite some time. I really miss the golden age of “nobody cares what you had for lunch” blogging. I miss when people would tell you about that lunch and not just show you a picture of it on Instagram (though I do like the Instagram pics, I just want words too).
Now people just post every thing to social media it flitters by in an instant and is quickly forgotten.
Or they send Tiny Letters, which is blogging via email, I guess. So far, in my experience, people want you to subscribe to their Tiny Letters and then they write three before abandoning it. I’m not sure what the allure is. It reminds me of this tweet from Matt Haughey.
Blogging gave a billion people their own typewriter but turns out 15yrs later everyone prefers writing at 3 typewriter factories instead. 😕
— Matt Haughey ❤️❤️💛 (@mathowie) June 4, 2016
I Will Dare is my typewriter and while I never thought I’d be using it for seventeen years now I can’t seem to see a time where I wouldn’t use it.
*My favorite Police song, by the way.