Terrible Analogies

There’s nothing quite like witnessing the slow death of a once great blog.  And the slow decay of a blog as it slides into disuse and obscurity is like watching the physical decline of a good friend.

As it often happens, you stumble across a blog by happenstance, or are referred to it from a link on an existing blog.  An interesting article is posted, and you make the extra effort to post a comment.  Said blogger then does you a solid by posting a comment on your blog.  And as the weeks and months roll on this action is repeated, a certain sort of familiarity and raport is formed, and a vague, distant friendship is born.  E-mails might even be exchanged as ideas are banded back and forth regarding a wide range of esoteric topics that are the bread and butter for bloggers.

This, my friends, is the very essence of blogging. And much like driving a car, blogging is not a spectator sport.  There’s a certain amount of personal investment that goes into the creation and maintenance of a blog that posts updates on a reliable schedule.  Consistent readers who regularly comment become noticed.  You then begin to follow other blogs.   You link to them, and they recriprocate.

Then, one day, you notice that they haven’t posted an update to their blog in days.  Days turn to weeks.  Sometimes a half-hearted posting is published, followed perhaps by another in a week’s time.  Then, ultimately…nothing.

You might send an e-mail asking if they’re alright.  Perhaps they’re focusing their energies on another blog?  Sometimes you receive a reply back, but sometimes you don’t.

And that’s it; the death of a blog.

You saw the warning signs.  You silently hoped that that person was simply too busy with work or family to post, or if you’re lucky then they’re just extremely sick and on death’s door but will eventually get back to their blog just as soon as the doctors cure whatever near-fatal disease has them twitching in their death throes.  But more often than not, they simply drop off the face of the Earth, never to return.

You’re reminded of how great their blog once was every time you glance at the link you placed on your blogroll.  Sure, they haven’t updated their blog in months, but you have yet to delete the link, perhaps hoping for a renewal.  A rise from the ashes.  A glorious return to their posting heyday when ideas flowed and comment count numbers were high.

But, deep in your heart, you know that’s most likely not going to happen.

Losing a blog is like losing a friend.

It’s a shame, but it’s the cycle of blogging life.  You’ll get over it.  Eventually.

And so, to all those blogs that have gone before me, here’s tip of the glass and a hope that you’ll start another blog in the near future.

Who knows…perhaps all they needed was a new template to get them back into the swing of things?

One of the coolest versions of Depeche Mode’s song Everything Counts. Ever.

Dig the kids in the background.  Here’s hoping that our Tyler grows up to be just as cool. We often catch him dancing to songs he hears on the television, and he enjoys the music his old man pumps through iTunes, so confidence is high that he’ll at least grow up to appreciate music…

Five Minute Fiction is an ongoing experiment. The goal: To write as much as I can in five minutes.  Don’t think.  Let the fingers do the work.  Once done, walk away then come back later to clean it up.

Enjoy!

Golden Years

Maggie grips the contoured handles of the wheelchair tightly as she guides it underneath the softly swaying shade trees.  The Parkinson’s had sunk itself deep into her husband, and for the past three years he rarely ventured out of this infernal wheeled beast.  Scarce were the days when he was conscious enough to show any sort of recognition, but on those days, when glimmers of his former beautiful personality emerged, she never left his side.

He was now on a diet of baby food, and last week the doctors took him off his medication, claiming that they were no longer doing him any good.  Maggie knew this day would eventually arrive, but the news still came as a terrible shock.

Her once striking blue eyes were now grey, macular, and perpetually Saran-wrapped in tears.

But today was one of the increasingly rare good days where, in the final stage of this damned disease, her husband was cognizant and the tremors not as severe.  Today they talked, laughed, and kissed.  And today, with tiny, careful steps, she pushes the shell of her husband through the park where they first met.

She: Smiling through her tears.

He: Doing his best to direct her with a shaking hand.

Together they stroll, skirting the great lawn, watching families playing and young couples lounging on blankets.  In the sky brightly colored kites flew, doing their best to avoid the occasional balloon that had slipped itself free from young clenched fists.  They walked past the stands selling ice cream cones and lemonade, over the footbridge where they first kissed those many years ago, and under the long green canopy avenue of leaves where Maggie watched the sunlight dance like playful sprites on her husband’s cheeks.

With him prompting they hopped up a curb, rounded the corner, and were lost to sight from the park.  Alone, they made their way around the small fountain where they proclaimed their love for the first time, then turned on to the hard packed earthen trail that would lead them into a dense forest of oak and birch trees.

Ahead, they could hear the rushing waters of the Samsanee where trout still swam and great moss-covered logs could be used to cross the raging current if one was young and brave enough to try.

Pausing, she lovingly brushes his cheek.

He grabs her hand and kisses it.

Together, they head for the river’s edge.

I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.

Behind their cute eyes, soft fur, and playful exteriors beats the conniving heart of a stone cold killer.

(turn up your speakers a bit for this one)

I’ma scared.

Rare are the times when I indulge in fast food. I know it’s too fattening, high in sodium, and sprinkled with more than a fair amount of extraneous byproducts.

But I do love a good burger.

Last month I caved in and visited Burger King for lunch.  It wasn’t a case of, “Man, I could go for a burger,” but rather, “I either get a burger or I bludgeon my co-workers to death with a dull Sharpie.”  You know…a need as opposed to a want.

And so I stepped out of the office under the guise of “I need to help a tech guy across the hall with a problem”, jumped into my car and hit the drive-thru.  I get back to my desk and unwrap my “burger”, only to discover that I’ve been duped.  Had.  Conned.  Swindled, even.

What I paid for was a hamburger.  What I received was an overcooked chicken sandwich.

Needless to say, I was crushed.  So distraught was I that I wrote Burger King a letter decrying their staff, their integrity, and I believe I might have even debased somebody’s mother in one of the later, longer-winded paragraphs.

Hitting the SEND button I felt a bit better about the situation.  I still was not fully healed from the traumatic experience, but the cathartic exercise helped to negate some of the more hostile feelings I was harboring.

Last week I received a response from Burger King.  It wasn’t in the form of e-mail, but an actual letter.  Along with the letter was a coupon for a free hamburger.

Through this ordeal I’ve learned a very valuable lesson; If you insult somebody’s mother, you get free stuff.