WHAT? ONE WHOLE YEAR, ALREADY?

Hard to believe that the first post on Blog d’Elisson went up a year ago today.

That’s one full year of steaming Bull-Shit, served forth in regular lashings to an unsuspecting Bloggy-Sphere. Six hundred and eighty four posts. Gawd only knows how many words…or late-night hours. (Gawd only knows how patient SWMBO is with all this Time-Wastage, too.)

Family stories. Recipes. Anecdotes. Daily life. Natural disasters. Holidays, both Jewish and secular. Political rants, most of which are left-of-center, but all of which (hopefully) avoid the twin pitfalls of wingnuttery and moonbattery. Cat pictures. Other pictures. Life cycle events. Golf. Vacations. The Minyan Boyz. Eating and drinking. And turds. Let’s not forget them (or their punchbowls), shall we? That’s a whole lotta crap, Esteemed Readers.

What we do here in Bloggy-World is much like standing on soapboxes in Hyde Park, shouting and blithering at the top of our respective lungs – and hoping someone will stop and listen. And, strange as it may be, it’s fun. Perhaps the best part of all this relentless Bloggy Activity is that I have found a whole world of intelligent and articulate people out there, whose writings and rantings I devour in great gusts. Even more surprising, there are people out there who Actually Read This Stuff. Who’d ’a’ thunk it?

I’ve talked to some of you – hell, I’ve even met a few of you in Meat-World. Real Life. You know who you are.

I read and enjoy your comments. All of ’em. I’ve been fortunate in being below the Spammer Radar, and trolls have never been an issue here – kayn ayin hora. Maybe I just don’t piss enough people off. (Should I try harder?)

I’ve written for other venues, including the late, lamented Dear Abby Is Full Of Crap site (don’t bother looking for it), Virtual Occoquan, Lair Simon’s Dead Pool, and a few guest shots here and there. Hosted a Carnival, got an Instalanche (whoop-de-fucking doo).

I still feel honored when someone adds me to their blogroll...tall dawg or no.

A blog at the ripe old age of one year is a lot like a human baby. Still crawling around, dependent on the kindness of others, filling its diaper, with a life of Unfulfilled Potential ahead of it…as long as it keeps its little Wee-Wee out of the light sockets.

It’s been a slice, Esteemed Readers. Thank you for visiting…and I hope to see more of y’all in the coming year.