Okay, quick look around: it's been 5 months since my last post. There's a layer of dust everywhere, the couch feels damp, and the carrots in the fridge could be used for macrame . . . Still, it's good to be back.
My last post (look up!) was in December. I'd been posting for almost five years, had just hit 1000 posts, and wasn't feeling it anymore. The zeitgeist has passed. Stacey wasn't posting anymore, neither was receptionista, the hamstress and worse than that . . . we weren't reading 'em when they did. Hell, I haven't checked in on Mimi Smartypants or Dooce since the first of the year. Somewhere in Utah, there's a five year old girl who's parents are now going to have a tough time funding the years of therapy it will take for their daughter to recover from having her every toddler poop documented.
Now we have FaceBook. I waded in up to my armpits, made lists like a character cut from a Nick Hornby novel, took quizes telling me that I have way too much in common with Kevin Perri, and have reconnected with a few old friends I regret letting drift away (Hey Hopper!). All in all, I've been having a great time with it. Right up until we did List Five Celebrities You've Met List.
As with most things, personal rudder Mrs. Recker made me realize that we were cheating ourselves. Lisa put up five and it was like reading an abridged version of the bible on a Bazooka Joe comic. I've sat on her deck and spent hours listening to the stories, way more than five, of celebrities she's met and seeing those great experiences reduced to a couple hundred pixels . . . it left a void. Zoe and Vincent make me tell them stories- over and over I tell them stories. There's something basic in our desire to hear and tell them, something FaceBook (and god help us, Twitter) kind of cheat from us.
So, I'm back to posting for now, because I like stories. It's that simple.
Go in Peace