“In case you were unaware… asking permission to write about you in my blog is just a courtesy. I cite the first amendment, public domain, and the fair use limitation. Have a nice day.”
— Auntie Social, roller derby athlete with East Bay Roller Derby
Mr. Wright has taken to saying, when he does something particularly humiliating, “You can’t blog about this!” As if I would do anything to embarrass my darling husband. Okay, maybe I would. But – to slaughter an American Express slogan – “bloggership has its privileges.”
I’m not a journalist, so please don’t look to my book or blog for fair, balanced reporting on the things that happen to or around me. Like my namesake (Hunter S. Thompson, the original Gonzo McGonzopants), I can’t help but give my slant on events.
Perhaps Mr. Wright needs to start his own blog.
It’s powerful stuff, blogging. People have actually said to Mr. Wright, “Please don’t tell your wife about this. I’d hate to have her blog about it,” thus inferring I have absolutely no common sense or a shred of prudence. I actually do try to use a modicum of grace and self-censorship when deciding what to blog:
Mr. Editor excluded, of course.
There was one guy, an anti-fan I call Doctor Grumpenstein, who sent Mr. Wright a scathing message on Facebook after I blogged about another guy openly cheating on his wife at a convention. He told Mr. Wright I was an embarrassment, and the only thing anyone should be ashamed of was my decision to blog about what I’d witnessed. It basically made me cry, the way I do when Cantina runs out of Southern Comfort.
Then, I checked my blog hits. The thousands and thousands of hits were still there, and I was receiving an inbox full of emails, thanking me for speaking out against infidelity. Doctor Grumpenstein was totally wrong when he declared “no one” reads my “tabloid of a blog.”
Perhaps Doctor Grumpenstein needs to start his own blog, too. He can blog about bloggers who are blogging about things that shouldn’t be blogged about. Heck, I’d read that!
If I know you in real life or online, there’s a chance I might blog about you. If I see you out in public, you might find yourself in one of my posts. If you tell me, “You can’t blog about this,” there’s an increased probability I will do just that. If I share a bed or a dinner table with you, you can bank on being given a codename and your very own “tag.”
I’m thinking of changing my book marketing pitch to: If you don’t buy my book, I will blog about you. What’s your privacy worth? Ten bucks or more? I do take orders online.
— Auntie Social, roller derby athlete with East Bay Roller Derby
Mr. Wright has taken to saying, when he does something particularly humiliating, “You can’t blog about this!” As if I would do anything to embarrass my darling husband. Okay, maybe I would. But – to slaughter an American Express slogan – “bloggership has its privileges.”
I’m not a journalist, so please don’t look to my book or blog for fair, balanced reporting on the things that happen to or around me. Like my namesake (Hunter S. Thompson, the original Gonzo McGonzopants), I can’t help but give my slant on events.
Perhaps Mr. Wright needs to start his own blog.
It’s powerful stuff, blogging. People have actually said to Mr. Wright, “Please don’t tell your wife about this. I’d hate to have her blog about it,” thus inferring I have absolutely no common sense or a shred of prudence. I actually do try to use a modicum of grace and self-censorship when deciding what to blog:
- Will my kids require therapy if I post this?
- Will Mr. Wright divorce me?
- Will the FBI show up at my door?
- How about CPS?
Mr. Editor excluded, of course.
There was one guy, an anti-fan I call Doctor Grumpenstein, who sent Mr. Wright a scathing message on Facebook after I blogged about another guy openly cheating on his wife at a convention. He told Mr. Wright I was an embarrassment, and the only thing anyone should be ashamed of was my decision to blog about what I’d witnessed. It basically made me cry, the way I do when Cantina runs out of Southern Comfort.
Then, I checked my blog hits. The thousands and thousands of hits were still there, and I was receiving an inbox full of emails, thanking me for speaking out against infidelity. Doctor Grumpenstein was totally wrong when he declared “no one” reads my “tabloid of a blog.”
Perhaps Doctor Grumpenstein needs to start his own blog, too. He can blog about bloggers who are blogging about things that shouldn’t be blogged about. Heck, I’d read that!
If I know you in real life or online, there’s a chance I might blog about you. If I see you out in public, you might find yourself in one of my posts. If you tell me, “You can’t blog about this,” there’s an increased probability I will do just that. If I share a bed or a dinner table with you, you can bank on being given a codename and your very own “tag.”
I’m thinking of changing my book marketing pitch to: If you don’t buy my book, I will blog about you. What’s your privacy worth? Ten bucks or more? I do take orders online.
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