Ah the baby New Year, welcome child. We hope you are far superior to that loser geriatric son of bitch with the 2012 sash hanging across his frail old body. So buoyed was I by the prospect of starting anew, I went to a house party. Wherein I was the oldest person in attendance and one of the only ones without a date. Awk-Ward.
But I was introduced by the merciful host to a snappy looking young lady as “my friend I told you about who writes on the Internet,” at which point a discussion of journalism and new media websites ensued. She asked me if I was the Daily Kos guy who writes about science “What’s your name there, the Dark One or something …?”. It was one of my many tens of tepid fans!
I could tell she was a cutie despite the obstacles erected by both of our weaknesses; my penchant for good margaritas and her obvious torrid love affair with facial shrapnel and neon hair coloring. Or maybe I was attracted to her because of those things, I don’t know, it turns out it doesn’t matter. A big strapping lad came up, towering over both of his in his buff manliness, put his arm around his wife, and asked me if I was DarkSyde.
Well, what do you say? It’s a stupid name I came up with ‘lo these many blog years ago, when blogs demanded such things to create an account. Had I known of the long, glorious climb to Internet mediocrity in store at the time I would have chosen something better. Like BladeShredder or LadiesMan217. Alas, the opportunities lost.
But when you’re outed by a large, drunk, and clearly in shape person, there is always the chance a heated political argument followed by an invitation to an ass kicking might develop. You may have met someone who actually knows your stuff, or you may have met the homeowner’s teabagger buddy who heard someone from the Great Orange Satan was in the room. The kind of guy who fondles his AR-15 bushmaster every night before bed and calls it Lilith, the person who begins their email with a freshly created fake address and an opener along the lines of ‘Dear Liberal Fuckstick, if I ever meet you in person I’m gonna …’
For a second I thought that was the case. Because this lady’s man stepped right into my personal space and wrapped his arms around me. I could feel my new ulcer complain immediately. But he quickly lifted me off the ground in a giant bear hug telling me how much he loves Daily Kos. And me.
I take it as a sign for the New Year. Not that the bar is high. Short of being diagnosed with a terminal disease, it’s hard to imagine how baby 2013 could grow up to be worse than that ancient geezer SoB 2012. A year gone by that saw me several times without enough money in my checking account to go to Taco Bell, or collecting pennies to get a coke. It started lousy and I literally spent the last week of it nearly doubled over in pain from an apparent duodenal ulcer (It finally begin to let up last night and so far today, it’s OK). It sucked. I’m sorry if it was a great year for you, but over on this side of the keyboard it truly did suck. I’m glad it’s behind me. Here’s hoping 2013 will be an improvement for all of us.