Today was the Jewish holiday of Tisha B’Av.  It isn’t a holiday that most American Jews celebrate, probably because it is the saddest holiday of the Jewish calendar, and it occurs in the middle of the summer when the sun is shining and the beaches are open.   Jews have never been good at scheduling.

It is a day of fasting, one of mourning for the destruction of the first and second temples in Jerusalem, as well as all the awful things that have befallen the Jewish people.  And there are a lot of them.  The Book of Lamentations is read in temple.   In Sephardic communities, it is customary to read the Book of Job.

At first, I forgot it was Tisha B’Av.  That is, until I took a walk to Main Street to get a bagel, and discovered that the kosher bagel store closed.  This section of Main Street has a sizeable Orthodox population.  I immediately noticed a group of Orthodox men, looking somber in their black coats, walking to temple.  They passed the public library.  In front of the library were laughing kids playing “tag.”  They were shouting and chasing after each other, the energy of childhood in the air.

“You’re it!  You’re it.” one kid screamed and laughed.

It was quite a contrast — the somber men in black hats on the saddest day of the Jewish calendar and the joyous, wild children playing their game.

Online, my virtual life occurs at breakneck speeds, much faster than the ones I notice on Main Street.  It is impossible for me to see contrasts that rush by on my monitor.  My brain cannot work that fast.  On Twitter, I follow “friends,” each reporting on their fast-paced lives in a chaotic mess of the sublime and the repetitive. 

Last week, a blogger “twittered” that his sister had just died.  A few responded with condolences, but within seconds, a new thread was growing on the subject of “Do You Think You Can Dance?”  In a nanosecond, we all switched gears, onto the new topic, and the death of this woman was knocked off the page, into the unseen digital archives.

Unlike the visual contrast of the mourning Orthodox Jews and the playing kids, both human beings expressing the flip sides of  daily life — sad and happy — there is little to grab onto in a virtual world.  There are just bits of information, equally important and equally irrelevant.

When I see the rate of data flow online, it occurs to me that one day, my final moments will be announced on Twitter, and it will last about ten seconds before the subject matter is changed.  That’s a depressing thought.  Am I so inconsequential, another minor subject equal in value to someone’s lunch or the latest category on Alltop?

Megan of the Velveteen Mind wrote an interesting post last week about “blogging rockstars.”  She suggests that this is a silly concept — we are all regular folk, writing in our underwear, from Dooce to the newbie.  I’d like to approach this subject in another way.  Rather than dragging the Dooces of the world to the level of the guy in his underwear eating Cheerios from the box, why not say everyone has potential rockstar talent just like Dooce?   I know, it sounds like bullshit, but isn’t that the point of the whole bloggers’ interview experiment?   If you end up being a blip on Twitter as your final moments scroll off the page — and it will happen that way — why not make believe that you are a rockstar while you are here? 

I am a rockstar.  I don’t need anyone to tell me that I am.  I write.  Perfect.  I wouldn’t be able to write a word if I didn’t think — deep in my heart — that I had something special to say.  Why bother writing then?  I could be jumping rope or watching porn!  So, instead, I write this blog, making believe that I am a blogging rockstar.   And if you tell me that you’re a rockstar, I will think of you as one, too.

Today’s guest post is written by the Boston-based Rhea of The Boomer Chronicles.  I like her blog because even though it is more informational than most of the other blogs I read, she writes it with humor (and I agree with most of her politics).  I think you’ll see how her style works well with this piece of writing. Rhea and I have a lot in common.  We are both Jewish screenwriters who are attracted to women.   Thank you, Rhea, for cleverly tackling this impossible assignment (even if you did leave out the part about what you would make him for dinner — but maybe that will be in the sequel!)

“How I Would Explain the Internet to John Adams”
by Rhea

FADE IN

EXT. Carpenters’ Hall, a stately brick building in the city of Philadelphia, August 1775

INT. Grown men in white wigs, about 30 in number, are gathered in a room furnished with wooden chairs, long tables, and a lectern. There is a DIN in the hall as the men heartily greet each other.

SERGEANT-AT-ARMS: Hear ye, hear ye! 

A gavel POUNDS the lectern.

SERGEANT-AT-ARMS: The Second Continental Congress is now called to order!

The men slowly shuffle to their seats. Soon, one man rises. It is Mr. John Adams.

JOHN ADAMS: Esteemed members of Congress, you are probably wondering why I’ve asked you all here today. (RIMSHOT!) Besides the necessity of determining the future status of our fledgling government, we have a guest speaker.

GROANS all around.

JOHN ADAMS: Gentlemen, please. Our visitor has traveled a long distance to be with us. In fact, he has traveled from two and a half centuries hence.

An agitated MURMUR ripples through the crowd.

JOHN RUTLEDGE: Two and a half centuries? What were you smoking at Harvard, Mr. Adams?

JOHN ADAMS: Mr. Rutledge, I assure you, I am in full possession of my faculties, and all of my senses, to boot. (RIMSHOT!)

EDWARD BIDDLE: But Mr. Adams, it is imperative we resolve the Tobacco Act and the Stamp Act today, as well as the Class Act and the Third Act.

JOHN ADAMS: I implore you, gentlemen. Lend your ear to our speaker, for he brings news that I am certain will cheer you.

More MURMURS.

A deafening clap of THUNDER sounds outside the windows. Inside, a blinding SPOTLIGHT illuminates the double-doored entrance to the hall. The doors swing open. A man enters wearing a pale blue leisure suit and Woody Allen-type glasses. He is lugging a rolling cart upon which some objects are concealed by a cloth. He guides the cart to the center of the room. Behind him enter a three-piece BAND whose members all sport yarmulkes, a CATERER pushing a refreshment table featuring a whiskey sour fountain and bubbling pot of Brunswick stew, and a PHOTOGRAPHER with a camera bag and two cameras. The band explodes in a lively rendition of “Winchester Cathedral.” The Congressmen rise to fill their plates at the buffet table and then take their seats.

The lights DIM. The VISITOR whips the cloth off a machine. A screen silently descends from the ceiling and a PowerPoint show commences. The Congressmen GASP and SHOUT in astonishment.

The gavel POUNDS.

SERGEANT-AT-ARMS: Order! Order! Come to order!

The Visitor begins his show.

VISITOR: When we became aware of the troubles you were having hammering out the foundation of our country, we decided to time-travel back to offer you three indispensable tools. First–

The slide reveals an image of a prescription bottle.

VISITOR: Viagra. Mr. Adams, you have traditionally provided saltpeter to men of the Continental Army, but believe me, an erection lasting longer than four hours can pretty much have the same effect.

The next PowerPoint slide reveals a patriot in a running suit.

The Congressman MURMUR.

VISITOR: Second, we have Lycra. Have your wives add stretchy waistbands to your britches. You won’t have to replace them as often.

More MURMURS.

The third slide shows a desktop computer.

VISITOR: Finally, we have a little something called the Internet. If you take Ben Franklin’s electricity, combine it with Pascal’s Principles and Heisenberg’s Hypothesis, you get the modern-day Internet.

The Congressmen look puzzled.

VISITOR: Oh, trust me, you don’t really need to know how it works. You just need to know about this: Wikipedia. You see, it’s an encyclopedia. But the beauty of it is that — unlike other encyclopedias — the facts it contains can be altered at any time. Don’t like your biography? Change it! Have you been a traitor? A heavy drinker? A slave owner? It doesn’t matter! You can rewrite history any way you’d like, and at any time you choose.

RUTLEDGE: Mr. Samuel Adams could most certainly take advantage of that. His imbibing is legendary!

Sam blushes. Hearty LAUGHTER all around.

VISITOR: Sooooo, guys. Whaddya think?

JOHN ADAMS: I move to nominate this man a delegate to Congress.

The assembled Congressmen rise in unison with their whiskey sours aloft.

ALL: Hear! Hear!

EXT. Carpenters’ Hall. Its bells CHIME and CHIME.

FADE TO BLACK

Good morning,  guest posters.   Here are your topics for next week.   Do us proud!   Email your work to me when it is done.   Like hell I trust you with my blog’s password.

Monday

“How I Would Explain the Internet to John Adams (And What I Would Cook Him For Dinner)”
by Rhea of The Boomer Chronicles

Tuesday

“I Woke Up Today with a Penis!  Can my Marriage Survive?”  
by Marinka of Motherhood in NYC

Wednesday

“If I Could Only Bring One Carry-On Luggage to Heaven — What Will Be Inside?” 
by CharmingDriver of Charming Bitch

Thursday

“What I Can Teach Neil abut Making a Women Really Really Happy” 
by Linsey of Uncouth Heathen

Friday

“My First Day as the Chicago Cubs New Mascot To Attract More Gay Men to the Park– the Chicago Red Hot”  
by Fort Knocks of Impatiens

Since I seem to be having a mild nervous breakdown online ranting about everything under the sun, there is only one solution: get offline for a week!

I have never had any guest posters before on my blog. But you are in luck. I have arranged for FIVE of the finest and most popular bloggers to take my place on Citizen of the Month next week, all of them extremely well-respected and well-loved for their wit and wisdom. I am truly honored to have them replace me here at my home.

Starting at 1PM EST (10AM PST) today - THIS MEANS #1 WILL BE  THE FIRST PERSON TO COMMENT AT 1PM, NOT THE FIRST COMMENT IN THE MORNING — July 31st, the first five people FROM THAT POINT — new readers included — who write this comment — “I want to guest post on Citizen of the Month” will have the opportunity to write guest posts here next week.

But beware: I will be choosing your topic.

My head was spinning from all the posts, and twitters, and comments over the weekend about the BlogHer article  in the Style section of the New York Times.  Most of the discussions were similar:

“Why do male bloggers get into the Business and Technology section while women bloggers are relegated to the Style page?”

There were numerous mentions of the patriarchial society, about how men are taken seriously and how women are belittled as mere mommybloggers.  Some women said that they were proud of their “girl” interests — it enabled them to start online businesses and to be courted by companies.  But — these women naturally wanted to be taken as seriously as the male bloggers who get into the Wall Street Journal.

I agree.  I’m all for an equal playing field.   Yea, women!   Is there any blogger out there who loves women more than me?  But many of the comments that I read — particularly by women — made me depressed.

First of all, I live in this patriarchal society, just like everyone else.  I have to deal with the stereotypes — the fact that technology, business, and politics are considered serious and manly pursuits.  How many self-deprecating jokes did I have to make on Twitter this weekend to hide the fact that I loved “Mamma Mia?”  While mommybloggers set up successful online networks, I have to explain to my male friends what I do as a blogger.  If I didn’t make up some practical reason — “hey, maybe I’ll get laid by one of the hot ones” — they would think I am wasting my time.

“How much money do you make on your blog” asked a friend recently.

“Uh, nothing.”

Weird looks of disdain.   I can’t even say I got even a free wii, like so many of you.

The patriarchial society affects me.

My readership is 90% women.  Why?  Because most men don’t give a crap about what my mother made for dinner last night.  Men read and write blogs about technology and business and politics.  These are the worthy pursuits for men.   To most men — there are the professionals and there are the hobbyists.  This is a clearcut hieararchy as tightly controlled as who gets into Guy Kawasaki’s private party at BlogHer.

What I found surprising this weekend was that so many women seem to think the same way.

Every time I saw a female blogger write the expression “male blogger” this weekend, it was a code name for “tech” or “political” bloggers like Techcrunch or Daily Kos.  It was as if these female bloggers had the exact same viewpoint about male blogging as the New York Times.  While “Female Blogging” represented a wide range of views, from writing about shoes, knitting, to talking politics, “male blogging” was still dressed in a suit and tie.   I read the term “male bloggers” countless times, not once described in a way that includes me.

Come on ladies, I know you are trying to win some power for yourself, but don’t use rhetoric that diminishes me.  Don’t say ”male bloggers” when you really mean male tech bloggers or male business bloggers.

I am a male blogger.

Give men the freedom to expand their horizons in the same way you want for yourselves.   As for the male tech and business blogger out there, I am an equal to them in every way as a “male.”  In fact, please remind the writers of Techcrunch that most of my female readers would probably f*ck me before any of them.

Tell that to the New York Times Style section.

Cath’s reaction to this post.

Erin at the Huffington Post on the NY Times article issue.

Daily Kos on the issue.

Pop and Politics talks to the New York Times about the issue.

A man’s POV who doesn’t understand personal blogging.

Her Bad Mother smartly puts the misogynists in their place.

A dad blogger who thinks it is time to have a conference with other dads.

Six month ago, I was annoyed with the blogosphere.  Bloggers were talking about their blogrolls.  Who was on it.   Who was not on it.   Who was cool?   Who was being followed?   Some were busy promoting themselves or campaigning for meaningless blog awards.   I started blogging to get away from that sort of crap.   If I wanted to write in a competitive environment, I would write a book, a magazine article, or a screenplay — and get PAID for it.

Blogging was supposed to be something different.

To steal an idea from the recent BlogHer conference in San Francisco, the RADICAL part of blogging is that anyone can do it.  Blogging was not supposed to be for the winners of the world, but for every other nutcase who wanted to express himself, for every frustrated writer too lazy to write a book.   A place where I could write about anything, and no one could shut me up.   That is as revolutionary as Guttenberg’s Bible.

“The Great Interview Experiment” was a simple idea.  One person would interview the next person in the comments, creating a chain.  The connections would be random.  A-list bloggers would be interviewed by a newbie who could hardly string two sentences together.  This would strip us all of any hierarchy.  We would be celebrating the medium and our common bond — blogging about our personal lives.   In the personal blogging world, we are all interesting, all worthy of being interviewed.  The experiment did not require any conference panels of blogging “rockstars,” private parties sponsored by websites isolating all the ”top” blogs from the run-of-the-mill ones, or closing keynote speeches by bloggers that everyone has known for years.

This was the other side of blogging.  The one where everyone is on an equal playing field, and it didn’t matter who you knew, how many comments you had, or even how well you wrote.  And NO corporate sponsors.

Although the interviews have slowed to a drizzle, there are still new people doing it.  As for the rest of you…

Some have closed their blogs.  Some have changed the urls.  Some switched interview partners.  A good many of you never got interviewed or copped out on doing your interview.   I knew you would forget if I didn’t kvetch about it to you like a nagging mother!

If you still want to be interviewed, sign up HERE.  If you never got hold of your interviewer the first time, and you still want to be interviewed, just email me and I’ll find you a new blogger

I really appreciate everyone who has so far participated.  And there have been a lot!  I would be lying if I said I read every one of your interviews.  You’re all interesting, but not THAT INTERESTING.  I hope the experiment has helped you realize how much you have to offer in your own “brand” of storytelling and experience.

As I mentioned, six month have passed since the start of the “Great Interview Experiment.” Do I still feel the same idealistic way about the blogosphere? Somewhat. I’m idealistic, but I also understand human nature. I don’t believe most of us truly believe that “everyone is interesting,” Or maybe that’s not the point. We tend to want to interact with others who can “help” us. We want “rockstars” to emulate and “losers” to avoid. We feel the need to segregate and isolate, to box things into clear-cut packages like “mommyblogging” and “Alltop (Does anyone really “love this site” who isn’t also ON the site? Reminds me of Amway)” so we can better handle the chaos of the blogging world… as well as make friends and connections, attract attention, build our egos, and earn some money.

I’m guilty of all of these myself. After a while, you being to want something more out of blogging than just using it as self-therapy. But sometimes, I like to me to remember what excited me about blogging in the first place. It was after my fourth or fifth post — and some guy in Ohio came onto my blog and commented on my lame post about the TV show, “24.” It didn’t really matter what he said.

“This is the coolest thing in the world.” I thought after reading his comment. “Some crazy guy actually gives a shit about what I said. I’m like Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes and I just got my first letter!”

After that, I was hooked on blogging.

I WAS IMPORTANT.

Here is an incomplete — and very inaccurate — list of everyone who has signed up during this time period, whether they did their interview or not. 

(I moved the list back to the original post since it was so long)

The links to the completed posts are here. 

P.S. — Do you think it is a good idea to get this interview experiment off of my blog and move it to a separate site?  If everyone would agree, we could also collect all the interviews and put them on this separate site so it is easier to read through them?  Then, I can plaster the site with corporate advertising and make a bundle off of you!

In the last post, I had a little fun with a BlogHer session titled “Is Mommyblogging Still a Radical Act?”  I found this amusing to watch the word “radical” exploited and mangled so all the air seeps out of it like a cheap balloon from the 99 cent only store.

I tend to avoid using the word “radical” unless something is RADICAL.

“Doctor, the patient is losing blood.  We’re going to have to do something RADICAL like taking off his leg so he can survive!

Radical rarely happens.  Or else it wouldn’t be RADICAL.  The French Revolution.  Radical.  Mommyblogging.  Eh.

Here’s something mildly radical.  I’m going to mention God on my blog.

If you read through my archives, you will notice that I have made fun of Jews, Christians, and Muslims.  I find religion funny.  It is funny.  It deals with impossible issues.  But I’m not so cocky as to dismiss the power of God. I may make jokes about God, but I wouldn’t tell them to Him right to His face.  While I have no knowledge of His true existence, I like to believe that there is some unifying force.  It’s good to be in awe of something more than Dooce.

Nothing annoys me more than when actors thank Jesus for winning an Oscar or when a team prays to God, asking to win the pennant.  This nonsense gives religion a bad name.  If your team wins, does that mean God hates the OTHER team?

I think it is entirely appropriate to ask for God’s help in times of bad health. God created man and life, and nothing hampers our enjoyment of life more then bad health.  Who wants to smell a flower, eat an apple, or have mind-blowing sex on the carpet while listening to Barry White on the CD player when you feel like crap?

Several of my blogging friends are having health issues.  This makes me feel bad.  I know how much stress this puts on you and your family.  I remember how supportive you were when Sophia was having surgery.

May God be merciful and heal those in need.  Please bring good health to your Children, so we may fully enjoy your World.  God, your true name is RADICAL.  I cover my eyes to say your name.   Send your strength to those in need.

BlogHim 08′ in New York City was a phenomenal success.  Although we had no sponsors like Blogher, no swag (Dockers had promised to supply us with some free giveaways, but never came through), and received no attention from the media or kindly General Motors, we all had a great time meeting up with old blogging friends.  And isn’t that what blogging is all about?

Two male bloggers discussing ways to increase their readership.

BlogHim had no money to pay for a hotel conference room, so most of the sessions took place at Neil’s Coffee Shop on Lexington.  Participants really enjoyed the free coffee refills and the way the waiteress said ”Be right with you, Hon.”

One of the most popular BlogHim sessions was about new ways for Daddybloggers to monetize their children.  There was a good deal of heated discussion.  Many men were angry that the Mommybloggers received all the free Wiis. 

“We just get the viagra ads” said one Daddyblogger.  “Why do marketers think that because we have children we can’t get it up anymore?”

Barry, a male “Alpha” blogger from Tennessee asked the one question that was on every Daddyblogger’s mind.  “What was the point of having children if you can’t make money off of them on your blog?”

But it was Andrew “TexasDad” who came up with the answer, inspiring the crowd with his keynote speech, “Why Daddyblogging is a Still a Radical. Act”

“We are men.  We must use our logical male minds and think out of the box!  Why go the same route as the the women?  Are we men or a bunch of pussies?  If we are unable to monetize our children with our daddyblogs, let’s follow another path.  Let’s force our children to run a marathon in Central Park when it is a 100 degrees outside and BET ON THEM like a horse race!”

It was just then that the Guy Kawasaki Challenge was born!

The daughters did us especially proud!  Some of us made a ton of money from the betting pool.

The highlight of the day was when the sons raced.   These young men are the underappreciated male personal bloggers of the future, so we pushed them extra hard.  Some of the more clever Daddybloggers even told their sons that they were going to abandon them and leave them in New York if they didn’t win!

It was hilarious to see how much pressure was put on the wimpier boys and to watch them fall in frustration!

The weekend consisted of one fabulous session after another, all catered to the male blogger.  On this weekend, we were ALL Alpha Male Bloggers:

Session One:  “Why You Should Never Share Anything with a Woman”

Session 2:  “Dog Pee is bad for the Environment, But Even Al Gore Pees in the Shower.”

Session 3:  “Question Authority”

Session 4:  “Why a Really Nice Piece of Ass is Better than a Good Humor Bar”

Thanks all!  See you Next Year at BlogHim 09!  Remember — Keep your chins up and your c*cks hard.   We are MEN!

New York City may have nine million residents, but it is a small town when it comes to meeting available women.  Or at least so it seems when we go out on the town. 

At a half past ten, I was dressed to the nines and entering Maxwell’s, located on the corner of Right Now And Everyone Was There.  On a normal night, I would never make it within ten feet of the velvet rope, but ropes seem to jump by themselves with a friend like Robb.  He is what Glenn would call “a trifecta” — a high-profile attorney, one of the Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors according to New York Magazine, and currently representing the daughter of the biggest real estate developer on the Upper East side, in a nasty divorce case that makes it to Page Six as frequently as she has gotten DUIs in the Hamptons.

So, there we were, in Maxwell’s, four attractive single men, Robb -the lawyer, Jake - the ultra-successful financial analyst, who never said no to a nice pair of legs, but always dropped her as fast as a T-bill in his money market account, Glenn - the former ballplayer, now a sought-after commercial artist, the only man I ever met who had slept with seven different women in one week, but who secretly would throw everything away just to become a stay at home dad, and me - the under-employed writer, currently living with his nice Jewish mother.

I spent much of the night thinking about Atlas, and how he struggled to hold the world up, despite his powerful arms.  What does friendship really mean to me and my friends?  Are we like four Atlases?    Would we always be there to help each other hold up our own little worlds? 

Of course, our conversation in Maxwell’s revolved less about Greek Mythology then our favorite topic — male shoes and fashion.

“Hey, Neil, my main man, are those Dockers you’re wearing?”  asked Glenn, admiring the fit.

“F**k no,” I answered.  “I wouldn’t wear those piece of sh*t pants again after the Docker/Levi Strauss Company screwed me with that “free flight” that ruined my going to BlogHer.”

A gorgeous model sashayed by, catching our attention.  This was not just any model.  This was Ashley Maran, the latest cover model in Vogue.  Our conversation quickly turned to our second favorite conversation — the fairer sex.

“I’m breaking up with Annie,” said Robb, batting first, hitting us with a foul ball.

None of us were surprised, but we were a bit sad — we actually liked Annie.  She was a Mets fan.  So, we pressed him for more info.

“One of the reasons I was initially attracted to her was because she is a dentist.  I figured — a dentist, oral sex, a perfect match.   But she gave the worst blowjobs I ever had.  How can you explain that?  She even used her teeth!”

We all cringed in pain.

“Didn’t they teach her about this in dental school?”

We all agreed that this was a legitimate reason for dumping her like a third-rate draft pick, even if she did like the Mets.

Jake had oral problems of his own.  Jake had been dating a busty stock broker from Goldman Sachs, and apparently she was bullish on him going down on her.

“That’s all she wants.  Apparentlly, she can only have an orgasm through oral sex.   I mean she’s been going to therapy for years because of this.”

We all agree that Jake was practically a Mother Theresa for sticking around with this woman for longer than he ever has with anyone else – nearly three weeks.

“You know me, I’m eager to help out.” said Jake.  “I drive you guys to the airport whenever you need me.  But not driving my c*ck between her thighs is torture. ”

Jake looked like he was near tears.  Robb gave him a sympathetic hug.

“I can’t sit there for two hours with my tongue doing all the work,” Jake continued.  ”I’ve lost ten pounds this month because my jaw hurts so much, I’m too tired to chew any food.”

After we all consoled Jake, It was now Glenn’s turn on the witness stand.

“I sometimes wish I could just settle down, have a child, and become a stay at home daddy.”

For years, I never understood Glenn’s fantasy of being a SAHD.  Here he was, a big success with a fancy Soho condo, women up the wazoo - and he wants to throw it all away?  For what?  For dirty diapers and daddy blogging?   But New York can do that to you.  It gets at you.  It wears you down.

“I just want to meet the right woman.”  said Glenn, sighing.  “But it feels as if the only women over thirty in New York are either taken, unable to commit, lesbian, or trans-gendered men.”

“What about Lisa?” asked Jake. 

For the last month, Glenn had been seeing Lisa, the cute V.P of this hip new internet marketing firm in Chelsea.

She’s very passionate, but a little too short.” said Glenn.

“Short?  What are you talking about?” asked Jake.

“Well, I mean she’s compact.  She’s 5′2″, and when we are in bed… and I’m a big guy, so… uh…”

“Are you saying your d*ck is too big for her p*ssy?” asked Robb.

Glenn nodded.

“Has this ever happened to any of you?” he asked.

“Of course” we all said, nodding, as if this was a frequent problem in our lives.

Finally, it was my time to be grilled, like salmon filet at Tavern on the Green.  I could feel the guys looking at me as closely as they would a brunette’s tight ass as she climbed on the Stairmaster at the Crunch Gym in Tribeca.

“What about you, Neil?” asked Robb.  “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.  You getting any action in Queens?”

I think it was Isaac Bashevis Singer who said, “The best stories come out of the daily experiences of your own life.”  So, I took the writer’s advice.

“Well, I went to McDonald’s for a cup of coffee and as I was drinking it, I got a major hard-on.”

“Was the girl at the counter really hot?” asked Jake.

“No,” I said.  “I think they just added too much sugar.”

After a long, uncomfortable pause, Glenn changed the subject.

“Have you heard from Ms. Big?” asked Glenn.

The others looked at each other, concerned.  Was it too soon to bring up the name of Ms. Big?

“I IM-ed with Sophia last night.  She’s in LA.”

They all were eager to know what she said.

“Well, she sent me this message: 

 ”You should start seeing someone there.” 

I said, “A woman?” 

She wrote back, “A man or a woman.” 

I answered, “A man or a woman?!  I don’t get it.  Are you saying I should start seeing someone — like going on a date?” 

She said, “No.  I meant you should start seeing a therapist in New York.”"

My three friends laughed.  But it was OK.  I know that if I were Atlas, and had to hold up the world with my skinny arms, they would be at my side, helping me carry the weight.

Update:  BlogHim 08′ recap

I am a little disappointed that I didn’t go to BlogHer.  I wish the real reason is that I felt too cool for it, like Woody Allen not going to the Oscars.   Or that the conference is really for women.  Or that all the marketing and networking is not my cup of tea.  When I sit down and think about it honestly, this is my theory:

I don’t feel emotional stable enough to deal with meeting a hundred people for the first time right now — all in one swoop.  I’d rather not meet some of you in person, then quickly chat with you for five minutes at a cocktail party before I move on to someone else.  It would just make me feel sad.

I met Caitlin and her husband, Billy, for pizza in Manhattan on Monday.  We talked for several hours, then took the subway together on our ways back home.  I really enjoyed that.

I chatted with SarcasticMom and Jane Devin last night.  I really enjoyed that. 

I dreamt about someone last night.  I really enjoyed that.

This weekend on Citizen of the Month:  Time again for the third annual BlogHim.  (BlogHim 2006, BlogHim 2007)