Risky blogging

This post is introspective and may come across to the uninitiated as a tad effeminate, that is, not manly. Please know that I took my testosterone pills this morning, ate my Wheaties and had a snicker's bar during class. I was also told by my mom that this post is "sensitive but still masculine." Exact words. So there. If you still believe that this post is a panziness sketch after reading it, know that my governor can pump up your governor any election.

And whatever you do, please don't faint.

Barring Baring one's life to eleven anonymous readers in a publically read and uncontrolled forum (a concept which technically includes anything said outside a shower stall) is dangerous. Even when some of the episodes are embellished slightly to impart an important moral or practical reality, the fact that the stories shared here are rooted in truth makes us vulnerable to criticism, and I am not just talking about the comment section.

The especially loyal among the Faithful FCN Few may recall a post from April of the year last in which I revealed a now obsolete practice of carpooling with my father whenever the gas tank needed refilling. I say "now obsolete" because my dad caught wind of my behavior and told me I had to pay for my own gas, further straining a budget already made tight by Uncle Sam. After a full investigation, the inquisitive half of my brain discovered that it was this very page that tipped my father off to my devious tank-filling habits.

If only that example were isolated. Time after time, in many a revealing and embarrassing post, I have risked the confidence and good humor of my friends by recounting tales of depravity and dereliction. While most of the facts contained in these posts are vague and ambiguous enough to preserve all requested anonymity, the posts themselves serve as a cutting perspective on episodes whose facts are all too familiar to the key actors. A skiing trip with friends becomes a ski trip with fiends and my vehicular abuse is broadcast to the general public ad nauseum. Who knows? People might start to get the impression that I'm a dangerous driver.

Invariably, whenever I'm hanging out with friends and something exciting happens, someone will turn to me and say "you can't write a post about this." It's as if FCN's treatment of any issue will be unflattering and we are so desperate for content that we will write on every experience we have (well, maybe that last part is true). Just a few weeks ago, in fact, I was driving next to Mommy G in the middle of town and she was doing her best to keep up with me when she got pulled over by a motorcycle cop. I skedaddled on like a tiny rodent away from the light, but got a call from Mommy G as soon as the officer had finished ticketing her. Mommy G's order was clear: None of what had just transpired was to appear on FCN. Ever.

Oops.

It's an occupational hazard. Like getting sued for doctors, losing fingers for dentists and getting shot at for a drug dealer, only bloggers aren't paid. Not the ones with eleven readers, anyway. So we push on for the art of the endeavor. Satirical commentary needs to be written, real art must be made and in-class doodles posts must be published out of principle, only there are no principles behind FCN and what we do here could hardly be called art. So we take these risks for the same reason Evil Knievel performs his stunts and my overweight uncle reached for that last Twinkie: the thrill and pure endorphin-inducing high of taking an unnecessary risk.

Think about that while I go pay for my next tank of gas.