Of gentle true spirit
He runs, wishing he could fly” - Stephen Stills
“… and several butcher’s aprons.”
Friends, readers, countrymen - you are about to embark on a voyage of ego-nomical proportions as we recognize and celebrate the one year anniversary of nycityman’s humble, unassuming, almost universally ignored, little blog. This will not be the standard submission with just its predictable Palin prods, Darin diversions or birthday ballyhoos; but rather more of a multi-media and musical extravaganza destined to bother Barnum, trouble Taymor and mess with Merrick - consisting of not one, not two, but three immortal musical numbers, and an abiding anniversary clip that will evoke agreeable and amusing memories for minions of middle-aged and mature insomniacs from sea to shining sea.
In addition to surviving long enough to commemorate a year since its birth on the blogosphere, simultaneously, our diminutive endeavor has garnered its 10,000 view - an insignificant sum to some, but to its author, an unknown and unadvertised “proselytizer with his pen,” to paraphrase Bob Dylan, thousands reading my invectives, allusions and opinions with no noteworthy incentive, warms my cardiac cockles which are frequently far too frosty.
On this momentous occasion (solely momentous to one nycityman, of course) I must first express gratitude to everyone who has made it possible – Sarah Palin, Carl Paladino, the Flying Bachmanns, Christine O’Donnell, Sharron Angle - basically all of the Grand Old Party but particularly the proudly uneducated, unsophisticated, bereft of any knowledge of facts or history - tea party extreme wing. They’re white, they’re old, they don’t like government, African-Americans or immigrants – yet they somehow think that they are the real patriotic Americans. To these delusional and sad individuals, a tip of the fedora for providing a target as considerable as Palin’s ego, Bachmann’s pathology and the Guiness Book of World Records-like stupidity of Rick Perry; and therefore making my task of satirical criticism and condemnation as effortless as taking twizzlers from a toddler.
But most of all, (“as snowflakes fall, I wish you love”) I respectfully dedicate this, and all posts, to the regular readers; to those who have accidentally stumbled upon it through the machinations of multiple search engines; to the people who despise my writing and my very thought processes, and think me an arrogant, narcissistic, pinko, commie, anti-American simpleton, reliant on Roget, pretense and alliteration. If you are a carbon based life-form who, for any reason, has taken time to peruse my prose – much modest appreciation. The fact that some Willie Loman, “attention has been paid” to my ramblings is a constant source of bewilderment, joy and astonishment.
Regarding my affection (though some might say “affectation”), my schoolboy-like crush, my Jackie and Chubby love for Miss Crabtree-esque, aforementioned ardor for alliteration, look no further for blame than to troubadour in harmony, Stephen Stills.
And now, let’s continue our journey just a little bit further down this yellow brick road of self-indulgence - at this juncture you may desire to put the plasma on in the background or perhaps mp3 some Lady Gaga - while I reveal a little bit about the blog itself. This very piece that you are currently digesting, if anyone is still with me, is the 65th, original, brand-spanking new post, with two others being contributed by a talented guest-blogger. The initial plan was to post 3 or 4 times a week, but for someone fortunate enough to enjoy full-time employment and even a most minimal, unimpressive degree of a social life - sans a reliable, working cloning device - that may be tilting at cyber-windmills. The popularity of the posts have followed an extremely predictable pattern, by far the most popular feature is “Dose of Darin,” followed by “Saturday Song Selection” and sadly for me, trailing far behind are the political essays, the very reason I began the blog. Shortly following this anniversary acknowledgement I’ll be reposting the most popular of the political pieces, that being. “Baby Ka-Boom: The Rise of the Terror Babies.“
No proper anniversary observance would be complete without the following clip starring Johnny Carson and Ed Ames. It’s a baby boomer tradition, and one well-worth carrying on.
So now it’s onward and upward toward another year of unremunerated labor with singular thanks to those who have been especially encouraging of this enterprise, and tolerant when the occasional well-developed ego emerged; as well as for others who have helped spread the word - Jill, Sharon, Lauren, Joan, the Darin Lifetime Events 07 group and the Hale/Tale folk - and nycityman continues running “wishing he could fly,” as the Flintstones take us out.
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