|Reflections on the feline friend follows|
“… I don't want to fight
I'm a little bit wrong
And you're a little bit right…
You know that it's true
It's a little bit me
And it's a little bit you... too” – Neil Diamond
“I want to thank you for letting me be myself again
I want to thank you for letting me be myself again"- Sly Stone
“It all started at a 5000-watt radio station in Fresno, California…” – Ted Baxter
How does one pat himself on the back while simultaneously pecking away at a keyboard? It takes an effort requiring more than just your ordinary level of ego, self-congratulation, self-importance and self-regard! So, with that as an extremely unattractive and un-ingratiating introduction, nycityman invites and welcomes you as we commemorate 50,000 views of “… and several butcher’s aprons.” While, by its nature, being far too self-referential and perhaps even reverential (something that was never an original intent of this venture) the primary endeavor, as is ever the situation, will be to humorously entertain. Should we fail in that noble attempt please feel free to avail yourself of the comment section below to chide us on mistakes made and errors incurred.
|"Congratulación y buena suerte" - Don Francisco|
Is 50,000 a substantial sum for a blog that is not the Huffington Post? For some perspective - in Willard Romney’s environs 50,000 is the minimum number of dollars set aflame to properly light his smuggled Cuban Cohibas. In Marcus Bachmann’s journeys, 50,000 would be the concise correct count of rhinestones bedazzled on his Mardi Gras ensemble. And for Sarah Palin, 50,000 may be the weekly SarahPac cash crop she filches from her gullible and trusting disciples despite the uncomfortable and inconvenient truth that she occupies no office nor is she actively in hot pursuit of one. In “… aprons” terms, it took slightly over a year to accumulate our initial 10,000 readers, but since, in merely another 24 months or so, an additional 40,000 fine folks, discriminating and discerning, intrepid, internet investigators, one and all, muscular, intelligent and attractive, have peeked, perused and even opined on this page – a voluminous pickup in viewer velocity. So, whether, in World Wide Web reality, it actually is an admirable blog figure or not I chose to celebrate it, but most importantly I need to express my sincere, deep and heartfelt thanks and astonished appreciation. Astonished as in, I haven’t a clue why anyone reads these random ramblings nor have I an idea, for the most part, how our remarkable readers and audience members even happen upon it.
“… and several butcher’s aprons” first expedition through Al Gore’s internet tubes occurred on July 23rd, 2010 with a captive and enraptured audience of Mom, brothers and psychoanalyst. Yet, truth be told, nycitymom has never, and will never, have any interest in accessing the wired wonder of the world that lives beyond the modem; nycitybrothers are not similarly of luddite-leanings regarding technology, but are conservative concerning collecting squandered hours on the newer medium platforms. As far as the psychoanalyst goes, Dr. Alan Smithee is as made up as a Kardashian’s face on NBA Draft Day, just one of many fictions fabricated to forward an authoring agenda and expose and encourage an existence that extends far beyond the everyday, mostly mundane reality of the creator. Foremost among the imagined inventions is that of nycityman himself. That nom de blog is but an invented identity that frees up the living and breathing, flesh and blood scribe to express opinions, thoughts and experiences that can only find full comfort in doing so while employing a cloak of anonymity. It allows allusions to actions and activities in an arena of legal and moral ambiguities and, sadly yet significantly, shields one from being embarrassing yelled at by his 82 year old mother should someone share the site with her. But despite such secretiveness, distortion and misrepresentation, on occasion actuality invades as in the essays on my employment, apartment, cat companion and even the spine-tingling, edge of your seat saga of a recent double hernia surgery. From that first moment standing in the surgeon’s office – shirt on, pants off – it was crystal clear that there was comedy gold to be mined there. In a related personal note, all writings are originally birthed as voice recorder annotations - public situations often find me scrambling and searching for dictation-friendly spaces of solitude as not wanting to appear like some retro recreation of the Rowan and Martin Spy Sketch (“I’ve got the yoyo.” “I’ve got the string.”) – and recorder playback often reveals the presence of cat meows on a significant number of aural memorandum earning Spanky the cat, meowing muse of my mirthful meanderings, a rightful mention in both text and picture.
Blogging is surprisingly satisfying and fulfilling and considerable hours, days and nights are devoted to each submission (this one, perhaps, will reveal itself as the obvious exception) but as Neil Diamond penned and the Monkees performed lo those innocent decades ago, “it’s a little bit me, it’s a little bit you,” (and maybe even “Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death, Rode the 50,000”) for a voice in a vacuum is as pointless as a Tea Party members only spelling bee. Scribbling countless “appreciations” and “thank yous” ad-infinitum for the balance of this posting would still not be suitable articulation. The fact that so many have peered at this oft-times pretentiously prosed, vexing verbiage and have not regularly conveyed their condemnation is a testament to human decency, and thrills and excites like being strapped into a Six Flags X-Flight Roller Coaster Ride in the midst of a rolling brown out, accompanying Sarah Palin as she received the results of her Verbal SAT scores, or conducting a co-joined polygraph test on Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan.
As for the future, can circulation continue expansion? These thoughts - there are 47 percent of the people who will not read this no matter what ... who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims... My job is not to worry about those people. I'll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives. (Sounds imbecilic no matter the context, doesn’t it, Mitt?) “Half a league onward” to more complaining, castigating, haranguing, harassing, alliterating and indignantly igniting the farcical flames of political and social commentary.
“It's not the pale moon that excites me
That thrills and delights me, oh no
It's just the nearness of you”
The Monkees with, "A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit Me."
The legendary Sly Stone and Sly and the Family Stone with their classic, "ThankYou Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin." -