It's My Birthday
It is not my birthday.
Today is, in fact, the anniversary of something far more incredible: the birth of the best of those blogs which are pretty good; perhaps even — dare I suggest it? I do — quite dang-diddly great.
It’s a birthday bash — a regular substack smash — so, in the spirit of the holiday, I’m going to use the rest of my time to write on many things.
I am bad at making arguments
Not one of my posts which attempt to prove a point does a particularly great job of persuading those who aren’t already inclined to agree with me. This is largely for a few reasons, I think.
First, I don’t spend much time grappling with counter-arguments; I tend to simply write just-so stories which take for granted a shared set of values and perspectives on polarizing topics, and make little effort to bridge this kind of gap. If you don’t already agree that gambling is a societal ill, my (incredible) post about prediction markets is almost certainly not going to be of interest to you.
Second, if I’m being honest, I am far more concerned with entertaining than I am persuading. This isn’t to say it’s binary: I do believe in the ideas I present, and I do want you to come out of a post agreeing with the way I view the issue at hand. More than that, though, I want you to come out of a post in a better mood than you were in before; making you laugh is the ultimate goal here.
Look, I just find the incessant need to prove things that don’t actually matter1 to be quite grating. I used to be that man, and I don’t particularly want to go back.
I’d like to be more rigorous than I presently am — when I’m making an argument, anyways — but if entertainment isn’t the strongest value of such a post, I will have utterly failed.
The flossing post was pretty persuasive, though, from what I’ve heard2.
On the Em Dash — there! That’s the thing I’m talking about — oh fuck, there it is again!
While working for my previous employer, I was asked to give a performance review for an ““““intern””””3 I worked closely with. The review was highly positive — and accurate! — which may be why he then shared it with a loved one. She had an interesting response:
“This guy knows how to use semicolons.”
Bitch.
Fuck semicolons; I have no room in my heart for such beasts; cumbersome and brutish and rude; ever rude. No, dear reader, it is the em dash — roughly translated, “the light of my life, from before time began to long after it ends, the essence of beauty itself” —which I am honored and humbled to employ.
O, em! O, dash! You beautiful — no, transcendent — no, indescribable — yes, indescribable! — marvel, you. Those of poor mind curse you chameleon, ever mistaking your fractalesque applicability for mere substitution.
The other clause separators — parentheses, you snakes, never fighting fair, never testing your strength on your own! semicolons, cursed and wretched! commas… still quite useful! — have tried to defeat you, oh yes, precious. They have slandered your name, claiming you have no original function, only existing to steal their purpose. The depths of their cruelty laid bare in filing those frivolous patent infringement suits! I will always defend you, for you have ne’er failed to defend me.
As both my eldest sister and ChatGPT have remarked, I write like I speak4. The former meant it as an insult; the latter meant nothing, for it cannot mean. Still, it is true: I write in a highly conversational manner, which I like and think works and will not stop doing. For this, I have to give much credit to em dash, my beloved. Where parentheses and semicolons fail me; where commas can’t rise to the occasion; there you are, waiting — patiently waiting — to come to my aid.
Parentheses are useful for asides which (upon ending) are ignored by the words that follow; they leave the grammatical and semantic context immediately.
But an em dash? Hohoho, mon frer. This powerhouse can be deployed however one wants! As an aside? As an inside? As a simple pause? As decoration? Whatever you want, man: em dash can handle it.
And let’s stop kidding ourselves: these fellas make you ten times more attractive if you’re seen with them. Women love a good em dash.
The Emotional Gold Rush is over
Many of my (private) earlier posts were what I would describe “emotional strip-mining”: delving deep into highly personal stories from my past, leaving almost no stone unturned in my effort to be sincere.
I think sincerity is a strength of my writing! I’m certainly not going to change that.
But it was all a bit… much, don’t you think? Perhaps a bit too vulnerable?
Plus, I’m running out of such stories. I have three — maybe four — in mind that I could write posts on, and then… that’s it!
Such vulnerability is better drip-fed in through various other posts — as germane — than blasted out in one emotionally draining go.
No, Abby, this doesn't mean I've given up on the only blog post series of mine you seem to care about :~)
On 😤
You’ve seen this emoji. You’ve used this emoji; to great effect, I dearly hope.
This defiant lil’ guy is defeated only by 🤔5 in the Perfect Emoji Rankings — the hallowed halls where only those emojis truly fit for purpose are permitted.
But there’s a problem: its name is triumph.
This is complete bullshit and a serious problem that the Unicode Consortium needs to address immediately. This emoji OBVIOUSLY is not expressing a triumphant — or even positive — emotion!
If you took a poll, I’m 100% confident6 that — amongst those who don’t know its official name — voters would choose “defiant” over “triumph” 99 times out of 100.
Come on, man.
Recognizing Real
To Seth and Erin: I am ever grateful for you. You engage with every piece I write, offering thoughtful and nuanced feedback. You read every draft I share, even though I often completely ignore your advice.
Seth, your ability to utterly trash something I have written is something I cherish. There are very few people with whom I have a relationship built upon such rock-solid mutual respect. Also, damn, can you believe this mf be running a half-marathon soon? If I didn't have a significantly better blog, I'd be beside myself with envy.
Erin, your ability to utterly trash something I have written, with such grace and dignity that I only realize the depths of the trashery long after our conversation, is wonderful. Your refusal to wield your doctorate as a weapon makes you one of the few good academics — and O, how diminished their number in this dark age!
I probably would have stopped by now if it weren’t for you two.
And, of course, an additional thank you to those friends and coworkers who have offered encouragement, criticism, and eyeballs.
This has been pretty great tbh
Starting this blog has been one of the best things I’ve ever done.
Not because I have achieved success — far from it! I have 22 subscribers, 21 of them being people I know personally who have been too polite to not subscribe to my blog when I shared it with them. Only a single subscriber from the world at large has stumbled across my writing and deemed it good.
A little faux pas for ya: this does kind of bother me. A little bit, I’ll be honest. I have a pretty good blog7, and I feel I offer something you can’t quite get elsewhere. Where are the hordes of dedicated fans?
Goddamn I’m glad I’m not a writer by trade. This is how they all feel, innit?
If I’m being honest, I don’t think I really want what I think I want here. I don’t want to become an internet celebrity; if I did, I would probably post endless tripe on Substack Notes8 like all the other Substack Stars seem to. I would probably write entirely tribal garbage that serves only to confirm biases and ratchet hate. I would probably write more.
No, this whole thing has been wonderful because I am able to be sensitive and vulnerable and funny. Because I am able to nurture that part of me which wishes to express himself. Because I can speak to my friends and loved ones, and they may choose to listen on their own time.
I used to think I would become an author when I was young. I loved to read and I loved to write. Oh, the garbage I wrote! I look back on it fondly. You will probably look at it never. I no longer have such ambitions, but I do still yearn for the writing itself.
I do, yes, need an audience. Writing alone doesn’t cut it for me; I need someone to hear me. This format works perfectly: listen if you want; don’t if you don’t. I don’t need the entire world to listen, just those whose thoughts and opinions actually matter to me.
It’s a great name and we all know it
It’s my birthday so I’m entitled to some narcissism: man, what a great name for a blog. And what a domain name! So pleasantly surprised was I to find it available. What a score!
I feel it perfectly encapsulates everything I’m going for: it’s a pretty good blog. It won’t win any awards; it shan’t achieve the success of Freddie deBoer or Scott Alexander or anything within a thousand leagues of such; it can’t produce great, earth-shaking works. But it’s pretty good!
It makes a promise that I can keep; it’s memorable; it grounds me in its purpose.
A pretty good blog doesn’t post about culture war inanity. A pretty good blog doesn’t seek financial remuneration. A pretty good blog doesn’t forget where its strength lies: in being a blog that’s pretty good. It emphasizes the personal nature of it.
I don’t have or want a platform. I just have a pretty good blog. And that’s perfect.
In the sense that — be honest — none of our opinions on any cultural or political issue have any bearing on what’s going to actually happen.
But I credit this largely to its entertainment value!
Interns are well-known for being given the sole responsibility (and trust) of developing complex web applications
But I don’t exactly speak like I write.
If you want to condescend to someone and you don’t use this emoji, you’re a fucking amateur.
I’ll put my fucking life savings into a bet on Polymarket to prove it
He said it! He said it!
What a horrible place