AUTHOR’S NOTE: This post was copied and pasted from my soon to be defunct Posterous account. If you already read it there, there’s nothing new to see here, but you should totally read it again anyway.
“Nothing gold can stay.”
“Game over, man, game over.”
-Private William Hudson
Well, here we are – the end of the road. This will be my final blog post… on Posterous. Hard to believe I’ve been blogging here since all the way back in June 2012 – that’s ¾ of an entire YEAR. The world seemed so much purer then, so much more innocent. When I started blogging (Listen to me – “blogging.” I sound like an Apple Store genius!) back in June, the Mayan Apocalypse hadn’t yet occurred, “binders full of women” were things only possessed by serial killers, and Peter Jackson’s I Will Put You to Sleep and Lay Waste to Your Bladder was still known by its original title, The Hobbit. If you had decided to mark the date of my very first blog entry by getting pregnant, you’d have a brand new, shiny kid right now. Did anyone do that? I’m going to assume that at least one of you out there did, and I thank you. Would it be too much to ask for me to pick your baby’s first name? How about MichaelPBrennan? It rolls right off the tongue and it’s perfect for a boy or a girl. Again, I thank you. Oh, and you’re welcome.
So why am I leaving Posterous? Is it because I’m a word whore doling out sentences and paragraphs to any site that will let me shoot up in their bathroom? Well, yeah. It’s more than that though. See, as of April 30, Posterous is shutting down. For good. All this, these words, this whole place, everything, it’s gone… just gone. (Sorry, turned into Kyle Reese for a second.) Twitter bought Posterous last year and, instead of using it as a platform to integrate and promote their brand, they decided it would be much more fun to go ahead and shut the fucker right down. I’m not a marketing guy, so I can’t speak to the effectiveness of spite as a marketing tool, but it comes off as some Charles Montgomery Burns-level pettiness. I can envision the CEO of Twitter (Gary Twitter? Twitter McGoogle? Fuck it, I’m not looking it up.) rubbing his hands together with glee as he imagines all the innocent bloggers he turned into virtual Grapes of Wrath Okies, driven from our land and scouring the hardscrabble internet for a new home. What an evil bastard that guy I just imagined is.
So why did I even join Posterous instead of a more well-known site like WordPress or… all right, you got me – I don’t know the names of any other blog sites. Feel good about yourself for making me look stupid? Feel like a big man/woman? Is my attempt to shame you working? Anyway, I joined Posterous for the same reason everyone does anything: peer pressure. A couple of friends of mine were on there and they suggested I sign up as well. They said if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be cool. Even though my mom insisted that I would be cool no matter what and a really cool guy doesn’t cave to peer pressure, I just couldn’t take that chance. It’s the same reason I begged my parents to buy me a pair of parachute pants back in the ‘80s. [Quick aside: in case you haven’t figured it out, I have a serious case of self-diagnosed ADHD. As I sit here typing this, I’m watching Restaurant: Impossible, listening to my Christopher Cross Pandora channel, streaming an episode of Walking Dead on Hulu, playing Plants vs. Zombies, oh, and juggling. My mind is all over the fucking place. In fact, where was I? Oh right, parachute pants for some reason.] If you’re too young to remember parachute pants, stop reading now and know that I hate you. I will petition a wizard to grant me the power to steal your life force, not a Washington Wizard, a for real wizard. Besides, I already tried asking Gilbert Arenas when I ran into him in a Bethesda Target and all he did was threaten to shoot me in the face. I can only assume he gets asked that a lot.
Parachute pants were great. We seriously need to bring them back. [How does “bringing something back” work anyway? Are the Illuminati that run the world really just a bunch of ironic hipster douchebags selecting passé fashions to reintroduce for shits and giggles? That’s it, isn’t it? I knew it]. They had so many pockets. You could literally carry all of your earthly possessions and still have room for bus fare. No need to let loose change clang around in a single pocket – you could simply slip individual coins into each of the 73 parachute pockets and zip them closed. Voila: whisper quiet. Well, maybe they did emit a gentle swooshing noise when you walked that kind of sounded like a ghostly moan. And I guess those zippers did jangle a little. Wait… were my parachute pants haunted? Hold on – is Haunted Parachute Pants a reality show yet? If not, I call dibs. Please don’t steal that idea. You know, if I ever get around to writing that reimagining of A Christmas Carol, the ghost of Marley won’t be lugging rattling chains around, he’ll just moonwalk into Scrooge’s room in a sweet-ass pair of whooshing, jangling parachute pants.
What the hell? Did I seriously just spend two paragraphs talking about parachute pants? I swear to God I’m not high. Well, as far as I know. Maybe my work is secretly slipping us LSD through the drinking fountains (it would explain A LOT). Or maybe I just had a stroke last night or something. Regardless, I got way off the point of this post. Here is the pertinent fact: Posterous is shutting down and I am now set up at WordPress. I haven’t moved everything over there yet, but all the bloggy goodness is there and all my future posts, news, etc. will be there as well.
My new web presence can be found here:
It’s less clunky than my current web address, but not quite what I wanted. Just about every permutation of my name has already been registered by a bunch of tax-dodging, Neo-Nazis… probably. Admittedly, I’m making generalizations about people I’ve never met, seen, nor heard of. I’m right though.
So that’s it. I’m done. Come visit me on the new site and sign up for email alerts for when I post another one of these stream-of-consciousness ramblings. Until then…
Good night, sweet Posterous. I hardly knew ye.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.