Happy

This hosting gig is hard, y’all. In fact, if I had any inkling that it would be this…consuming, I might have just said a blanket “Happy Thanksgiving! Woot!” on Sunday night and talked to you sometime next week, because, really, who knew? Well, everyone probably knew except for me, because that’s just the way things go, mostly.

And honestly, I’d love nothing more than to vent my everloving face off, as I’m sure our guests would like to about us. Because that’s the thing with family – no matter how much you love each other, there are moments when face-ripping sounds infinitely preferable to sucking it up and smiling. But smile I do, and for the most part, it’s genuine, and I think it is on their end too, and we’ve had fun. And did you know there is a BABY in my house? A damn fine cute baby that I want to eat up right next to the sage roast tom turkey the caterers will deliver on Thursday morning, along with some buttered yams.

So anyway, venting – here or anywhere publicly – would be close to the most unfair thing I could do to them or anyone else in our families, not to mention unspeakably selfish. I don’t know how to say this without sounding like I’m passing judgment – because honestly, I’m not, and I’m not trying to – but I’ve always been fascinated with those who can freely tear their familes and/or friends a new asshole online with utter abandon – using their real name – without a single thought for what the consequences might be. In a way, I understand it, for in a lot of ways, this doesn’t seem real. I think people forget when they’re reading blogs that they’re reading real people, and when bloggers write, I think it’s easy to forget that real people read them, too. In the last year or so, I have tried (‘tried’ being the operative word) to adopt the policy that if I wouldn’t want my coworkers, friends or family reading something – even if they don’t currently read it – then I won’t write it. The fact that people from each of those categories already do read it keeps me honest, to some degree.

And it’s been hard, and I think sometimes I’ve straddled the line, and hells no, I haven’t been perfect, not even close. But I think that to some degree, it’s my responsibility as a friend, family member and employee, to act in a manner that would be as acceptable in the real world as it is online. I’m not saying there aren’t things that could bite me in the ass without me even realizing what those things are – it’s happened to people I know recently in situations that genuinely take me by surprise. But you never know what people’s hot buttons are, and I suppose it’s a case of weighing the risks against the benefits, and I’ve gotten far more out of this than I ever expected, so yes, the relative risks, however small, are worth it for me.

It makes me nervous for people sometimes when I hear the excuse that bloggers’ families don’t know about their blog, or don’t know what Google is, or don’t think about that sort of thing, because God, how many times have people found my site from the most random of searches, the most unexpected of paths? I know it’s shocked the pants off of me, and sent me into ass-clenching panic of who who WHO OH MY GOD is that strange person from my parents’ hometown who got here looking for the lyrics to a Barney song? COULD IT BE? And you know, if it is, it is. Frankly, I don’t think they’d care, and the only reason I haven’t said anything to them myself is that the Internet freaks out my mom, and I’m genuinely scared that every time I got a troll she’d call the police and/or try to find out where they live so she could beat them to a bloody pulp with a quilt rack. And now if she finds this, she’ll be mad that I said she’d hurt someone with her quilt rack, when we all know she loves her quilt rack more than anything, so maybe she’d grab something else. Who knows.

And I totally think their families could end up finding their blog, even if they live in a cave in the middle of Uzbekistan, because what about family friends? Neighbors? Siblings? Ugh, the possibilities are endless. There are some writers who I happen to like very much, but actually cannot read, because it ties my intestines in little knots, thinking of the day that their families find their blogs and the shit hits the fan, causing me to die a slow, sympathetic death and mourn for the loss of their wonderful writing. So, you know, I just cut myself off now, on my own terms.

But regardless of that tangent that really served no purpose than to vent about venting, which is pretty obnoxious and not just a little ironic, I hope you all have a wonderful, wonderful Thanksgiving, if I don’t get to update before then. I know I’m thankful for roughly nine frillion truckloads of pretty amazing things in my life, not the least of which is the aforementioned family and friends, even though they’re massively far away, a certain redhead found in the most unexpected of ways, and most definitely my wickedly fantastic husband.

And frankly, I’m thankful for this little space, and for all of the wonderful little notes, comments and e-mails so many people have left me over this past year. Because of this, in a strange sort of twisted way, I’m little bit of a better person – a better friend, a better wife, and a better writer, all because of the things people have written and the experiences shared and sometimes, in the kick in the pants I’ve gotten from seeing when I’ve just been dead wrong about something. And that doesn’t even cover the time-sucking joy I get out of reading other people’s blogs which beats the pants off of anything I could come up with.

Now stop throwing up, because I know that it sounds like it could rot your teeth out with gooey sugary sweetness and it sounds…well, it sounds a little crazy. But you can bet your sweet turkey’d bellies that I’ll be having some boxed Target wine in your honor on Thursday.

*Brandi Carlile

12 comments November 21st, 2006