You don't blog?!?! Or, how to succeed in losing your chance (and dignity) with Richard Spencer without really trying.
Update: Wecome Taki Mag readers, click here for an updated report on my lesbian status. After reading this post, of course.
Having been bombarded by those nearest and dearest to me as to what really prompted me to reject my anti-establishment principles (apparently my Pivotal Life Moment explanation below wasn’t doing it for them) and *gasp* start a blog and *double gasp* add a wall to my facebook, I feel I must confess what may have been the true catalyst for my change of heart: that age-old phenomenon peer pressure. With Richard Spencer being that peer.
During CPAC last week, I found myself in the fortuitous position of being introduced to Taki's Magazine's golden boy Mr. Spencer (we both knew it was coming), or as he is more commonly known, not least to himself, "The All-Important Magazine Editor.” (He will from here on be known as TAIME.) At first glance, he's one of those charm fellows we all adore so. At second glance, he’s … well, actually, I didn’t get a second glance. Why? I was bloglesss.
Sure, we could attribute his almost immediate leave of absence from the bar where we were chatting to a lack of chemistry, a mutual and instant dislike, my having forgotten to apply deodorant that night, etc. But it’s much more fun to assume that it was actually a result of my admitting without requisite shame that not only did I not have a blog but I had little intention of starting one.
And, to anyone who may be thinking I’m grasping at straws/fodder for blog postings/salve for my soul by making this assumption, let me assure you, it’s not a stretch. You see, TAIME inquired not once, not twice, but thrice after my presence (or, at the time, lack thereof) in the blogosphere. Maybe he was worried the look of abject horror on his nicely-chiseled face had been lost on me the first two times. Each time, saying no to his “Do you blog?” felt tragically similar to how I imagine it would feel to say no to, “Do you believe in Christmas?” were the question coming from Santa Clause. It seemed that my answering in the negative would cause a) the walls of the Omni to crumble, b) the stars to fall from the sky, and/or c) me to lose all credibility in TAIME’s mind, which would then be a sufficient reason for him to dismiss himself to “make a call.” ("Hi, Mom!")
Once alone, I knew how the individual strapped to a chair in the middle of a concrete cell with a single light glaring down feels when the inquisitor finally leaves the room. Still, I’m glad for the experience, having received more pleasure from penning this post than pain from the social awkwardness of being abandoned, drink in hand, in a bar full of strangers. Plus, I feel it is only appropriate to publicly thank my unwitting (but certainly not witless) inspirator. Who knows, having established my social worth (and personal value), maybe I will get that second chance, uh, glance someday.
If you’re reading this TAIME, just a friendly word of advice from your once-jilted but now forever-grateful, blog-wielding fan: When a girl asks for a vodka and cranberry, she means a vodka and cranberry. And, when she asks for straight cranberry juice, well, maybe she has a UTI.
Posted by S.logan at 11:27 AM