Spreadable Cheese

Today I looked up the definition of versatility in Webster’s Dictionary and learned it means 1.) capable of doing many things competently, 2.) having varied uses or serving many functions, and 3.) variable or inconstant; changeable.

Then I looked in my 9^th grade English notes and learned 1.) there is nothing versatile about someone whose writing rarely deviates from one topic (i.e. Why I Hate New Kids on the Block), and 2.) never start a piece of writing with a definition from Webster’s Dictionary. 

So, based on all of that, I’m pretty sure I’m not qualified to accept a nomination for the Versatile Blogger Award, as so kindly bestowed upon me and other truly great bloggers.  (Sincerely though, thank you, Kana Tyler.  You are one cool chick.)

However, since I don’t feature a blog roll on my site, I liked the idea of spreading around a heavy layer of aerosol cheese on those talented writers I love to read on WordPress.

And another thing, I’m still reeling from the effects of a chain letter I didn’t send when I was back in high school.  Sure enough, within eight weeks, bad luck was inflicted on me.  I got the most enormous pimple on my forehead that I promptly pierced with a rusty safety pin.  It ruptured, just as planned, became infected and created a massive disfiguring scar that looks like I got nailed in the head with a prison mace. 

So certainly I don’t want to forever regret yet another lapse in protocol. 

The Versatile Blogger Award Committee encourages that I now in turn nominate fifteen bloggers for the award.  I’ll tweak this rule and make that a condensed list of eight.  I’ve recently got a big burst of new followers to my site (disco!) and I’m slowly working around to visiting their sites.  For now, these are the blogs I usually read without fail.

Ramblings and Rumblings.  Speaker7 is a wickedly funny satirist who should be writing for The Onion or The Daily Show or SNL’s Weekend Update.  Sometimes I think she is actually my darker, drier, funnier Bizarro World clone.  I believe her name is Zangie A.  Like many of her blog followers, I want to adopt her as my new BFF.  Only I think I’m more worthy than her other suitors since I share her age-old obsession with Ralph Macchio.

Best Bathroom Books.  Les is a brilliant, hilarious and legitimately experienced writer whom I consider something of a writing mentor around here.  He’s comfortable enough in his own skin to pose a serious philosophical debate and then title a subsequent post Double Uranus Hump Day Pepperoni.  He can jump from cerebral to humor with the greatest of ease, and usually they’re both tied into one.

She’s A Maineiac.  Darla feels like my sister-from-another-mister and not just because she shares my weakness for hyphenated-words-and-phrases.  Something about her genuine, funny and conversational writing style feels like walking into a hug.  And I mean that as a big compliment.  And I’m not even a hugger.  

The Good Greatsby.  Paul is also hilarious and I’m addicted to his caption contests like crack cocaine.  Although, judging by his regal smoking jacket and his 600+ blog fans, I’m pretty sure he would’ve been one of the cool kids in junior high who wore the pleated Z Cavaricci jeans and called me ski slope nose.

The Simple Life of a Country Man’s Wife.  I love her photography and easy-like-Sunday-morning writing style.  Her simple life makes me want to unplug and throw away my laptop.  Which would be too bad as I wouldn’t be able to read her blog.

It Happens Every Day.  Gilly and Patrick, a trying-to-conceive couple, are adorable — even in their newly grown beards.  I love their quirky coupledom banter.  They might be the most off-topic blog I’ve ever read but I like them all the more for that.

The Middlest Sister.  I’ve only recently started following this blog but I already know she’s going places.  Her super cool and labor-intensive (!) artwork makes me feel like an 8-year-old fry cook still living in my parents’ basement.

Publikworks.  Lisa is a former advertising producer and copywriter and writes perfectly succinct Seinfeldisms of daily life — short, sweet and easily digestible, in the way of a true copywriter.  I knew when she wrote on The Muppet Show (with a provided clip of Beaker) that she was my kind of people.

The nomination also requests I share seven random facts about me.  That’s all I do around here anyway.  So, lucky you, here are some more. 

• I have a weak ability to abbreviate myself.  I consider this to be one of my greatest downfalls as a writer.  I love reading blogs that feature bite-sized posts that don’t require any page scrolling and still have it all and a bag of Doritos chips.  This post was intended to be less than 400 words in length. 
• I have a weak ability to filter myself.  I consider this to be one of my greatest attributes as a writer.  Ten minutes after you first meet me, you might ask, say, Do you have kids?  To this, I might respond 1.) that my hair still reeks of vomit from my two-year-old’s bout of stomach flu last night, 2.) that I still breastfeed him twice a day though yes I do plan to wean him before he turns 16, and 3.) while we’re still on the subject of my son, it was a mistake to vaginally-deliver all nine pounds of him only five hours after eating Mexican food. 
• I’m a human dichotomy.  I worked as assistant campaign manager, deputy chief of staff and speechwriter to my state’s ultra-Republican, Tea-Party-endorsed-for-U.S.-Senate current Attorney General.  I voted for Bush in 2000.  But I’m so liberal I make Jane Fonda seem like Sarah Palin.  I also rarely leave the house without my lipstick perfectly applied and every hair in place.  Yet I’ll gladly help you sell grilled cheese sandwiches from your Volkswagon van at a Phish concert.  And I’ll stop shaving my pits and fit right in. 
• In college I lived in Alaska and sold $4,000 totem poles.  They were supposed to be “hand carved” by Native Americans, but I later learned they were made by a machine by a man who was only one-eighth Inuit.  I had to sign a confidentiality contract before I began work there.  Well, it was nice knowing you — I’m off to the big house now.
• I’m a runt.  You could carry me around in your pocket.  I’m 5’2” in shoes and barely weigh a buck, even when wearing a handmade double-weave Scottish lambswool sweater.  I’m pushing 40, yet my Gravatar picture could’ve been taken last year. 
• I can flip someone the bird using my toes.  I can assure you I only use this power for good (party tricks) and not evil (road rage).
• I not only remember 10,000 inane details about my own life, I remember 10,000 inane details about everyone else’s.  Frequently I’m summoned by friends to help recall specific details of incidents where I was not even present.  You ask:  Who was that guy who just said “hi” to me?  I answer:  His name is Brent.  You took real estate classes with him in 1999.  He met you for lunch eight years ago at a Denny’s.  He spilled coffee on your hashbrowns.  

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