I Got Your “Freshly Pressed” Right Here
Big deal. Really, really, really, really big deal.
That is, if by “big deal” you mean “big deal” to me — and a few others who also think it’s a “big deal,” including my mother, my husband and a guy I talked with at the post office last week, though he might’ve thought I was actually talking about corned beef.
My blogger friend Paprika, a fellow Freshly Pressed alum (Go Tigers!), reported that her husband Oregano had crunched the numbers for her on this Freshly Pressed phenomenon. If he’s right, based on the million-some blog posts published each week on WordPress and the mere dozen-some selected to be featured each week, each blog post has about a 1 in 80,000 chance of being Freshly Pressed.
Pretty rad, huh.
Now here are some other interesting statistics:
1 in 80,000 people can correctly sing the words to The Star-Spangled Banner.
1 in 80,000 people think the national anthem should be Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.
1 in 80,000 people think the next President of the United States should be Mayor McCheese.
1 in 80,000 people watched this spin-off show.
1 in 80,000 of those people remembered watching it.
1 in 80,000 of those people remembered enjoying it.
1 in 80,000 of those people can correctly identify this character’s name.
1 in 80,000 people believe blogging on 1980s pop culture can become a lucrative career.
1 in 80,000 of those people know what “lucrative” means.
**Source: A Fairly Reliable Source**
Usually when I see another blogger get featured on Freshly Pressed, I know I can expect to see a future post about what it was like to be on Freshly Pressed.
“Oh, please. If I ever get on Freshly Pressed, I’ll never write about being on Freshly Pressed. That is so lame.” — 2011-Angie
That’s like acknowledging it’s a “big deal”. It’s like acknowledging you’re cool, like you care or something. Because if you do care that you’re cool, that right there makes you uncool.
Instead, I decided I’d go about it the Fonzie way, like I practically didn’t even notice the whole Freshly Pressed thing. Like I practically didn’t even notice I published the Freshly Pressed post. That’s right. I clicked on “publish” and thought, oops, did I just publish this? I was planning to just save it for myself to enjoy. Oh, well. I guess it’d be okay if a few other people read it, not that I care if they read it or not. Not that I care about writing for anyone but myself. Not that I care about anything.
So I’ll just pretend getting Freshly Pressed was no big deal.
It happens that, around my house, there were those who didn’t have to pretend it was no big deal.
“I got your Freshly Pressed right here. Can you put them away for us now? You’re not gonna let them sit here for two weeks like last time, are you?” — Angie’s husband
“I got your Freshly Pressed right here. Now grab the scooper and get it out of my sight. Quick, before I change my mind and toss it down to the dog.” — Angie’s cat
“I got your Freshly Pressed right here. And I sat on it through an entire episode of Dora.” — Angie’s son
So after the Freshly Pressed luster wears off, after the buzz dies down, after you’ve scooped out another hairy turd from the litterbox, what are you really left with?
New blog subscribers! That’s right! I got new readers! That’s great!
Now, I cannot confirm those new readers are actually reading my blog. In fact, most of them are probably not. In fact, one of them is named “Ihavephotosforyou” and another one is “getsexsupplieshere.”
That’s okay. I’ve done it too. In a moment of excitement, in a moment of weakness, you mistakenly click on “Follow Blog.” In this case, it may be after seeing a picture of a 1980s adolescent with an even worse perm than you had . . .
. . . whose awkward years make yours look like a Teen USA pageant. And you think, “Surely I can live with seeing more of this. At the very least, it makes me feel better about the feathered mullet I had. Subscribe!”
And then, I might’ve tagged my Freshly Pressed post as “parenting”. Oh. And then, my blog tagline might have “parenting” in it as well.
(Do I ever talk with y’all about parenting? Oh, I don’t. Oops.)
Dear New Readers,
I don’t write about parenting here. Unless by “parenting” you mean someone telling about her haphazard childhood upbringing that will make you rethink what you once understood to be “parenting.” If not, then no. Or, unless by “parenting” you mean when I wrote about how my son picked a booger in preschool and presented it to me on a piece of felt. If not, then no.
And then, I also might’ve been on Freshly Pressed with a slightly different type of post than I normally write. Less “rubber chicken” and more “Chicken Soup for the Soul.”
That’s okay. I’m thrilled that I might’ve persuaded a few someones to mentor a few younger someones. Thrilled! Seriously. Thrilled!
But I also have to wonder if my new readers might think that’s the only way I roll, yo.
Dear New Readers,
I mostly write about a bratty kid. Me. I hope that won’t upset you, seeing that you came to my blog thinking I only write about kids who are lovable. I also hope that this won’t dissuade you from mentoring, seeing that you might now worry about having to mentor a brat like 1989-Angie.
Also, I like to say “crap” and sometimes “sh*t” (but only with the asterisk) and a handful of times “f—” (but only with the dashes), and occasionally I allow 1979-Angie to cuss too.
So where else does this leave me, post-Freshly Pressed?
I learned from other Freshly Pressed alums like Nicki, Speaker7, Darla and Becoming Cliche that you don’t get a Freshly Pressed coffee cup or a keychain out of it. Not even a Freshly Pressed press-on tattoo.
But Lisa, Paprika, Peg and I have discussed getting real Freshly Pressed tats. And Elyse is welcome to join us at the tattoo parlor once she officially joins our club. (And she promised to go halfsies on the subsequent Hepatitis shots.)
And speaking of Peg, she likened the rush she got from being Freshly Pressed to “a heroin rush” that she forever wants to chase — until the shakes go away and until she can again feel the searing hot goodness that’ll make her stop scratching her face and chewing on the bricks outside her house which always seem to help her rotting gums not ache as bad from the withdrawal.
That isn’t exactly how Peg put it, but this is what I assumed she meant. And I might’ve therefore assumed she does heroin.
So I’m going to keep on keepin’ on with my dragon-chasing, hoping for the next rush — the next 1 in 80,000 Freshly Pressed — but also still being grateful if the only 1 in 80,000 my blog ever sees again is simply finding that 1 in 80,000 who, along with me, can correctly identify this character’s name.
And, with that, I’ll know I’ve accomplished something well worth writing about.