My Adorably Cute Niece is 11 today.

11!

As is tradition, here is a link to the post I wrote about her when she was a wee little twerp. (This post will probably make more sense if you read that one first.) It is still my favourite thing I’ve ever written.

I won’t be spending today with her, but I get to hang out with her tomorrow! And I am very excited. Very!

Not exactly sure what our plans involve, but I know we’re making cupcakes. (Hopefully the results will be better than when we made cookies.)

The last time we made cupcakes (with The Monkey) it was very cute and fun.

As munchkin gets older, a few things have changed:

Our nightly phone calls have been upgraded to Skype chats. (And her little good bye waves just before we hang up melt me so completely.)

She’s so tall!

She doesn’t want Unc hugs as much. And she loves saying no to them and giggling at my sad face and sounds. (“Pooooooooooop.”) Though every time I put her in or take her out of chairy (her wheelchair) I steal a hug. And she giggles again. But she hugs me back. When I ask.

Some things have stayed exactly the same:

She is still the sweetest and cutest and bravest kid ever.

And she is still my hero.

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to go all sentimental, or all silly and fun, with this post.

I will say that though it’s her birthday, I am very much the one receiving the gift.

I will also say that a little boy at school bought her flowers for her birthday.

I asked, “Is that because you’re so cute?”

She replied, “YEAH!”

That’s how you know we’re related.

sometimes i can’t sleep
not often
but sometimes
i wonder
if insomnia is greek for zombie
you know
spreading its cold hands
fear runs faster
in the blackness
it plagues one side of my family
but
has thus far
had mercy on me
mostly
clear conscience
i suppose
or short memory
i add
in a melodramatic tone
that resonates best
at night
as the ceiling fan wobbles
i come up with a clever line
about mayans and
self-fulfilling prophecies
but am too lazy to jot it down
i have found a spot
in the past few months
my spot
the spot
that lets me sleep
i eventually try it
why don’t i start there?
cause what would happen
if it didn’t work?
and so i get there
curled up
facing left
my left?
the bed’s left?
and so i get there
curled up
facing EAST
toes wiggling
eyes closing
whispering
real men admit that
sometimes
they want to be the little spoon
to the mocking darkness

Strip #1 | Strip #2 | Strip #3 | Strip #4 | Strip #5 |
Strip #6 | Strip #7 | Strip #8 | Strip #9

Pretty drawings by Jenn.  Words by Peter.

Remember last week when I was complaining about how blogging has changed?

Well I decided that I didn’t want to be the type of person who just complained without taking some kind of action.

I had the faintest inkling of an idea.

“A blog where a different blogger posts each day of the month”

I said it outloud. Ashley said she liked the idea.

That’s all the push I needed.

I started emailing.

First to people I know best. People who I felt I might be able to charm.

I pitched it as a blog that is just about writing. No SEO. No Google Page Rankings. Writing for the sake of writing. Like the old days.

People dug the idea.

They said yes. They gave recommendations for more people to recruit.

And it grew.

Quickly.

So I set an impossibly early launch date. I’m fun like that.

And here we are!

PoopingRainbows.com

Yes it’s a ridiculous name.

Jenn created the header on her iPad and it is cute and silly.

And perfect.

We hope you’ll come check it out.

The line-up of bloggers is absolutely amazing.

The site is still evolving, but we really think it is going to be something cool.

And thus launched…

Pooping Rainbows!

Jenn (@jenniferalaine) hangs out with Steve.

Strip #1 | Strip #2 | Strip #3 | Strip #4 | Strip #5 | Strip #6 | Strip #7 | Strip #8

Pretty drawings by Jenn.  Words by Peter.

]]> http://peterdewolf.com/blogging-the-comic-strip-9/feed/ 3 http://peterdewolf.com/i-remember-when-blogging-was-cool/ http://peterdewolf.com/i-remember-when-blogging-was-cool/#comments Sun, 29 Apr 2012 15:13:21 +0000 Peter DeWolf http://peterdewolf.com/?p=3232

I tell them, as they check their phones, and glance at me warily as if I’m some rambling grandparent. Trying to be respectful, but inching away as if needing to escape the aroma of arthritis cream and their own mortality.

I remember when blogging was cool.

Before the specializing and monetizing and Twitter-izing.

Between Livejournal and… this, there was a sweet spot. I was there. People living and people sharing. And you know why they did it?

To live. And to share.

Friendships grew organically. From internet friends to “friends” to no disclaimers.

Nothing was forced.

Nobody knew what SEO was. And, even if they did, nobody would have given anything resembling a fuck.

Popularity was earned, not chased. Popularity was deserved, not sold as a How-to.

Branding was for corporations and cattle.

I remember when blogging was cool.

No one promoted. Especially not before they had something to promote.

New blog posts were a delicious treat, not an obligation.

Word of mouth with a smile has turned to a cynical sneer.

I’m not sure when things changed. Nothing stays untouched forever, of course.

It was an entire cafeteria full of nerd tables. Then, in a moment of oxymoronic glory, the cool nerds rose to the top. The emulating began.

And Camelot fell. In a pile a pixels.

I remember when blogging was cool.

If you don’t, you probably hadn’t arrived yet.

And that’s too bad. It doesn’t look like it’s coming back any time soon.

I don’t dance. Not really. Maybe for a second. Maybe if I am completely alone. Com-friggin’-pletely. If the music really moves me. The internal music, moreso than the external. I don’t like people watching me dance. I like attention for the things… I like getting attention for? I’m a moderately friendly giant in a land of pint-sized French people. I’ve always naturally shown up on dance floors.  Not a fan. Maybe I’ll do a little head-bob. Then I’ll go to do something with my hands, over-think it, and fix my hair. Or, you know, baseball cap. Not even I really think that everyone is looking at me all the time. Mostly. But they could. They totally could, man. At any moment. I’m relatively sure that I can’t dance. Like Phil Collins and shit. But maybe I’m secretly like Footloose and am just all up in my head. The first one. He’s been working so hard. Punching his card. Though probably not. My point is that I don’t dance. But you kind of make me want to.

we’re never more free
than when we’re tangled in sheets
together
you and i
and you again
voyeuristic sunshine
all but ignored
peering in from around the blind
back lighting
your hair
a celebration
falling on my shoulder
your leg lies across mine
fused by deliciously damp heat
i love you
whispered by one
or both
of us
again
with no hint of obligation
without words
i pass you
a glass of water
condensation drops
land on your chest
shockingly
sitting you up
i dry it with my lips
thoroughly
you thank me with your hand
pulling my hair
just a little
more
baby
yes
the sunlight retreats
from around the blind
it’ll try again
later

I want a porch. Wrap around. All around. I want us to be able to follow the sun. Indian summer evenings. The kind I played baseball during as a kid and tried to will the sun to linger. Just one more at-bat. Spring mornings. The slight nip in the air making you cling tightly to the cup of coffee I brought you, as you tuck your toes up under a homemade blanket that was wedding gift. I want us to have a swing. Our twerps sitting between us, little feet danging in the air. You know how that feels. I want it to be home base during hide and seek. The location of first kisses. That don’t go any further. Backdrop in growing family photos. I want to hold hands. Actively. Squeezing. Tracing lines. Trying to heal scars. Light breeze off the water, playing delicately with your bangs. Fireflies in the back of the house, their dances spelling out words only we can read. I want your head on my shoulder. My cheek on your head. My feet propelling us, as you snuggle in so close. And the swing creaks just the right amount.

This is a collection of short stories full of romance and humour.

Some words you may have read on here over the years.  Some you probably haven’t.  And some can only be found in this book.

I can’t guarantee that reading it will help you find true love.  (Probably.)  But reading it will definitely make the wait more fun.

Buy a paperback copy!

Buy an ebook version!

I really hope you enjoy it.