Blog posts with legs: And then I wrote

I was in an email discussion with someone – OK, it was Alan David Doane – about his piece The Entomological Song, which started off “​All I really ever wanted to be was a writer.” He wrote: “For a week, this essay existed only as three sentences in a draft in my Gmail.”

I commented: “ALL my blog posts are gmail emails.” In my case, this is to say, like Joe E. Ross in Car 54, where Are You?, I might get a blog idea while doing something else. I immediately email myself and mark as USE IT.

I do the same with articles I get or I see on Facebook; email them to myself; a lot of those end up in those fortnightly Rambling pieces, because I don’t have time to write about everything that crosses my mind.

One evening recently, I get an email from Chris in New Jersey: “I have nothing to add to your 2015 post and discussion about the word origins of Gallo’s (‘urp’) Apothic wines, but I greatly enjoyed the commentary.”

I was pleased but bemused. I wrote back: “Glad you enjoyed it! That is one of a half dozen posts over the past dozen years that generates comment well past the date I posted.” To which Chris inquired, “Do you see a theme among your long-lived posts?”

“Spaulding Krullers, the late Raoul Vezina, my late grandfather and the radio station he worked at, my old k-9 school. Apothic is actually the outlier.” And it’s true.

If you Google Spaulding Krullers, my post shows up near the top. The first time I wrote about Raoul Vezina, who died in 1983, and this blog didn’t even start until 2005, I became the sad reporter of his passing to at least three people.

McKinley Green, a janitor at WNBF-TV and radio is well remembered, still, as are the stations. Daniel Dickinson was razed in the 1970s, but is recalled fondly.

Speaking of recall, or the lack thereof, Arthur noted: “I am, as Roger Green calls himself, a magpie blogger, that is, I write about what interests me at that moment.” I had forgotten the term, which I stole from Dustbury.

This is what gets written when the LOW temperature for the evening is 76F. It’s sort of like drunk tweeting, only in a longer form. And without the alcohol, but WITH sleep deprivation.

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