Since I can’t imagine that I’ll be around for the 111th anniversary, I’m going to use this occasion to bastardize a certain writer of a travelogue/memoir on his eleventy-first birthday.
My dear People, My dear Bagginses and Boffins, and my dear Tooks and Brandybucks, and Grubbs, and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Hornblowers, and Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses and Proudfoots. Also my readers, authors, and other bloggers I welcome you back again to The Irresponsible Reader. Today is the blog’s eleventh anniversary: Eleven years of blogging about reading irresponsibly!
I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am. I shall not keep you long. I have called you all together for a Purpose. Indeed, for Three Purposes!
First of all, to tell you that I am immensely fond of you all, and that eleven years is too short a time to blog among such excellent and admirable hobbits and readers.
I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.*
Secondly, to celebrate my anniversary. It’s been 11 years and 5,065 posts, 2 template facelifts, 2 webhosts, thousands and thousands of pages read, and hundreds and hundreds of hours of listening.
If I may be allowed to refer to ancient history, my arrival on the Internet by this name wasn’t an auspicious arrival–and not terribly readerly, either, that started the next day. As I’ve noticed with my reposts this week, I wasn’t terribly wordy then, but I’ve largely recovered from that.
I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT.
I regret to announce that – eleven is far too short a time to spend among you – this is the NOT END. I am going nowhere. I am NOT leaving NOW.
This is NOT GOOD-BYE!
* Not true…but you can’t mess with that line.
Okay, I can’t torture Tolkien’s wording enough to get this in, but it’s the most important part:
I’ve had a blast doing this. I’ve read so many great things—many, many things I’d never have even heard of without this blog. I’ve corresponded with more great authors than I can think of—and best of all, there’s you readers.
I want to thank all of you for your time, your comments, your support (particularly through the whole recent cancer/surgery thing) your encouragement—and occasionally, your editing (I always appreciate it, I just regret the necessity). I assure you that every view, every like, every comment, every retweet, every email is encouraging and I can’t thank you enough. Hopefully, I’m saying that often enough.
The most interesting incident Tuesday morning was my walking to a building on Thirty-fourth Street to enter a booth and push levers on a voting machine. I have never understood why anybody passes up that bargain. It doesn’t cost a cent, and for that couple of minutes, you’re the star of the show, with top billing. It’s the only way that really counts for you to say I’m it, I’m the one that decides what’s going to happen and who’s going to make it happen. It’s the only time I really feel important and know I have a right to. Wonderful. Sometimes the feeling lasts all the way home if somebody doesn’t bump me.
Actually, that cold did more than set back my writing–you’ll note on the calendar at the bottom of the post that there are two blank days there. I don’t know the last time I spent two days without reading.
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