A million years ago, I had young kids, a Jeep, a wife who sorta loathed me and a job that bored me. And cable internet and a digital camera and a President that I kind of ranted about constantly. And stories. Lots and lots of stories. Usually stupid, mundane things.
I wanted a soapbox to tell my truths. Even if they were actually lies, or mostly imaginary. The challenge was to make them amusing to my audience. This was kind of a low bar, since my “audience,” such as it was, was myself and a couple of friend/contributors.
So how to dump this maelstrom of oh f*** I’m 40, but I’ve got all these THINGS to say on an unsuspecting internet? This was 2004. No smartphones, no Facebook. The Twitters had not been invented.
But there were these things called “blogs.” God, what a stupid name. I didn’t want a “blog.” I wasn’t a “blogger.” I wanted a “website” where I could post things in serial fashion as I thought of them, augmented by pictures and video.* [Ed.: That is the very definition of a blog, genius.]