I know, I know. I supposedly quit this weblog thing for good, cold turkey, just two months back. But, I swear to god, weblogging is more addictive than crack. Plus, while I still am aiming to write the longer sort of articles that precipitated the move away from blogging, I realized quickly that I often had short tidbits to share that didn’t really justify pages of their own. Hence this iteration of the site, which blends a weblog on the front page with hierarchically organized long-form content throughout the rest of the site.

And, yes, quitting and un-quitting is nothing unusual in the weblog world. (Welcome back HJ!) Hell, I’ve done it at least yearly myself since logging my first post nearly five years back. So, in celebration of my utter predictability, I close with this comeback quote from one of my un-quits two years back: “Yes, boys and girls, like a veritable phoenix rising from its digital ashes, the daily dose of vitriol returns. Sorry mom, but it’s cheaper than therapy.”

Currently remodeling. Sorry about the mess.

Over the next week, self-aggrandizement will be transforming. Not just physically, but philosophically as well. In short, for better or worse, s-a will cease being a weblog, returning (in a retro-chic move) to a more static, hierarchical structure.

As bloggers go, I’m sort of an old hand; I’ve been maintaining a weblog (in one form or another) for about four years. And over that time, I’ve come to realize the medium often leads me to write less than my best. I don’t edit sufficiently, and (worse) often end up posting short, crappy entries for fear of falling too far behind a regular posting schedule.

Which is why I’m switching back to a format that places more lasting value on content. Content that will still be updated and added to regularly, but hopefully content that’s a bit more substantial. Ideally, content that’s funnier and better written. Articles, essays, interviews. And, yes, more from-the-trenches tales of NYC dating exploits and misadventures.

Trust me. It should be good.

As my digital and analog lives increasingly intertwine, I find myself ever more frequently caught in the classic blogger’s dilemma: when posting about someone, how much should a blogger take into account whether that someone is likely to read the post?

Over the years I’ve been blogging, I’ve tried out any number of ballsy approaches to that problem, from posts that laid it all on the line, consequences be damned, to those that altered just enough detail to maintain plausible deniability should angry confrontations ensue. (And ensue they certainly did.)

By now, however, I’m too overbooked and overstressed to live that dangerously. Instead, I mainly skirt such perilous topics. And, frankly, I feel like a wuss for it. Because, just this morning, I have all sorts of post-worthy things to say about:

• A really, comically bad date last night.
• Running into a recent ex on the street.
• A date this very evening about which I’m nervously thrilled.

Sadly, fair readers, I’m pansying out on them all. If I weather this month’s brutal work-related stresses, I promise to return to my old tricks. Until then, you’ll have to content yourselves with simply letting your feral imaginations run wild.

Midway through pulling together a post about the differences between how men and women eat boxed chocolates, it suddenly occurred to me: Perhaps I’ve written about this before.

Apparently I have.

Seeing as how I consume movies on a rather regular basis (an occupational hazard, I suppose), and seeing as how I’m full of opinion on those very movies, I’ve decided to start adding mini-reviews to the “salmagundi” sidebar. Reviews will be in the form of “Movie Title: Letter Grade”, with a sentence or three about the film in the link title (i.e. hover your mouse over the link and it should pop up). Bon app

Where else could two guys’ dorky emails spur a maelstrom of discussion culminating in women lining up to make out with them both?

Part the First, wherein trouble is instigated.

Ms. Hiboux adjudicates the “blog-boys of summer SMACKDOWN!“

Part the Second, wherein a challenge is lain.

Mr. Aplenty–

As cemented by Krissa’s latest posting, I’m afraid I have no choice but to officially declare, between the two of us, an Unending, To-the-Death Digital Rivalry of Great Hatred and Much Dislike.

Sadly, several of our mutual digital acquaintances have actually suggested that we would get along dangerously well in real life, and I must admit to regularly reading and immensely enjoying your site.

None the less, the Code of Internet Chivalry (hereby created by its very invocation) dictates that I not let such petty matters sway me from the necessary Great Hatred (and certainly not from the Much Dislike) required by our mutual positions.

Consider yourself thusly informed,

j

Part the Third, wherein the challenge is accepted.

Mr. Aggrandizement,

I cannot tell you how much pleasure this email gives me. It indicates that you feel the need to follow a code of ethics, that you have a sense of honor and human decency. This, of course, means that you are suffused with weakness. As soon as I saw Krissa’s namby pamby “tie vote,” I immediately hired the long out-of-work cast of “Different Strokes” to hunt you down in Hell’s Kitchen and kill you. I did not throw down a gauntlet or provide warning of any sort, as you did below.

The fact that I also enjoy your site (despite its apalling [sic] lack of comment enablement) is, I believe, completely beside the point. The only thing that matters to me is victory.

May the worst man win.

Best regards,
Greg

To be continued?

The regularly scheduled narcissistic yet oddly sage programming will return shortly.

Headed to Soho House this evening to meet the inimitable Choire Sicha for a pre-release screening of Dirty Pretty Things. With a bit of time before the film, we hit the pool-adorned roof deck to mingle with the Fabulous People and chat with a British couple Choire knew. At one point, the conversation turned to weblogs, and the husband delivered the best backhanded compliment I’d heard in months:

“You know,” he said, “I think weblogging may be the new DJ-ing.”

And, sadly, he’s probably right.