Dear Blog

I was waiting for the janitor to unlock the band room so I could polish my trombone before jazz-band tryouts when the coolest blog editors in school,'s Eve Batey and Jackson West, walked by. Oh my God, Jackson is so, so cute! I kind of craned my neck so I could listen to what they were saying, and Eve was all like, “Our second anniversary party tonight is going to be off the hook, yo! All the cool blogger kids are going to be there, and Rita's older brother is totally buying us beer!” I had to be there, even though I don't know what RSS stands for. I decided to take my similarly ignorant SF Weekly colleagues Brock and Jennifer and Hiya, too — Snakes on a Plane opening night be damned.

We got to the party, and just like they said, there was free booze and fancy cheese everywhere! I used to think the cash bars and little plates of Hot Pockets we put out at our newspaper functions were so fun and classy, but suddenly I just felt terribly, terribly ashamed. I looked at Jackson in his natty white seersucker suit, and then I thought of the way we proudly celebrate each new issue of the Weekly (by folding up the covers into paper hats and marching around the office singing La Marseillaise), and I knew that I could never picture these people doing anything so, like, bricks and mortar.

And then — oh my God — suddenly Eve was walking up to us, her red kimono billowing out cinematically behind her, and then oh my God she was opening her mouth! Would she throw us out? Would she be, like, “Citizen journalists only. Like, get a TypeKey account already.” Would she invite me to her sleepover next weekend, where we'd sit on her bed and she'd tell me about the time she went all the way with the Daily Kos as I brushed her hair?

“Hi guys! I'm so glad you made it!” And she gave Brock a hug and handed us some ice-breaker bingo cards. Wait a second, aren't ice-breakers for dorks? It was then that I realized, “These blogger people are writers, just like us. ” Then I spilled punch on my dress and ran out crying.

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