It's been too long since I last posted. Thing is, I've got nothing to write. I mean, really —
nothing.
With great power comes great responsibility. Spider Man or Superman or somebody said that. Maybe it was Clark Kent's dad (it certainly wasn't Dubya's). I don't know who said it first, and I don't care. The point is that as time passes, it becomes increasingly difficult to muster posts that meet the exacting quality standards here at Phutatorius & Co. And every minute of every day I carry the weight of
my responsibility to my readership on my shoulders. When I go a week or more without gagging up a blogworthy Chestnut, I feel that my blogger's burden could well break my back.
All this is my own damned fault. I did it to myself. Over these last seven months I have painted myself into a corner. I started last July with the classic
tabula rasa — the Phutatorius you know now did not exist. He was an Entity TBD who would grow to become anything I chose. And grow he did. Over the last 80-some-odd posts there has emerged a distinctly Phutatorian sensibility: gripping, provocative, titillating, disturbing.
If the pickings here have been slim in recent weeks, it is only because I will not post a Chestnut to the blog that I have not thoroughly vetted and established as Phutatorius-worthy. Now don't get me wrong, people. There are thoughts ringing around in this head all day long (except between 9 and 5 on weekdays). Some of them seek out other thoughts, venture cheeseball pick-up lines, find some by-the-hour hotel room where they can get it on with one another to form
ideas. Those ideas land in the hopper and I rifle through them:
Hm. Is this really the stuff of Phutatorius? Does this rise to the level of what the public expects from me? And if so, does it play with the format? That is, if I went ahead with a post, would it be consistent with what my audience of twelve has come to know — and believe in — as PHUTATORIUS?
What, did you think Chestnuts grew on trees?
It's a lot of pressure, people, and I'm starting to understand why all the divas end up in clinics after their fourth albums.
The question remains: how do I fix this? Change of format? Snappy new web design? Dancing girls? Actual content? Whatever I decide, I pledge this to you: I am committed to this enterprise for the long haul.
