The Blog Post that never was: a Tribute
By Chris Van Hof ~ Posted Fri, 11/28/2008 - 4:57pm
You would be reading an incredibly insightful and heartwarming blog post about Thanksgiving right now. That's what you would be doing that is, if the Internet gremlins didn't eat my blog post. The following is a synopsis of the once-great, now-disappeared blog post about Thanksgiving.
After what was a very witty and attention-grabbing hook, you would have been reading right now an introduction that would absolutely make you put down your coffee, turn off "Barbara vs. Rosie: the Battle of the Century" on FoxNews, and call your friends and coworkers to your computer, exclaiming, "I can tell that this is going to be one of the best blog posts about Thanksgiving that has likely ever traversed the Information Superhighway! Come near and share in its wonder! This introduction alone is worthy of display on the walls of the Lourve!"
Here is where my first paragraph about the surprising start to my Thanksgiving would have gone. Would have gone, that is, if the original had not been lost between my clicking "submit," and the blog posting actually being posted. Had the process succeeded, however, you would currently be engaging in a remarkable look into my personal life, an insight not possible simply by listening to me on the radio. Maybe it would have inspired you. Maybe it would have made you say, "huh" or "wow" or "meh." Maybe it would have fueled my ego and made me feel really good about myself. Now we'll never know.
But this part right here--the part you would have read immediately after the part that was a really cool insight into my personal life--would have proven to be the real meat of the post. That witty and attention-grabbing hook followed by the coffee-cup-replacing, FoxNews-turning-down, friend-callingly good introductory paragraph would have merely been a scent of what was really in the oven. That part about my surprising start to my Thanksgiving, and the thing that you may not have even known about me? It would have been nothing more than a trifle, indeed a simple green bean casserole, compared to what would have gone right here. It was the meat and potatoes of my Thanksgiving, the heart of my holiday, the wimpy-looking-tree-decked-out-into-a-spiffy-looking-tree moment of the blog post. If that original paragraph were here instead of this one, I guarantee that you would have been feeling a little lump develop in your throat. I even would have tied in classical music and shared some ingenious musical tidbit to make sure that blog post was even remotely related to my job as a classical music radio host and classical music blogger. You may have shed a tear, or cut-and-pasted a quote of it into your Facebook profile, or sent it to your friends who think like you do, or even more emphatically said "huh" or "wow" or "meh." It may have reminded you of the third best day of your life. But that only may have happened with the original paragraph from the original--and now cyber-lost--blog post that would have occupied this space.
After you would have gone to the ends of the Earth, or at least the nether reaches of your email contacts list, to share the profound content of the paragraph that would have preceded this one, you naturally would have needed a neat, clever way to bring your emotions back to pre-reading-the-amazing-blog-post levels. This exact paragraph right here is where that would have happened. Never one to mince words, and ever mindful of the need for a quick read on a blog about classical music, I would have neatly rehashed the important details from the previous paragraphs in one concise sentence. You would have remembered in the course of one comma-separated phrase the perfectly formulated introduction, the huh/wow/meh-inducing second paragraph, the incredible-insight-into-life-and-Thanksgiving-and-classical-music paragraph, and then the witty hook from the very beginning. You would have been hoping for one last clever turn of phrase to bring the entire blog post to a close. And you would have read it right here. If I had remembered to press save.