My blog -- The early days:

Before I sorta got the hang of it.

So I woke up today, screaming -- like I always do -- from this nightmare that I was a finalist competing in the same category as James Wolcott.

And then I realized that I just had had too much Yoo-hoo before bednights and had to pee, so I hopfooted it down the castle halls until I found the head...

(Oh please let it have been the head.

Or I'm gonna have to do that whole load of dainties all over again.

And the cat will never let me live it down, what with me recently and severely harshing her catnip-mellow over making willful and premeditated wee-wee on my couch.)

Anyway, since I was up already I checked my email for death threats and penis enlargement bargains and found to my simultaneous horror and cautious delight that 'twas true.

No, not the urinating in the washing machine bit. The other bit.

So here I am -- Koufax Finalist for Best Writing.

One of the Dirty Dozen, along with the following, stellar writers…

Michael Berube Online

By Neddie Jingo

Courting Destiny

Creek Running North: Chris Clarke

Firedoglake: ReddHedd

Hullabaloo: Digby

I Blame the Patriarchy: Twisty Faster

Majikthise: Lindsay Beyerstein

Suburban Guerrilla: Susie Madrak

Unclaimed Territory: Glenn Greenwald

...and the aforementioned Mr. Wolcott -- He Who Can Incise Lyrical Invective Into Titanium...using only every other consonant North of the letter “M” in the English alphabet and any three punctuation marks of your choosing.

(And for Christ's Sake don’t tell him I told you, but I have heard it reliably reported that once, during August of 1983, at CBGB, James Wolcott forced seventeen men to form a human pyramid and an eighteenth to defenestrate himself from the top of it using only an umlaut. Swear to God. I have a cousin who knows a guy who was dating a woman that was there!)

Stepping into -- or even being accidentally choppered into -- any arena with Wolcott is tantamount to Tom Waits’ Chocolate Jesus wandering into CERNs Large Electron-Positron Collider during the smashy part: A situation which presents an ample opportunity for having one’s ass slagged in various amusing configurations if one takes it very seriously, and scant prospect for anything else.

So, while embracing and celebrating the fact that I’m gonna lose like George McGovern...in a prom dress...leading an Easter Sunday "Taliban Abortionist Pride Parade" down the main street of Pierre, South Dakota, I must also admit that fluking into the same neighborhood as these brilliant writers does , in fact, afford me four opportunities that I may not have had otherwise.

So WTF...

First, for reasons too tedious to go into, this has occasioned me to comb back through the 530 posts I have done in the last 11 months and come up with a handful of my favorites.

Not a “Best Of” list, and not necessarily those that have gotten the most attention or elicited the most feedback, but ones that I liked for one reason or another, in eight of the categories where I tend to focus my attention.

And since there may be a wee bit of an uptick in readership in the next few days, I thought I’d let you have a look at what I think stood out in each of those categories.

Here is that list and those topics:

On Doing Unto Others

On Conservative Fear

On Tom Friedman being an ass

On Activism

On Bush

On Cheney

On why David Brooks is a waste of carbon

On those fucking Moderates

Second, since this might garner some attention outside of my normal traffic patterns, let me say unambiguously here and now that I am in the market for a paying writing gig, doing what I do.

Banging out a column or two per week (give or take) on topics of interest to me for dough.

If you need a resume, take a look at the eight examples above.

If that’s not sufficient, then forget about it.

I don’t write on spec and I don’t write for pennies; I write either for my own pleasure, or for compensation commensurate with my skills. If you can’t swing that, then don’t waste my time.

And “time” is really what this is all about.

My paying gigs collectively keep the wolf from my door and the odd dram of Oban in my glass, but they also keep me on a punishing schedule which leaves me little energy or time to do what I enjoy doing, which is stuff like this. So the trick is to find a way to buy back some of my own time, which is something a paying writing gig would afford.

And since I’ve got this blog and all, seemed kinda stupid not to use it to put some feelers out :-)

Third, a strong “Thank You” again to the people that expend their valuable time to come by, read my words, comment and converse so thoughtfully and passionately, and send some positive joss back my way.

I appreciate it more than you know.

And fourth, sincere thanks to Steve Gilliard and Jen, who gave me a fine bloghome to grow up in, and who then urged me to get the fuck out and seek my own fortune.

So far, so good.