This one goes to eleven

As I mentioned Saturday—and in keeping with a couple of well-wishers (the amazing animation maven known as Brandie at True Classics and the equally sensational Fredric March devotee Jill from Sittin’ on a Backyard Fence—both of whom can also be spotted hangin’ ‘round at The Black Maria) who sent me felicitations via Twitter—today marks the eleventh anniversary of Thrilling Days of Yesteryear.  What a long, strange trip it’s been.

If you had remarked once I was into this blog for two or three years that I’d still be having fun with it in 2014 I might have been a bit skeptical.  I’m just as surprised as you (and maybe a little frightened) that it’s continued for as long as it has, due to my admittedly low threshold of boredom.  But I never seem to run out of things to write about (and even re-write about), which I can only take as a positive sign; I have seen many a fine blog abandoned and left to be taken over by squatters who use the digs for their own nefarious purposes…mostly involving a lunchmeat made popular in a Monty Python sketch.

I’ve told and retold the origins of TDOY so many times I’m starting to get e-mail from folks asking whether this is a blog or a Marvel comic book.  But I believe in giving generous credit where it is due—it was my friend Laura (a.k.a. “The Baby”) who first planted the seed in my feverish brain, and then itinerant farmers S.Z. and Scott C. at World-o-Crap (also going strong for about the same length of time) did the necessary landscaping.  But TDOY would be a hollow shell without the support of the blog faithful and friends I’ve made online all these years—I risk leaving anyone out if I start to list everybody, so you good people know who you are.

This year’s anniversary will be a fun one because the ‘rents and I will be tucking into some Chinese food this evening as we steel ourselves to watch the election returns.  We take the responsibility to vote very seriously here at Rancho Yesteryear; we went out first thing this morning and after breakfasting at The Cracker Barrel (at the risk of sounding like an ingrate—I’ve eaten better biscuits) we swung by our polling place and cast our ballots.  I held my nose and voted for Michelle Nunn even though she did not overwhelm me with her candidacy (something about being able to work across the aisle, holding hands and singing Kumbaya—while saying very little about what she supports) because David Perdue is essentially Mitt Romney with a Southern drawl.  I didn’t have as much trouble with voting for Jason Carter (though he, too, is problematic) because I think Nathan Deal is crookeder than a dump truck full of dissembled wire hangers.  Ditto Ken Dious (Jeebus protect me from these centrist, wishy-washy Democrats), who hasn’t a chance of winning against batshit crazy wingnut The Right Reverend Jody Hice.

So as we eat our egg rolls and beef ‘n broccoli and kung pao shrimp while watching MSNBC (all three of us are in agreement that Wolf Blitzer is the worst), I will try to forget that despite years of pissing and shitting on government in an effort to demonstrate it doesn’t work, the GOP will be rewarded by frustrated voters because their hapless counterparts are unable to articulate to Joe Red Clay why they are the better alternative.  Instead, I will toast eleven years of nostalgia blogging (I promise to make a little headway on getting the old Salon blog material up soon) and take comfort in the knowledge that my sponsor (heh) has picked up my option for another season.  (Actually, we had originally planned to have rib-eyes…but that was only if Mitch McConnell was going down to defeat, and that does not look likely.)  Tomorrow, a new edition of “On the Grapevine” and this Saturday, more Black Widow shenanigans on Serial Saturdays.

If you haven’t already done so…go out and vote, damn it.