Dan can create a lovingly romantic post with rapist wit and Bond Girl charm, or he can concoct an uproarious no-shame post about ripping a thunderous fart at the urinal in an occupied office bathroom. And, in either case, the comments section instantly piles up with the same fluffy holiday cheer, the same familial encouragement and the same outpouring of volunteered similar experiences.
I like to think that Dan's either the best schmaltzy talk radio host on the blogs or he runs the best "I Share/You Share" group therapy sessions on the world wide web. Cheapest, too.
I never get the Dan Treatment of overly wholesome comments over at the fierce playground of irreverence we call Slack LaLane. Granted, I mainly write posts trying desperately to find some way to work in the phrase "no-brainer" -- no matter how unrelated to the premise -- simply so I can follow it up with the homemade synonym "a total Schiavo" as part of my blatant attempt to pump that term out into the public consciousness. So far I've gotten little traction, but feel free to try it out. You'll like it.
But somehow I don't get the same Interweb crushes and man-crushes as Dan with that material, or, apparently, material containing borderline-overt racism, the occasional Smell the Glove misogyny and/or nitrous tanks. Dan tends to get responses to a witty dating post that begin "haha, i totally hear you on the dating scene in new york, but one time i went out with this guy and..." or "OMG, you're too cute, that story is hilarious, I just found ur blog from my co-worker and it is AWESOME --HoTTimothy31."
Not me. With the kind of riff-raff that contributes regularly over at my basement studio, well, it can end up becoming a non-competitive round of gang-mentality oneupmanship at the expense of some poor, undeserving minority or schmuck-on-wheels du jour. I get comments like the following to my real mature post about why I'm mature enough to be a father but not a husband and how I probably wouldn't mind if my future wife died in childbirth: "You never told me you wanted me to fix you up with my cousin with Lou Gehrig's disease. Sometimes, Ace, all you gotta do is ask!"
I've rambled for a bit but haven't really made a point yet, and most people will openly tell you that's my biggest flaw. I guess my point is, I wouldn't mind a day when people call me "handsome and debonair" or a "sexpot blogger that can eat scones or Dunkaroos with me any time." I wouldn't mind a day when we all share in funny coming-of-age experiences and yuk it up about the times something universally cool happened to us. I wouldn't mind a day feeling like part of a community of computer smiley faces with online love to give for one of their own.
And that day is today, folks. I want to be showered in your awesome brand of Danlove, and if I'm not, I'll tear out your sister's goddamn fallopian tubes with my fucking teeth. Try me, yo.
One last item of business...Since I did some work on Dan's behalf, I'm gonna cash in my favor right now (and a second favor later when I get that sexy fucker all alone): If any of youse enjoy live music -- rock bands, GoodGod funk, [in Cosby voice] the jazz music, classics, the popular rock band Phish -- head on over to a fairly new blog we recently launched called Hidden Track. Like Men's Wearhouse, our slogan is also "You're gonna like the way you look." Nah, I wish. But go there anyway.