Thanks, Internet!

I consider myself better in front of a crowd than in it. And so it was with some trepidation that I approached the velvet-roped entrance of Remote Lounge tonight for the 6:01/Gothamist happy hour.

After all, the hurricane was blowing in. I’d put in my 10+ hours at the MTV, spent largely watching Wolf Blitzer opine “It’s going to get much, much worse!” (He always repeats the things he wants you to really, really hear.) As if that wasn’t enough (Wolf plus the creaking building), Kevin and I put in three hours on “Annalia (Come Back Home),” elevating my new record’s premiere also-ran track from, well, also-ran, to full-fledged rockin’ tune (we retracked guitars, cleaned up the drums, and added some congas). And then, as the wind rattled the studio windows, I hopped the 6 to Astor Place, and made my way to the Bowery.

My new online friends did not disappoint. I immediately recognized Jen, Jake (whose anchor tattoo remains a mystery), and Aaron. Gratefully, they seemed to recognize me. (The whole web log thing is made much easier by a) naming the site after yourself and b) putting your face all over it.)

I felt a little like a reporter asking questions of everyone I met. Thematically, there is definite cohesion to the group: post-dot commers (remember, most of my generation was involved in the boom to some degree, and in the end, most of the sites we built failed — present company excluded) with current corporate-ish day jobs like publishing, media, or academia. Gregarious. Entrepreneurial. Good people. Lots of smiles and laughter.

I’ve been journaling online for nearly two years, but discovered only recently that there’s quite a blogging phenomenon going on (though I’m not sure if it’s waxing or waning). I’m not sure what it will add up to, or what it means. But so far, it’s led me to some terrific new pen pals and friends: Lara, H, Leslie, Ari, Ayelet, Jen, Jake, Aaron, and Peter. Thank you Internet!

Home, then, through the edges of Isabel: rain drops on the cab windshield, red lights on wet pavement. Home, then, to Breyer’s vanilla, John Mayer, and a 50/50 oj/H20. Home, now, to bed.

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