Don’t ask me why, but I went incognito to The 14th Annual Big Apple Blogger Bash last night. Well, incognito in the sense that everyone else had nametags and I walked around sans identifier, and only introduced myself using my first name (kinda like Roseanne or Madonna). When asked if I had a blog, I told the honest to God truth–and looked the person straight in the eye–when denying having anything even resembling a blog (whatever that is, my expression said). I was there to support my buddy Paul in his quest to find NYC’s hottest blogger. I saw right away that this was going to be a tough job.

Let’s back up, though, shall we? I was a little wary about going to this thing to begin with, and my fears were only amplified when I showed up to the bar and my chaperone was nowhere to be seen. I looked around wondering what a blogger looked like. I always imagined your typical blogger to be swathed head-to-toe in kitty clothes, or maybe donning a spiffy Deep Space Nine uniform. Honestly, I had no idea what to expect, but I knew I was scared. Then, I got my first look at a real, genuine blogger! Unfortunately he approached and asked me if I was Aaron (I assume this is the Aaron to whom he was referring.) I nicely informed this little blogger man that I wasn’t Aaron and that I’m sure his blog-date would be there soon. He took his seat, and I looked for a corner in which to hide.

My tour guide to this twisted little land of criminally obsessive typers finally showed up and escorted me into the side room that was filled with a strange breed of sticker-bearing minglers. I passed on the tag and sidled up next to what appeared to be a group of small effete Asian men. They were fiddling with what looked like the most expensive digital camera ever produced on this Earth, and chirping about blogginess (to coin a phrase). My escort decided this was the time to drop the “I’m just looking for the elusive hot chick blogger” line. He then introduced me as the man who was going to baby-sit him in his inebriation and disallow any after-hour canoodling of any non-humanoid creatures. The cold wind blowing through the bar at that point had nothing to do with the fact another emo kid in horn-rims had joined the crowd from frosty 9th Avenue…

Needless to say, it seemed it was time to move on to some folks with a little better sense of humor. I literally turned and ran into a guy who has the same job I did in a different division of Random House. This threw off my whole game. It was like running into your boss while exiting a Hooters in Wichita. You know, it’s not as if you’re doing anything wrong by being there, but it’s kind of hard to explain why you’re walking out of a misogynistic wing joint in the middle of city you have no business being in.

As it turns out, I only spoke to one other blogger in my short time there, and she (despite being younger than the James Worthy t-shirt to which I often refer) was a pleasant, charismatic character. I elected to skip talking to the few Lisa Loeb look-alikes and UUTV rejects to concentrate all my efforts on not bursting into tears at the humanity of it all. Seriously, I wish I had the stamina to keep up some sort of daily writing ritual, but I have this wacky thing called a job that takes up a large portion of my day (a problem I have a feeling more than a few of the blog constituency doesn’t have to worry themselves over) and I really don’t think anybody wants to hear about how my cat threw up its Tender Vittles or how the gob of ear wax I pulled out of my head last Thursday kinda looks like James K. Polk.

My luck, some dude who attended the bash will take my light-hearted ribbing the wrong way and will start the “I’m Gonna Kick Mr. Hipster’s Ass” blog, where every day he will document a different way he’s gonna kick my ass. Come and get me blogboy!