The day starts like any other day. Maybe you’re in the middle of scrubbing the toilet, or playing with your kids. Maybe you’re working; selling some insurance. (Do you have enough life insurance? Does anyone, really?) You decide to take a little, bitty break and visit your blog – a quick trip to the dashboard on the off chance that somebody, anybody, read your latest offering. It’s not a big deal really; that’s just the fruit of your tortured labor displayed there, brought forth in sweat and agony from the very depths of your soul for the world to read and judge.
Wait a minute. Something’s going on down here on the normally static stats page. You watch your numbers climb steadily, going up, up, up by the minute. You don’t believe it. “Wha??? Who are all these people? Where did the comments come from? Is this really happening?”
Welcome to your magical, Freshly Pressed Day.
On Freshly Pressed Day, you can do anything you want. You walk on bloggy water.
You can roam wherever you want in WordPress, because the world is your oyster. No blog is off limits. You can comment on absolutely any topic, on any other blog, secure in the knowledge that no matter how banal or uninformed your comment, you’re golden. When confronted with your lameness, other bloggers might call you an idiot. You laugh! “Do you even KNOW who I AM?” You subtly steer them over to check out your blog. The sheer number of “likes”; the gigantic wall of comments you have is a foundation wall upon which you stand to project your pithy utterances. You’re untouchable. For today.
I see why Lindsey Lohan would think it was perfectly acceptable to walk out of a jewelry store with some little bauble that caught her eye – she’s a celebrity! Those peon storeowners should thank their lucky stars to have her business. Even if by business we mean shoplifting.
It’s the same on Freshly Pressed day.
“I can’t be bothered with work-a-day concerns,” you tell your office.
“You can feed yourselves,” you tell your starving children.
“I’ve been Freshly Pressed” you crow to the real world folk with whom you are forced to interact. They look at you with shock and awe. At least that’s how you interpret their expressions, which are actually conveying a message of “What-the-hell-is-that-and-who-the-hell-cares-anyway?”
You’re chained to your computer, checking stats and replying to comments like the fate of the free world is riding on your response. Cleverness flows from your fingertips – the muse is upon you and you can do no wrong!
But nothing lasts forever.
When the clock strikes midnight, it’s time to head home from the ball. Your shiny glass shoes turn back into stinky house slippers with holes in the toes. Your gleaming carriage reverts to the rotting pumpkin and filthy rats that are your usual companions.
Now when you check your dashboard, the site stats look like a giant slalom plunging down the side of the Matterhorn. The dizzying heights of Freshly Pressed day only serve to make all the other days before and after look dismally, depressingly insignificant. Like how real cars looks like Matchbox toys to Godzilla.
It’s a scientific fact that bloggers have been known to come down with a painful case of the Blogger Bends from their site stats dropping so radically and so quickly.
You have to make up for lost time at work, and try to repair any damage done to personal relationships on your Freshly Pressed Day. “Sorry” you say, not bothering to try to explain WordPress again, “I was a little loopy yesterday – I think it was a blood sugar thing.”
Your posts and comments are once again subject to the usual laws of blog nature. You can and do come across like a grade-A doofus once more.
You’ll try to recreate the glow of this day forever. You’ll casually drop a mention into every, single, mother-lovin’ post and comment from here on out, until all your readers unsubscribe because you are a boring, self-important buffoon who will NOT stop bragging about getting Freshly Pressed for God’s sake, like she OWNS the damn title!
You’ll still be talking about it years from now to people who assume you’re a couple jacks short of a full deck, and they will respond with: “Uh huh, yeah, you told me about that already, sugar. Now let’s get you out of that soggy Depends and into a fresh one, ok?”
But nobody can ever take away the memory of your magical, Freshly Pressed Day.