Again, From the Top: TV, internet culture, and posting like it’s not the first time I’ve tried this.

Consider this a work in regress.

I don’t know if blogs are still a thing. I know newsletters are—I even have one, though calling it a “newsletter” feels like putting on a blazer to write a diary entry. TikToks definitely are. YouTube essays with missable details from the most recent MCU film and hacky screenwriting tips—those are a thing. But a blog? Just some guy with a lot of opinions and a WordPress account? That feels like trying to bring back cargo shorts without irony. But here I am anyway. And for all I know, cargo shorts are back—I’m not on TikTok.

This isn’t about chasing virality or cracking the algorithm. I’m not selling merch. It’s more that I’ve spent the better part of twenty years thinking way too much about TV shows, memes, fan theories, brand stunts, and whatever weird trend is bubbling up in the group chat. And I still have a lot to say.

I’m not on TikTok. Not out of protest—more like self-preservation. I’m afraid I’d either get sucked in or accidentally start performing. I don’t want to dance for you. I just want to write—for me, to you.

So this is me, dusting off the old blog muscles. I used to run the most-read How I Met Your Mother blog back in the day—(what a flex)—which either makes me deeply qualified or dangerously nostalgic. Either way, I’m back. And if you’re reading this, maybe you are too.

When Posting Meant Writing

Blogs used to be the way you presented yourself online—messy, personal, opinionated, and refreshingly unoptimized. I miss the heyday of Tumblr. Heartfelt posts written in the dark and quiet, meant to be consumed in the same way. The kind of writing that felt like a personal journal rather than a brand statement, like sliding a folded note under someone’s door. You wrote late at night, not to go viral, but to be honest. Jake Lodwick once said the best way to know someone was to look at their Tumblr. Then social media happened, and the conversation moved to shorter, faster, louder places. Suddenly, you weren’t blogging your thoughts—you were “building a personal brand.” And you had to unmute your phone.

Originally, being online was about how you wrote. Your presence was your prose. People knew you by your cadence, your metaphors, your ability to string together a take that made someone laugh or feel a little less alone. The internet rewarded articulation—how well you could shape a thought, turn a phrase, or frame an argument. As always, the medium is the message, and the first era of the social internet was built for words: easy to write, publish, edit. Low bandwidth. High signal. Typed into LiveJournal boxes and parsed through Google Reader.

But over time, the platforms changed, and so did the formats. RSS feeds gave way to visuals. Phones got faster, cameras got better, and video stopped being a hassle. Short-form became the default. Real-time became the goal. Presence became literal. It wasn’t about what you thought—it was about what you looked like while thinking it. Your background, your outfit, your eye contact. Your charisma on camera. The takes were still there, sure, but now they had to be said with confidence, cut for time, and lit like a confessional.

And look—I get it. We’ve always loved seeing ourselves—the pool of Narcissus was the original “Going Live.” But something got lost in the shift from essays to avatars. From longform to looped. From “this is what I think” to “this is how I seem.”

It’s content. And it works. But it’s not what I’m here to do.

TL;DR

This isn’t a “get off my lawn” moment. I love that TikTok exists. I love that it gives people the freedom to be weird, brilliant, and accidentally hilarious in ways that blogs never could. I truly think it’s an important democratic tool for connection. If it wasn’t, they wouldn’t be trying to ban it. I just know that it’s not the platform for me. I don’t keep my beard that tight, and my apartment doesn’t get enough natural light.

Also, I’m at the age where I remember the exact moment Facebook stopped being fun. I remember when Instagram got thirsty. I remember when Twitter got mean. I know what happens when a platform that used to be fun starts feeling like work.

So instead of optimizing for discoverability, I’m opting for clarity. Writing over performing. Longform over shortform. Thoughts that take more than 90 seconds to land.

What This Space Will Be

This is a place for pop culture in all its forms—TV recaps, media criticism, deep dives into digital ephemera, nostalgic detours, and whatever cursed meme just dropped on my timeline.

It’s not a “what to watch” blog. It’s a “why are we watching this and what does it say about us” blog. I’m not here to summarize the plot—I’m here to pull at the threads. Less live reaction to tonight’s season finale, more interrogation of why that movie from a decade ago still hits.

Expect hot takes delivered coolly. Big thoughts in lowercase. Think pieces with heart.

• Reviews of shows you’re watching, and a few you forgot existed
• Essays on internet culture, meme logic, and tech-psychology weirdness
• Commentary on how brands are trying (and failing) to be human
• Bits of media nostalgia, especially from the early 2000s
• And the occasional essay that starts about TV and ends up about life

I’ve written this blog before. Some posts fizzled, some thrived. I’ve had hot takes go nowhere and niche essays hit harder than I expected. I’ve spent years thinking I should get back to writing and then telling myself the timing wasn’t right, or the tools weren’t ready, or I didn’t have anything new to say.

But at some point, you stop waiting for your pencils to be sharper. You realize even the dull ones can make a mark.

Warts and all.

Let’s start this shit up.

I’m scared my abilities are gone. I’m scared I’ll fuck this up. I’m scared of being boring, or obvious, or shouting into the void. But I’m starting anyway.

Let me take the idea that got me this far and put it to bed. What I’m about to do won’t be that, but it’ll be something.

And that’s enough.