There are a lot of Brian Moores out there. We’re a dime a dozen. Don’t let any Brian Moore try to tell you the name has any special significance. You don’t have to do much to get the name – I certainly didn’t – and once you get it, it’s pretty much yours for the rest of your life. Nobody’s going to take it from you. You can’t even give it away.
There are no annual performance reviews to ensure you Still Have What It Takes to be Brian Moore.
Nor do you have to do much to live up to its reputation. I was Brian Moore all throughout my failed career in high school and college, I was Brian Moore when I voted for Reagan, all throughout my years as a janitor, then while I was an anonymous cube dweller, failing as a businessman, voting for Obama (twice!) and now as a distinguished professional in corporate America. They let me keep the name. They never threatened to bust me down a grade to something even more nondescript, like “John” or “Jack” or “Bob.”
Let’s face it: “Brian Moore” sets a pretty low bar. It says, “I’m a white guy.” And that’s pretty much all it says.
My parents picked my name from a book of names published for parents too overwhelmed by life’s day-to-day primal obligations (eating, mostly) to invest the energy requisite to apply a moniker of any sentimental significance to a child they knew was coming for 10 months. Yeah. It means that much.
I added the “P.” for cachet.
This blogging thing is a commodity business, which means the only hope I have of drawing you in is to be more friendly, welcoming, service-oriented than my competitors on the web, all those others who think simply having an opinion or cute pictures of their pets or anecdotes about their exceptionally average children or quotes from an especially profane and politically incorrect retired father is reason enough for you to grace them with your attention.
Blogging is a bit like operating a gas station on the Interstate. The station with the cleanest restrooms wins.
Unfortunately for me, blogs don’t have restrooms. I’ve still got a lot of the janitor in me. I keep a clean restroom. You’d be comfortable and impressed.
Where am I going with this? Oh! I remember:
Thank you for coming by: I know you have a lot of choices for your daily quota of nonsense, so am tickled that you came here, to Brian Moore, to this Brian P. Moore, to relieve yourself. So to speak.
Please don’t put paper towels into the toilet.
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