I like this already. I have a blank slate before me, and an audience with whom to hold court. Thanks Dad, for subscribing.

Having this kind of microphone to talk to one person reminds me of an event I once organized during my professional days. I've spent the majority of my work life in media. Nothing esteemed or venerable like moderating TV pundits who happen to be promoting their latest book, or advising an audience which mutual funds to invest in. I worked in advertising. Among my responsibilities over the years were client promotions, and this particular effort to create buzz and drive traffic to a local car dealership is where I saw this public one-on-one scene in real life. Only it was funnier because the blogger was a manic DJ with the personality of a meth addict, and the sole reader was a speed freak of the NASCAR variety.

NASCAR weekend is one of the most anticipated events on the calendar in Vegas, and we'd staged a kick-ass kick-off event for a client. We'd arranged for an 18-wheel "mobile marketing machine" to come our local sponsor - a big rig equipped with an HD theater, x-box play stations, and free giveaways for the crowd. With a rockin' sound-system, and a DJ to entertain customers in the car dealer's lot, the client had high expectations.

So did I until about an hour in, when I started inventing excuses for why this event was such a flop. I'm sure it was not because our competitors had splashier events that were better promoted. It was the weather. Unseasonably cold for March and dust-storm windy, a handful of NASCAR Nation die-hards braved the elements. But mostly the energetic DJ was talking to no one.

He worked the imaginary crowd like a pro, dancing around and babbling compliments to his employer and the sponsor into the microphone between every song. His exuberant announcements of top-of-the-hour race ticket raffles fell on deaf ears — Even the hired hotties giving away the schwag had gone inside to huddle at the coffee pot.

The last hour's drawing had one entry. A guy in open-toed sandals shifted from foot to foot to keep warm while he held the only possible winning number in one of the fists in his pockets. He'd already watched the propaganda video and gotten his bumper sticker. There was nothing to do but stand there.

"You don't want to miss your chance to win tickets" the DJ beamed through the microphone to the empty space behind the sole participant. "Been sold out for weeks, but we've got your hook up right here!" his teasing announcements echoed into the darkness. This went on for about 10 or 15 agonizing minutes, until finally the big moment: The cold, wind-blown man got his number drawn.

So to all you readers [not] in the house, bookmark TheWordWire.com because this blog is definitely rockin' the mic.

Word.