The Thin-Slicing Of The Horrid Little World

When I began this war of words, or as I affectionately called it back then, blooging, the idea was fairly simple to me. My first bloog post, on June 23rd 2001 was thus:

Saturday, June 23, 2001

Test

This is a test of the BLOG concept. I’m not sure if I like this concept. But I shall toy with this for a bit until it grows tiresome and banal. It probably has already. I’m going HERE for a Beer.

posted by Michael Smith at 7:46 PM

Blogging had become, or was becoming all the rage, and as y’all will someday figure out, if something is all the rage, then I will rage against it. It took a descending series of moments, but once I grasped the gestalt tightly in my little fists of fury, the race was on. The stupid, the banal, the paltry, the insipid, the doomed, the bored, the damned, the quisling, the bored and the damned, and all the rest of that dross became grist for my sullenness. I tore through the hell of others’ bloogs with a vengence in an insect-burning, snake-roasting rampage  that would have made Jack Barron and Morton Downey Jr. proud.

Proud…yeh…..that’s a pretty unreasonable quixotic notion, but….onward.

Rather than moving that hate-machine over here, I’m letting it burn where it is. But don’t think for a moment that I’m out of fuel….that all I’m going to do from now on is reenact a weekly supercollider experiment with particles of anime and particles of NASCAR.

There still are insects. And I have a magnifying glass. And the sun is very bright.

 

Let’s shine that magnifying glass on the bloog of Joey Diddledums. Yes, you got that right. I’m not making that up. There is much more than meets the eye there, and probably just as well. Though I must say, those funky booties are not that bad. I wouldn’t mind having a pair for one of my dolls. Let’s just move on.

I would also make great and terrible sport of the banal and tedious family bloogs out there. Now I will admit they were  well-intentioned and sincere, but for for the most part they were also so banal and terrible, and there were and still are so many of them. Does Grandma and Grandpa actually read them? Who else would.

I save most of my foaming wrath for bloogs that were not merely paltry and insipid, but also had a great and terrible pretense and purpose, which their content failed to grasp. Brave words such as: “The mixed bag is once again instated. Sort of nursing home resident meets second grade persona. Sipping down overpriced smoothies in the student union right before the big exam. That may or may not make sense. How about split personalty—well-rounded twenty-something delight. Thoughts, opinions, bizarre outlooks, it will probably be here.” At least, thank god, there is no poetry to be found in her Daily Purge. She is, after, a classic girl trying to abide with modern standards. So it’s readable. But why?

 

So that’s a little glimpse into the haunted lands of others. All I did was sketch a map of the place. Draw your own conclusions about the cartographer. You already know mine… loutish and insipid in his presentation of scurrilous incoherent ramblings and other dull tedious shite arranged in a convenient and affable chronological format. You get what is advertised here. And do feel free to roast me like a snake at your next heretic burning.

I can hardly wait to give you the results of my latest little experiment. Until then, here’s to the moment in time when the metaphorical equivalent of the entire population of Marshalltown, Iowa has read my blog.

In honour of my old ways, my mood is Sullen, in a historical sense. My beer is NEW GLARUS Stone Soup. And the music tonight is:

 

Remember folks, the saddest day of your life isn’t when you decide to sell out. The saddest day of your life is when you decide to sell out and nobody wants to buy.