Say the word ‘blog’ ten times over.
Disgusting, isn’t it?
‘Blog’ is an odious word, gurgling from the tongue and throat as cave-men might once have enunciated. It is a languishing blend of 21st Century lexicon—the kind that plagues the mobile airwaves with ‘LOL’ this and ‘ROFL’ that. It is both verb and noun (proper but without the right etiquette) and my personal sworn enemy alongside Rupert Murdoch and Lyndsay Lohan. And yet we must recognize it.
The Oxford English Dictionary defines it thus:
/bläg/ noun
A personal website on which an individual records opinions, links to other sites, etc. on a regular basis
verb
(blogs, blogging, blogged)
Add new material to or regularly update a blog.
If you were blissfully unaware, the word ‘blog’ is the combination of the words ‘web’ and ‘log’ and the test-tube baby to the technocratic, ‘Look at Me!’ world we are forced to toil in today—kind of like how Spencer and Heidi became ‘Speidi’, Ben and Jennifer became ‘Bennifer’, and why 13 year-olds don’t grope each-other in dark corners of dance-halls anymore, choosing to ‘sext’ instead. Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On' once triggered a Pavlovian response in the trousers of young boys waiting to slow-dance with the blonde from history class, now the closest thing they get to that sort of anticipation is waiting for a BBM from her (hopefully with boobies). I will even go so far as to say 'the blog' is a perfect metaphor for everything wrong in the world today.
That said… this is my blog.
Hi ho!
What is it about? Who-th’-fuck-knows. The vague idea is to produce a body of work centered around my current state of affairs: a young and pretentious writer without a job or money facing the every-day hell of living in London, England as an ex-patriate hypocrite-without-a-cause. O, there will be adventure! And drama! And laughter! And we shall sing together with arms linked and gaily skip down Fulham Road and Oxford Street together!
Hi ho!
Allowing myself the self-indulgent pleasures of this here web-log (thou shalt write the word ‘blog’ no more, my child), I will tell you that I am 22 years-of-age and a recent university drop-out for reasons which are perfectly justified to me and none of your goddamn business. The men on the paternal side of my family are/were all either journalists, novelists, travel-writers, and lovers of the ever-shrinking world, and I have spent my life (beginning at time immemorial) attempting to accomplish the long and self-defeating journey towards becoming ‘a writer’. With no fit and proper space to practice this skill, I shall do it here.
So please, come join me in my self-loathing adventure into the deep and vacuous streets of London as I stumble, pint in hand, towards self-actualization and existential horror.
Hi ho!
WCS
And we're off!
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