The first of a possible many

And so I write again.

Why the blog? I ask myself. Why, if you want to write, do you not simply retrieve a pen and sheet of white and scribble your thoughts to your heart's content? I suppose that I want to be loved for my thoughts. Hopefully some hapless googler with ample idle time lapping lazily at his brain will find his way to my little nook of the internet funhouse, and, reading my thoughts as they glow on his screen, will think to himself, 'I must tell my uncle, the rich and indiscriminate publisher, about this blog!' And then the rich and indiscriminate publisher will ask me to write a book, with the genre, subject, and length of my own choosing, and will pump it out directly onto the bestsellers' shelf at your local airport. Thusly, as the rich business man, the mourning niece, the bearded backpacker, and the drunk, distracted piolot sit together in their shiny, bewingged, 600-mph cigar case they can scratch their respective chins thoughtfully and in unison, and run out, after waiting impatiently for their luggage, to impress their loved ones by thoroughly mis-explaining my subject.

So here we go. If you're not against me then you are for me.