That's right, I said web (space) log. None of this "blog" nonsense. Do you drink Smilk? No, you drink skim milk (and you should stop). Do you shop at Bagap? No, your sister-in-law will be returning that lovely sports-coat/overall/diaper get-up you bought her for the baby shower to The Baby Gap. The only time I believe this normally egregious act is acceptable is when requesting a utensil device with both spoon and fork-like qualities. We as a society must end our sinful misuse of our most sacred form of communication, language.
My generation has witnessed the advent of wholly novel forms of communication and enhancements to our social capital. The glorious rise of e-mail, SMS, IMs, Myspace, Facebook (fbook), Twitter, and yes, BLOGS has led to an unprecendented level of potential for communication with each other. Unlike those alive just a mere quarter century ago, humans today have the ability to contact one another in near real-time from the most extreme opposite ends of the Earth.
And with this great potential comes an even greater potential for cultural understanding, interconnectedness, global integration, and even capital W orld capital P eace. Right?
Sometimes I wonder if years from now, when we're old, we'll look at stills of each other through electronic screens and ask ourselves, "why don't we talk anymore?"
Alas, I have resigned to allow the answers to such questions to be revealed in due time. For now, I'm gonna web log baby. This web log will cover a variety of subjects: music, politics, sports, offhand observations, (attempted) clever musings, life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, the pursuit of pursuit, food, culture, style, the arts and whatever else compels me to engage. My prose will likely make trite attempts to wax poetic one day but be hard-nosed and journalistic the next. No matter where it takes me, I'm going to do my very best to not use it to grandstand and soapbox. I will vow not to bully or demean, unless the target of my ire clearly sucks. And I shall try my hardest not to intentionally butcher the English language in the process.
On second thought, if we're going to speak to each other through 140 character-limited "tweets" then we r gon 2 ned th xtra spce.
Somewhere, Orwell is spinning like a rotisserie chicken. Or a turducken.