Some of you may be wondering, “Why does saurabh maintain a blog and never write on it?” And the answers to that, which, in fact, do exist, are manifold, and could be readily presented. To whit, as it were, ter woo, the provision of, at the very least, the escape tunnel, the emergency exit, the pressure release gasket, ejection seat lever or Monopoly Get Out of Jail Free card. Any time I wish, I may express my opinion herein, and there it is, expressed! Which cannot be undone, just like spilling milk into the carpet: that milk is in there, buddy, and you better just throw out the carpet. You might be able to cover it up with odor eaters, but you’ll know, lying in your bed late at night, that particles of milk still lie hiding beneath the curled nylon fibers and layers of dog hair down there in your living room. Similarly this blog, taking “the carpet” to mean the incorporeal ether, the fabric of society, the zeitgeist. At any moment, any insight of mine can be put “out there”, from the very mundane to the utterly trivial. That satisfaction is enough justification to maintain any blog. Blog about the weather. Blog about my pants. Blog about why Adrian Brody’s nose just isn’t straight, goddamnit.
All of which might be as much as to say, as you are likely doing right now, “Well, you obviously haven’t got anything worth saying anyway.” But that’s neither here, nor is it there. That simple fact has not prevented a long parade of insufferable dullards from foisting their worm-eaten wit on an aghast humanity, and never let it be said that I am too proud to aspire to the company of dullards. I insist on my impressing my logorrhea on an unwilling audience.
Some corners of the incorporeal ether have, in recent days, heard speculation that the “blogosphere” is at an end, made morsel of by the Gargantua of our time, the “M-S-M”. To those mongers of rumor I say, toddle pit, and other such nonsensical utterings, since really that’s the only response that sort of ridiculous prattle deserves. Can we imagine an end to the human desire to vent, to carp, to blow hard? Will there ever be a day when our mothers would not call up our best friend Kenny’s mothers, who they are also friends with, and tell them about what they overheard about the president of the local Lions Club while standing in line at the bank? Heck, no! And so long as this fundamental desire, as basic as our need to sleep and fuck, exists, why, now that we’ve got the bits in our teeth, we’ll shake the reins and let our words stream out across the wind. I proudly declaim the motto of the blogger: “I have nothing to say, and you’re going to have to hear it!”
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