So, it’s been a while since I updated the blog. Real life intervened, stepped on my neck and told me to call it daddy. After getting it put in the hole for a while and buying myself a few days before it comes back to make me regret ever dropping the soap, I’ve decided that it’s time to update the blog again.
It took some thinking, I needed to come back with an idea of what to talk about after all. But after a few weeks of being exposed to different forms of cultural and literary commentary from across the board I’ve come to an understanding: We writers are the makers of time capsules. Think about it for a moment and you’ll understand what I mean. In this day and age, with so many forms of expression and so many aspects of our culture, it’s hard to believe that in the future we’ll be judged almost purely from what we’ve written. And yet that’s exactly what is going to happen.
Someday, when your hard drives burn up, your DVDs melt and you realize it was probably a bad idea to light that firework so close to your entertainment center, everything you’ve amassed will be gone. But somewhere out there, someone’s got a printed copy of something that may eventually survive whatever drunken cataclysm befalls the rest of information from our society. It’s happened since the beginning of civilization. We only uncover the things that survive whatever fires we’ve set, from cave paintings to rare copies of books that hardly anyone has heard of. And, let’s face it, the human race has a great love for fire ever since the first man to rub two sticks together until there was a flame figured it out. More than likely he was very frustrated and was picturing great violence at that moment, possibly he (or she) was in a long term relationship.
Nothing causes fire starting rage like your spouse or partner.