Thursday, June 30, 2011


Right, then: With considerable reluctance, I have concluded that it is time for me to join the 21st century, succumb to the inevitable, and start my own blog. To do this, as a famous disgrace once declared, “is abhorrent to every instinct in my body.”
Well, too bad, Lannie. Get over yourself, get with the program, and start shooting your mouth off. It’s what you do most of the time anyway; that whole reticence thing is an affectation, and nobody likes a poser.

Why now? Well, for one thing, they say it’s absolutely crucial for a writer to have a blog these days. Ah, you ask, but exactly who are THEY? Why, the very same all-knowing THEY who decree that you can’t give lamb chop bones to the cat (it might choke), or wear long hair if you’re over forty (tacky and pathetic), or read Huckleberry Finn (Twain is, like, such a racist), or believe that Beltway pundits have less collective sense than a rutabaga. THEY are the ultimate faceless authorities before whom we all cringe, and genuflect, and scuttle under the refrigerator, lest THEY think we have a mind of our own.

By starting a blog, I can now become one of the mob, a sure-nuff member of the blaberatti, spewing forth declamations and opinions on anything and everything that strikes my fancy; an exercise in metastasized self-indulgence that really, when you think about it, is nicely reflective of the prevailing societal attitude these days.

Incidentally, I truly loathe the word “blog”, which is unquestionably one of the ugliest words ever coined. It sounds like some sort of demonic troll in “Lord of the Rings” (yes, dears, I know that was the Balrog) but you get my point. Personally I would’ve preferred bdiary, bjournal, or even bchronicle, but no one consulted me, so we’re stuck with "blog”. Alas for the English language!

Now, although like most writers I am tinged with megalomania and exist in a more-or-less permanent state of self-absorption, I’m fully aware that my blog will prove to be of no consequence whatsoever in the grand scheme of things. Actually, I’m sort of counting on it, because there’s great comfort to be had in embracing one’s utter unimportance. Besides, in a world already overflowing with such atrocities as reality television shows, aerosol cheese spread and Wall Street, this blog (hereinafter referred to as “R4”) will at best be a minor additional horror.

I don’t often make promises, but here’s an exception, paraphrased from the mandatory Honor Code signature required on all academic submissions at my esteemed alma mater, Princeton: “I pledge my honor as a gentlewoman that, in writing this blog, I shall take neither myself, nor anything else, seriously.”

Since finally starting a blog,
Miss Lannie’s an Internet cog.
With consummate poise,
she adds her own noise,
which thickens the cyber-space fog.

 See what I mean?

To quote Mr. Longfellow: “Excelsior!

Until next we meet,
Be at peace.
Lannie Woulff