Mission Statement
Admiral Stockdale taught us in ‘92 the dangers of “Who am I? Why am I here?” (though that might have been, rather, a lesson in the virtues of debate coaching), but in less august circles the perils are slight enough to risk broaching the questions.
This blog serves as a record of our manifest transitions: from East to West, Boston to California, pedestrians to drivers, citylife to the pig farm (truthfully, a compost belt in the making), family and friends to the wilderness. Through we hope to continue our conversations with our friends, though, as with all propoganda, probably with slight subtlety and with even slighter respect for the conventions of discourse.
But it will have to do. First, there is the matter of the time difference. Second, there is the matter of work. And third, there is the matter of basic human nature. P’s friends know that his willingness to communicate is fitful at best; this blog is the best compromise between a complete communicative blackness and, well, the rather turgid nature of the blogosphere. We hope. (Note that N is not censured here; her follow-up skills are postively journalistic. However, see points first and second for still-relevant obstacles.)
This brings us to the elephantine matter of blogs in themselves. We don’t get them. Neither of us read them (modulo one exception). Both of us have been known to
confess obvious incomprehension at the apparent fascination these hold for millions. And, yet, here we are, staring into the Green Dragon. What all of this comes down to is that we don’t expect you to read this. Really. But on the off-chance that you do, we promise to deliver little vignettes of ourselves, such as this ridiculous page, on the off-chance that you are lonely for the sound of our digital voices. Yes, yes, individual phone calls (or even e-mails) would be better, but who really has the time to plumb the quotidean depths of our lives? And really, even if you did, wouldn’t you rather be able to go through them at your pace, without having to subject yourself to the useless asides that one of us is always making?
Right.
