Here we go, joining the millions of blogs already littering the Wide World Web (World Wide Web? World Wrestling Wildlife? What Whiny Weirdos?). Did you know hundreds of new blogs are born each day? We don't know that either. We made that up. (Didn't you hear? Bloggers have no journalistic ethics. Making up "facts" is what we do.) No, we have no idea how many weblogs are started each day but we intend to find out. Stay tuned.
The first task when starting a blog is naming it. You don't get nine months, as with children, otherwise we'd have lots of little weblogs named Jason, Jennifer, Hannah, and Apple. (See where a little forethought gets you?) Instead you have a few minutes, as you're searching for your credit card, wondering if this is another short-lived whim, like the gym membership and the wheat germ. Today, as our brand new weblog shuttled through the birthing canal, and while we searched the last known hiding place of the credit card, we asked ourselves, "what the hell am I going to say? What blistering pustule of knowledge do I have to impart to the universe?" and the title "What I Know" suggested itself. Creativity then ran amuck, and the more positive "What I Know" morphed into the less intimidating "What DO I Know?" and here we are. (What the Hell Do I Know? was already taken.) Nuance, remember, is everything.
So what DO we know? That writing about oneself in the plural is pretentious, overly cute, and difficult to maintain on a regular basis (similar to some haircuts we've had). No wonder the Royals always look a tad indigested, when they're not impersonating Fascist Pigs. (We love Harry, we really do. We'd like to be his mother, maybe feed him wheat germ occasionally.)
I can promise one thing. There will be recipes. (No wheat germ, alas!) And rude comments about quaint British customs, such as driving on the WRONG side of the road and living in houses with HOLES. And some political rants. (Did I mention Fascist Pigs?) Oh, and no more first person plural.
Except for those days when our multiple personality syndrome flares up.
Meanwhile, my creativity demands a rest. Running amuck is hard work, and I have, remember, just given birth, to what promises to be a very exciting toddler.
Stick around, help me raise this kid, and maybe we'll both learn a thing or two.
