Oh, no.

I remember when I first heard about The Tsunami (the only event I can think of so awful that it doesn't even have a proper name) I was in Tescos, and just happened to glance at the front pages of the newspapers. The slow, rapidly increasing horror as I realised something unbelievably awful had happened is something I'm not quite sure I'll ever forget (although I did find out about the London bombings as soon as I'd finished having a conversation about how my Sister's friend had just gone to London, on the Tube, which was in it's own way even worse).

First things first. Are you okay, Rectalgia? Total idiot that I am, it didn't actualy occur to me where you lived until it occured to me that a fucking major disaster had happened, which is to say about five minutes ago. I really, really hope you're alright, and everyone you know is, and things don't get even worse than they already are. My friend knows people in New Orleans. I spent all yesterday insulting him for no reason. I'm going to the Ninth Circle of Hell.

Katrina sounds worse every time I hear about it, in short. And that's all I can say, really. I hope you're all okay, people reading this. People you know, too.

Bigot Up.

I had an utterly splendid time at the party, which I wasn't expecting at all. There was a stream of people telling me how great I was, and masses of sausages. It was like being in some sort of glorious dream, cliche-baitingly. Lots happened, but not lots I can really write about here. When you're starting a new life in 12 days-arrgh, help, no, deargoddeargod- writing in length about things that got resolved from pre-blog days would be very confusing. And more importantly, I'm tired, and it'd take ages.

I bought a book today on the basis of the fact the back cover said it had been "banned in several countries", only to realise once I'd bought it that I had made that up, and it was merely frowned upon by all major religions. It's "Why I Am Not A Christian", by Bertrand Russell, and while it's very good (It's full of dirty jokes, one about a train), I feel a little guilty reading it, as I might as well be reading a large manual entitled "Confirming Your Prejudices for Dummies". I am an Atheist, but being told that I'm right and sensible in a book is a bit rubbish, as the Student in me wants to be a dangerous radical, in a tee-total, nine-hours-sleep kind of way. I get the feeling that ambition may fail on more than one account.

So I'm a Bigot, then, but a popular one. I'll be assasinating the leaders of countries before I know it. Until next time, keep well, stay sharp, and read http://www.nakedblog.com. Random, I know, but it's a much, much better Scottish based blog than this, and it's written by a cynical man in his fifties (I think), which is always fun. And for those disturbed by the link, it has as much nudity in it as The Beano does. And much, much better jokes.

Avast off them thar rails: Thar blow that there Blog!

It's time for an embarassing confession. The reason my former attempts to keep a blog failed somewhat spectacularly wasn't just that nothing ever happened to me (although nothing did-I spent the first half of last week sitting around for days on end, and the second half slowly coming to the realisation I had no life), but rather that blogs terrify me. They're really scary, they are. Not just other peoples'. It isn't so much the admitting all the things that are happening to you, and having people laugh at them, as admitting them and realising all the things in your head that seemed incredably profoud, or hilarious, or (groan) alluring in fact sound as intelligable as a Postmodernist lecture in Japanese being beamed from the bottom of the sea. I guess that's why I'm a bit worried about this Blog. It's going to suck in a very dull way, like that stupid Sonic game where you kept being hit on the head by invisible robots.

Still. I feel very calm today, happily, having meditated to a CD full of laughing people, which is somewhat distracting. I've been invited to a party tonight, which never, ever happens given my quasi-hermit status (I live in the Woods, for heaven's sake. On top of a bloody hill), so I'm looking forward to standing in the corner of a room squeaking and not getting drunk, while not saying very much. Sounds fun. Less scary than Blogs, at any rate.

...There will be a point to this Blog, soon, y'know. Just you wait.

Goodbye, Restart

Hey. If you're one of the two people who've stuck around Bloglodytes for the past year and are wondering where all the stuff about Scrappy Doo has gone, I'll tell you soon enough. For anyone else at all, hey. It's nice to see you, not that I can.

There are three types of blogs on Blogger, as far as I can see. The first variety is Porn Blogs, the reason why if you're a prude, like me, the "Next Page" button proves to have a somewhat significant flaw. The first one I accidently came across I genuinely thought was about dogs for about five minutes, until I realised they were in fact breasts. You should already have guessed I don't get out much. The second, and semi-mercifuly more common type of blog, is the Product Blog, whose reason I've never been bothered to assertain. These blogs consist of the phrase "Nasdaq" repeated in various forms of capitalization, and are the reason why people without time to spare find the "Next Page" button has a somewhat significant flaw.

The Third Type of Blog is the one about peoples' lives, which are the reason why everyone finds the "Next Page" button has a somewhat significant flaw.

Pan Bloglodytes is the Third Type of Blog. It's the story of someone you've never met, and unsurprisingly, it may not be the grippingest of things, at least at first (and I know "grippingest isn't a word. It should be.). But fortunately, I'm not the sort to harp on about their problems all the time, never quite remembering what they are, and so if all goes to plan the Blog should be refreshingly free of angst, and, less-refreshingly, full of torturous Biology-related stories. Sounds fun.

Incidently, to the two people, I restarted the Blog because it was rubbish. Which doesn't really bode well.