As with every morn I rose with the dawn. But this particular morning found me giddy as a school boy as I donned the fuzzy fluffy bunny slippers my houseboy provided and fairly bounded into my long unused study. It was my customary ritual to start the day by enjoying the latest Jane Austen or the frankly humorous adventures of "The Yellow Kid" in the morning paper over breakfast. But not today! I set to work immediately at my old journal, writing furiously in it's yellowing embrace. My hands racing with the speed of Hermes, whom the Romans called Mercury. Ah, Mercury. What thrilling and exotic adventures transpire on that distant planet, I wondered aloud?
Days passed and the room's confines filled with the fruits of my labors. Despite my progress, however, I could not escape a mounting dread. An obstacle seemed to loom in the distance and grew large with each stroke of the pen: How did one get these paper missiles of the mind into the cannon of the world wide web? The gulf between myself and the blogosphere was too vast to breach. At last, I succumbed to the undeniable. That there was only one solution to my bloggy problem. I would seek an audience with my long lost uncle.
-ERB
Next: The Dixieland Express.
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