50 Blog Entries: A Pitstop on the Slide Towards Senility

This is my fiftieth blog entry which gives me an undeserved feeling of achievement. Sometimes it is good to be so easy to amuse. I have been doing this blog since January which means I have averaged ten entries a month which doesn't seem so impressive when I think about it. Those who know me will probably wonder how I managed to shut up for so long. I'm having immense amounts of fun writing meaningless dribble and occasional birthday shout outs to people who have been dead for centuries.

Some people use their blogs to advance their political views or to keep their internet readership (who are undoubtedly waiting in breathless anticipation) abreast of the latest details of their hernia operation or the turmoil of their lives. You have to wonder what these people did before blogging. Personally I find it difficult to muster up much interest in my life and the thought of boring the entire internet with it smacks of narcissism in the extreme. Of course by deliberately eschewing such topics I am indulging in a form of reverse narcissism which is even more monstrous but I feel relaxed and comfortable with my hypocrisy.

My specious attempts at nonchalance regarding my blog are swept away by the pathetic eagerness with which I receive every indication that somebody might actually read it. To those who do read it, I thank you both. There are many topics on which I have an opinion and a few on which I have an informed opinion. There may even be one on which I have an accurate opinion. I will do my best to ensure that nobody manages to work out which from reading my blog. Writing is much more fun when released from the obligation to be accurate or even fair. I take comfort from the fact that anybody who uses my blog as an information source is so far down the road to dementia that even rigorous accuracy on my part would be of no use to them.

I'm really not comfortable with technology, even the modest amount that goes into producing a blog. It is an indication of how far behind the times I am that I thought that learning to touch type would be a good idea. The time will come soon when even keyboards will be things on a level with the dinosaurs.

I suppose books will go next. That will make me sad because I love books and yet I can look clear eyed at things like kindle (is it really a coincidence that a book replacement brings to mind burning?) and realise that literacy is moving on. On every level except the sentimental I applaud this. For those who recoil back in horror it is as well to learn that there is nothing sacred about printing or even literacy. It was simply the best method of storing thoughts that we have created up until now. Few people can write cuneiform script or paint buffaloes on cave walls to tell a story anymore but civilisation hasn't collapsed, indeed it has managed to modestly thrive.

So it is with books, in a generation from now I will be the crazy old man with all the dead trees in his house. I will hobble from behind one of the stacks when the Salvation Army comes calling and scare the youthful collectors by telling them that bibles were once written on paper. They will refuse to take the donation from this pathetic, wild eyed figure and will hurry down the steps again using whatever has replaced text messaging to assure each other that they're not really scared but that old man was so strange.

I will have stopped writing my blog by then of course. I can barely operate my computer now, by the time I enter my dotage I will be completely incapable of persuading the computer to turn itself on. I will beg and weep before the five millimetre sliver of technology promising many sacrifices if it will let me hear my voicemail but it will deem me unworthy and sever my line of credit. Eventually I will be reduced to using a burnt stick to carve pictures on the walls of my flat. That is if I can remember how to access the iBuffalo application on my toilet. And if I can find a burnt stick.