This is not a place. This is the Internet.
Hi, I’m Zach. I’m bad at introductions, but I’m happy that you made it here.
You’ve now read exactly — well, now – thirty four words.
The average person reads thirty four words in about ten seconds, so by now about fourteen seconds have elapsed.
Why am I telling you this?
Because according to some science group, after a person reads a webpage for more than ten seconds there is a 97% chance that he or she will not leave that page.
It seems I’ve got you now.
This “place” is basically a blog, but I refuse to call it a blog, because I refuse to call myself a blogger.
I have a blog, you know. Check out my blog. Have you seen it? My blog?
Puncture my femoral artery, “check out my blog.”
Oh haven’t seen it? You MUST.
It’s where I put all my mochaccino foam-art and DIY solutions to shit that’s not even a problem.
If you haven’t seen this kitten who somehow found his way into a fishbowl, you haven’t lived.
See that thousand-mile stare? That’s existential angst setting in.
Can’t get enough.
Ooh! And while you’re here: a quote I snagged from Goodreads for my daily dose of the Orient:
“In the end
these things matter most:
How well did you love?
How fully did you live?
How deeply did you let go?”
― Gautama Buddha
Buddha, you know? Love the guy.
I think you get the point.
This is not a blog, I hope.
I’ll try my best to make sure this never devolves into another kitten-in-bowl factory or a who-needs-shelves-when-you-can-nail-suitcases-to-your-wall fest. I’ll even do you one better and try to keep this place running at the lowest possible levels of self-indulgence.
If I’m the only one enjoying myself here, that’s a problem. And if you’re the only one enjoying yourself here, that’s a bigger problem.
We’re having fun already.
Hopefully you’ll find something of interest here. Something about comedy or acne. Some stuff about my childhood, or maybe even your childhood. Wouldn’t that be fun and scary?
I’ll do all I can to keep this from becoming one of the billions of blogs out there clogging up bandwidth that could otherwise be used for cancer research. In my understanding, that is how the Internet works. There is a finite amount of something called “bandwidth,” and when everyone streams House of Cards at once, the band starts fighting, and I can’t get on Facebook.
That’s not how the Internet works? Consider this.
Somewhere out there, some doctor is hammering F5 to check the cloud for his colleague’s most recent data-set on tumor-fucking T-cells, but he’s coming up dry because I just wasted 700 words sharing what I ate for lunch today, along with 5,000 other parasites worldwide.
Just, if you’re curious, it was Kashi GoLean cereal. There was some milk in there too, of course. Also, I had half an orange I had saved from breakfast and some Jif crunchy peanut butter.
It was actually quite good.
Sometimes I’ll just have cereal for lunch instead of something like a sandwich, because I eat breakfast late, and sometimes I just don’t want a sandwich at 3:00PM.
Meanwhile, in “Somewhere out there”
404 ERROR. Webpage failed to load.
DOC: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU. THAT IS IT.
Doc shuts laptop
DOC: No more cancer.
Doc opens laptop only to shut it again, with force.
DOC: From here on out, it’s fake titties and nose jobs. Who wants some?
Doc storms out of lab.
One Year Later: Doc is pictured a cavernous, marble office wearing an iced-out stethoscope and cradling his old lady (former patient: Beth-Annaleise) as he injects face-poison into Sharon, his current patient, for her 53rd procedure. Sharon says she is currently 49, but with Doc’s help she’ll be looking practically pre-natal by this June. And just in time for her sister’s wedding!
No. This is not a blog.
I can’t have that lizard-woman on my conscience.
What is it, then? Well, so far, all I have to post here are short essays and short stories, so it would be more accurate to call this place a digital collection of essays and short stories. However, as I am not trying to compete with the Library of Congress, it will not be called a digital collection of god that’s so awful I can’t even fi
Alright, it’s a blog.