My 100th Post

In keeping with the general tradition of things (and keeping with tradition is what most of us do, whether we realise it or not), I have decided to add the first cliche blog post.  Even the phrase, “first cliche blog post” is cliche, although I doubt that the phrase ” “first cliche blog post” is cliche” is cliche.  Not yet anyways.  That must be the difference between modernism and postmodernism.

Of course the title cannot be “My First Post”.  Instead, “My 100th Post” will suffice.  The choice remains as to whether I should increment or decrement the count on the next post.  If I decrement then it sets a time limit on the blog, unless I go into the negative, of course.  Which I would be able to do with ease, one thinks, considering what most western countries are doing in this time of economic recession.  Keep up with the trends and all that, keep up with the zeitgeist, or the time ghost, as it is translated into English.  Makes you wonder how a time ghost is created, doesn’t it?  Perhaps when the battery in a watch runs out of charge?  One would assume that there may even be a team of Swiss Ghostbusters, running around the world collecting these chronological ectoplasms.  Heaven help us when Big Ben stops – we could have a giant, ticking, Pillsbury Doughboy on our hands.  Although pushing it into the Thames may help.

The username: thephilologist.  Philology is the love of literature.  And not that hushed-up love that you’re not supposed to tell everyone about.  Besides, the mechanics of fornicating with a book are fraught with danger.  No, it is the type of love which one can shout from the rooftops, provided that one doesn’t expect that anyone will hear you from the rooftop.  Unless you were to jump off the rooftop while shouting it.  Then there is a good chance that someone may hear you on the way down (doppler effect included).  A Love Of Literature must mean that I’m reading something, right?  The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco.  Echo, echo, echo…  (I’m sure that’s the first time he’s heard that joke.)  But if we didn’t ridicule great writers then where would the world be?  At least great writers have a place in society, a pedestal if you will on which they stand, at which we the uneducated masses can aim rotten tomatoes and unusually hard meringues at.  The general populace doesn’t have a pedestal to stand on, and hence throwing food at them is a bit underwhelming – if they aren’t standing on a pedestal, then they have nowhere to fall, right?  And in the worst case scenario they may even be homeless and end up happy that food was thrown at them.  So yes, best to stick to ridiculing the great writers.  (If I become a Great Writer one of these days I promise I’ll be the first to ridicule myself.)

The title: Epistemysics.  Epistemology + Metaphysics.  That is the name of a course I am currently doing at university, and so this therefore gives me the right to comment on any philosophy that has ever been, is being, or ever will be discussed in human history with complete impunity.  So there.  Shall I start?  Existentialism is wrong.  There.  That should ruffle a few feathers.

The name’s Adam.  We’ll see how inflammatory this blog becomes before I decide whether I want to add my last name into the mix – there’s no need to add fuel to the fire.