Okay. I give up. Gotta change with the times. There's been this dragon breathing down my ranting neck for some time now. Yeah. That's it towering over me at Burning Man this year, ready to snap down and bite my ass. Actually, that's Mark "Scrap Daddy" Bradford's brilliant and highly complex hydrolic dragon I'm looking up at in the photo from Labor Day Weekend, this year of Our Lord 200000005. My dragon, the one haunting me, is anything but spectacular. It's just annoying. You wanna know what it is? It's YOUR blog. It's blogspot. It's blogger.com. It's the whole blog phenomenon, the final spike driven into the regal, bloodsucking heart of literature.

Okay, so maybe what I write isn't bound for any English Lit textbook anytime soon. But I went to college and held out. I studied other writers. Ever since I crossed the subconscious line from wanna-be writer to REAL writer in my mind and in my heart (where it matters most), I've been saddened by how little respect that title commands and horrified to discover that damn near everyone in America from butcher to baker to candlestick maker is ALSO a writer. Then along came the Internet. I'd been writing for years but become so weary with failed attempts to sell my material that I'd just given up. So I made myself a web site and started what I called my "RANTS." On my site, I could write whatever I wanted and publish it instantly. If my readers were enjoying my work half as much as they professed, I thought what the hell, just keep it up and someday it'll pay off. I was wagering on the shit at the wall principle, the theory that if you throw enough shit at a wall eventually it will stick. You get the idea.

Then along came the web log, the blog. Jesus. Give me a break. Now suddenly it wasn't just the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker, it was EVERYONE! Welcome to the New World Order of Letters where every tom, dick and grizelda walmart shopper is.. that's right! A writer! It would be like the whole world suddenly taking up rocket science. Well, you rocket scientists would SHIT, wouldn't you? And a lot of you would quit, citing professional pride and pure disgust at how sloppy rocket science had suddenly become in the hands of 20 million amateurs. That's how I feel with the whole world blogging. I feel like an idiot, a dinosaur. I feel like chucking my iBook in Moose Lake here at my Dad's cabin in Maine.

Blogging. Sounds like scatalogical vernacular for taking a really big shit. Anyone who knows me knows I'm not a big fan of scatalogical humor. We've now established that I am equally unfond of blogs. But lately many of you have expressed disappointment with the lack of new material on Jigglebox. I empathize. Believe it or not, I write new material nearly every day. Sure, a lot of my time lately has been devoted to final editing my book "17" (former working title: Dead Men Hike No Trails) in hopes of having it out in print by Christmas. But the real impediment is the way I run this site, writing all the HTML code by hand. It takes a shit helluva long time to post new material and move around links and such so you can find what's new.

So here goes. I'm just gonna start throwing new material into the same document such that it will scroll on and on, just like on blogger or blogspot. So from now to 2006, just click the purple link above for the latest rants. - RSMcKinney


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Blogga with a book '06!

All the Poop of Late '05

My Cousino's
Brilliant New Blog