Why Blog? Why Me? Why Now?

I am in general disagreement with the currently held view that blogs are a threat to journalism. I appreciate that they effectively already are from an employment sense- especially in the American Press, but that is Market Forces and they are clearly a different sort of son of a bitch.

In terms of quality of criticism, however, blogs will remain like those tawdry bands who litter up venues such as London's 'Dublin Castle', most of them called things like 'Cock Sleeve' or 'Bunny Vinegar Dream', all of whom will fail and failingly so. Even their failure will be dismal.

And Bloggers? Well, occasionally, just like the very occasional band, one will stick his or her head above the metaphor and cause something other than annoyance at poorly formed sentences and will, at a pinch, be taken to heart. That person will be embraced by the mainstream, so far as serious journalism is mainstream, and, as it were, will have a gold record, 47 adoring young women gnawing at their knuckles in the manner not seen since The Beatles of '64 and a bucket of Schloer, for to stem the dryness.

Who am I to suddenly, and for no pissing reason, provide you with undesired information? I am Martin, and I will be Your Obliging Blogger. Why is what I choose to say worth listening to? Well, hopefully because I am a pretend expert on all manner of subjects but am able to use irony and humour to deflate my apparent ego and to let me get away with vague inaccuracies.

I do not intend to publish inaccuracies though. This will be an exclusive Salon in which I hope you will react to my views on such things as Films (never, my friends, The Movies) Literature (Books?) TV, Restaurants, Language, and many many things. I will attempt to be lucid and fluid but not too lucid; Memories of my Philosophy of Language exam which lasted 3hr on my 21st birthday, wherein I reached an impasse at 2 hours and 14 pages and changed my mind about the question we had been set, I then spent the final hour amusing myself by arguing against my conclusion, attempting to sound like I had been playing devils advocate...but I digress, the point is that rambling and digression are where humour and where the beauty of language take over. So I may just digress a lot.

Why now? Two of my friends have blogs; blessays, whatsoever you wish to call them. Many people I know have them and I have, sure, dabbled my toes in their frosty waters but, for the best part, I don't care for blogs; I don't really care enough about other people's opinions: It has taken me twenty or so years to find a -very short- list of journalists whom I actually enjoy reading; Jonathan Meades, Charlie Brooker, Will Self, Jay Rayner, Armando Ianucci, John Gray...I do not intend to spend my time reading those who may be misguidedly thinking they have the rights to join their ranks simply because the technology exists for them to appear to do so.
But I have to ignore the competition for moral reasons too. I don't want to believe someone I know might be better than me.
It has thus taken me this long to decide to ignore the possiblity that there may be calls of 'Turncoat' or 'Arriviste' and jeers for my hanging as a symbol of a society gone mad with opinions. Having a view is not expressing it; Heavens, expressing it is not journalism; Journalism isn't necessarily good journalism; One person's good is another's pretentious rubbish.
Please don't get me the fuck started on Stanley Kubrick. Not this early on.

These, my pretty young things, are the hurdles. Hopefully you will have fun watching me attempt to jump them, and have the good manners to laugh when I knock the buggers over- Show restraint and an almost (almost) Christian generosity of spirit when I return to pick the hurdles up and start practising within eyeshot of you.

Well, that's enough spouting from me. I will hopefully bring bigger, more substantial- possibly tougher- pies to the table soon so if, for you, this was a little light and needless, then please except my humble (Pie?) apologies; this was meant as an introduction and now that we know each other, we can dispense with the kindnesses that leave dying flowers standing; lets kick off our dancing shoes, remove our stove-pipe hats, pour ourselves a glass of old Tawny and stare dreamily, hopefully; wistfully at the fire as it reflects back at us the world and its refractions...

Your Obliging Blogger