The unbowdlerlized words of a north country newspaperman

Blog. Blag. Slog. Slag.
The logging of one's daily thoughts and ruminations isn't anything new, though the way they are chronicled and that they are delivered, shining bright on monitors for all to see, is quite a change. Our meager little thoughts make it out into a worldwide medium.
We are here, we blog to say.
Well, so am I, blogging and slogging. Slugging and mugging for the page.
I used to think blogs were for hogs, for people to amuse themselves with themselves. I still think that, but I'm happy to join ranks as a blog boss hog.
It's not my fault. I was driven here by cries of hate, like a witch chased into the woods.
By woods, I mean the national forest right near where I live on the coast of Lake Michigan in Northern Michigan.
And the cries of hate came from the readership of the newspaper where I'm employed.
I wrote a column about liberty! Justice! Freedom! But my arguement was too much for the readers to bear. Letters arrived. I was called names. A wart sprouted on my nose.
Old media cannot contain true feeling like new media. So, here I am, deep, deep in the woods, living in the Land of the Blogs. Ostracized. Lost. Whatever ideas aren't fit for the community at large will come here. Anything that is unfit to print. This blog is my cauldron. Back away.