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Monday, August 30, 2004 

From Hill Story to Bugoylandia

A while back, on the Hill where I used to hang out, a girl friend of mine brought her laptop and left it alone for an afternoon. My best friend, a frustrated writer, booted it up and started typing out a few thoughts about our gang on the laptop. I saw him do this, and I wrote my own entry. The Hill Story was born this way, a fairly long epic predating Blogger itself (which, incidentally shows you how old I am) that spans one very long communal journal (which is still on my hard drive to this day), one short-lived web comic, and three plays written by yours truly.

Sadly, it all ended when the laptop died, and everyone graduated. Well, everyone in the core Hill, that is. Without a way to enter posts from different locations (again, predating Blogger), and with everyone going their separate ways, the proto-blog simply couldn't continue.

Most of us, me and lastboyonearth included, remember that time fondly because it was a wonderful convergence of such disparate personalities that made for such interesting company.

Cut to today. Sure, the complete disregard for academic performance is absent, and the geek quotient is way down, but the bonding is there. Heck, the bonding is better. It ought to be, it's chemically-assisted!

I guess this blog started as maybe me hoping that I can bring the Hill Story back somehow. Or at least so that there'll be some sort of record after we're all done. But I think I should just let this thing be whatever it's going to be.

Anyway, welcome to Bugoylandia.

About this blog

  • Way too many of us are now enjoying the sorts of freedoms that our 1950’s counterparts couldn’t even have dreamed of. Hell, you couldn’t even read D.H. Lawrence’s “Lady Chatterly’s Lover” back then: that’s how repressed things were! It’s easy to forget what freedoms we now enjoy, but we should try our damnedest to be aware of these freedoms, because there are a bunch of bastards on the highest rungs of the ladder who would like to deprive us of these freedoms. They’d like us all to be blind, unquestioning sheep - little cogs in the big machine that they control.
  • Personally, I try my best not to be part of that machine. In my mind’s eye the machine is the epitome of all evil and I don’t want to be either a little or a big cog in it. I don’t want to participate in the running of this machine and would, if I knew how, happily sabotage it. I don’t approve of war. I don’t approve of the economic exploitation of the third world. I don’t approve of social inequalities. I don’t approve of the environmental devastation of the planet. And I don’t believe the lies that are told to justify these actions.
  • - Dee Rimbaud

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