Why Blogzilla? For that matter, why blog?

If you don't want to know the answer to those questions, stop reading, um... now.

My mom has a cat, a really cute cat. Her name is Meg, but we call her Megzilla. You can see her picture right over there to the left. She's the one making angel eyes at the camera.

Meg is one of those winsome, alluring little cats with big eyes like a hypnotist's spinning plate that draw you in and make you want more. She could be a poster child for Hello Kitty, she's that cute.

But--and here's where the Megzilla part comes in--Meg is a thinker and--dare I say it?--she's precocious. (Right, did I mention, she's a cat?) She is also deeply entrenched in the belief, as any stray fly or other winged insect can attest, that she is a large and ferocious killer jaguar. Furthermore, unlike Hello Kitty, when you look into Meg's pie-like stare, you know she is not just thinking about her upcoming dinner or her most recent nap, she is thinking really Deep Thoughts, such as, "How can I, a six pound cat, move that 10-pound pillow off the couch, up a flight of stairs, through a narrow door, and into the bathtub? Hm, time to apply those principles of physics I picked up on Wikipedia while Mom was sleeping." (You may scoff, but I've seen her do the thing with the pillow. And maybe I'm wrong about the Wikipedia, but I've seen her sit and look at the pillow and plan, then shift her angle, adjust her momentum, give a little leap, and BAM an object four times her size is on the floor and heading up the stairs in her tigerlike grip. Believe me, this is no innocent kittenish accident. By golly, she planned it.)

So where am I going with this? Well, there is a whole world of information out there in that place we fondly call cyberspace, and I am attracted to it, much as I am attracted to figuring out what's going on behind Megzilla's hyptotist's gaze. Granted, sometimes I feel that I am to that world of information what the fly is to Megzilla, but what of it? Like the rest of us, I get to keep peddling my literary allusions, because I love them, and if cyberspace chews them up and spits them out like one of Meggy's flies or, worse, digests them and they come back as big fragrant steaming piles of blogese, then so be it. At least I have entered the 21st century, allusions loosely intact (no bowel pun intended).