The Centennial Blog

I knew this would happen. There is a certain inevitability about it that is all me. So I get to the 100th post on this blog and suddenly I have nothing to say.

Oh, Mad and I had gloriously grandiose schemes for this day and, as you can see, he fulfilled his part of the bargain by producing the majestic fanfare of the header up there. And I was going to produce the post to end all posts, an amazing performance of brilliant bloggery to astound and captivate all those who stumble unwittingly into this dubious corner of the internet.

As a part of the panoply of pyrotechnics planned for today, I was going to make progress on the Yffi novel and present it as a taster. Did I mention inevitability? I could even mutter the words "kiss of death", as I reflect on how the mere re-reading of what I have so far has made me doubt that I'm starting in the right place; more thought is required on this.

I thought then that perhaps I could get away with writing a short story, knowing that I have a couple waiting to be written. Both are far too long to be written in a day, which was all that was left to me by that time, but the hope remained that I might be saved this morning by the unexpected arrival of a shorter tale from nowhere, as has happened so often in the past. The morning has arrived and brought with it a vast desert of no inspiration. So much for that theory.

In desperation, I toyed with the idea of writing a post about a post, a clever subterfuge of producing something from nothing, a creature that endlessly devours itself for sustenance. Yes, a grand celebration of the blog itself, looking back upon past glories and trumpeting triumphs of the art of blogging.

This brought forth the memory that the only triumph I can lay claim to is the post that scored my highest ever number of comments, a little whimsy called Slay, and how that post is amongst the least deserving to be honored in such a way. For a moment I was heartened by the fact that the record has been equaled recently by a far better post, the much-disputed The Absolute Truth. But I could not get away with avoiding mention of its compatriot in achievement; someone would be bound to notice and point out my devious omission.

These were the gloomy thoughts that occupied my mind as I wandered disconsolately through my rounds of the blogs this morning. The pressure remained, the knowledge that Mad stood poised to insert the valiant new header the moment I posted, and myself with nothing to post even at this late hour.

And then it happened. As I entered the wondrous world of Sarcasmo and saw that she had completed yet another of these strange meme things that float from blog to blog, a terrible thought appeared in the distance, like some spark of light in the utter darkness of my despair. I pushed it away as unthinkable and read on. But the idea had been born and, as I perused Sarcasmo's elegant answers to the questions, I realized that here, at the last moment, I had the answer. I could do this meme; it was unusually intelligent and offered scope for some outrageous dreaming. And it could be my tribute to the blogosphere, my grudging bow at last to the world that has given me an outlet for my preposterous ponderings. Just this once, I could own myself a part of the blogging scene after all.

And so, my much-abused readers, I present to you today on the occasion of my 100th post, a complete departure from all things Gone Away: a meme, no less. Normal service will be resumed with post 101, I promise.

In the words of the supreme Sarcasmo, "according to the rules, now that I'm ‘it' I have to continue the meme, and then make others ‘it'. The meme is to pick five of the professions below and finish the sentence."

Like Sarcasmo, I choose not to follow the rules and I shall not tag anyone (after all, this is hoped to be a brief exception, not to be continued). You may participate if you wish; far be it from me to attempt to deny the more usual pleasures of the blogosphere to anyone. Please also feel free to let us know if you blog the result or use the comments system to grace us with your answers.

* If I could be a scientist...
* If I could be a farmer...
* If I could be a musician...
* If I could be a doctor...
* If I could be a painter... I'd paint the picture that stopped me painting forever. It stopped me because I knew I did not have the technique to paint it exactly as I saw it in my mind. And I was not prepared to invest twenty years in acquiring that technique merely to paint one picture. Yet it was a picture that said all I wanted to say at the time. It was of a man standing and looking at himself in a mirror. Imagine a line drawn up and over him along his exact centerline and continuing to divide the mirror and his reflection and all that can be seen into two halves. On this side of the line it is bright daylight, on the other, a moonlit night. We are looking at the scene from just behind the man so that we can see his back but also see his face in the mirror. And we are in a room, for the daylight side is an interior view, whereas the night side shows a view of the countryside. The man is half in daylight, half in moonlight, half inside and half outside. Hopefully, you can picture that. I can, but I know that I cannot paint it with anything like the stark, photographic realism that it requires. Only a Dutch master or Salvador Dali could do that. As to what it means, well, I'm going to let you guess at it. I have only a vague grasp of the meaning myself...
* If I could be a gardener...
* If I could be a missionary...
* If I could be a chef...
* If I could be an architect...
* If I could be a linguist... I'd know all the most delicious German swear words and use them copiously whenever I knew that the listener had not a word of German. Oh no, wait a minute, German sounds like swearing anyway, doesn't it? Well, in that case, I'd be fluent in Afrikaans, knowing that only a tiny proportion of the world's population could understand me. And I'd speak the bushman language that consists entirely of clicks, merely to show off my ability to produce such sounds. Then I'd speak American English with a perfect Oklahoman accent, the better to merge into the background in my present circumstances (this is important to a chameleon, you understand). In fact, I'd choose to be a perfect imitator of accents so that I could be unseen wherever I went. Most especially, I'd be able to speak the dialect of the Black Country of the Midlands of England. Because it's rich and sounds like you're singing, that's why.
* If I could be a psychologist...
* If I could be a librarian...
* If I could be a lawyer... I'd retire. Well, someone has to make the world a better place...
* If I could be an inn-keeper...
* If I could be an athlete...
* If I could be a professor...
* If I could be a writer... I'd have all my great books behind me (there'd be, let's see now, yes, about ten of them at present estimate, each would have sold a million, of course, and movie producers would be flocking to my door to buy the rights). And, having made my fortune, I'd be able to spend my days in writing history, the history that no-one would ever read because no-one reads history. Especially when it's of a world that doesn't exist...
* If I could be a llama rider...
* If I could be a bonnie pirate...
* If I could be an astronaut...
* If I could be a world famous blogger... I'd never, ever do a meme.
* If I could be a justice on any one court in the world...
* If I could be married to any current famous political figure...
* If I could be a dog trainer...