It was in the late spring of the year 2006, a very fine year by many accounts, that the author, whilst toweling the refreshed bod after a rigorous bout of exercise at the neighborhood Athletic Club, made the fatal wager that would result in this electronic publication, the Psmithian, entering into existence and thereby changing forever the meaning of that most clumsy word “blog,” or so we, the author, would hope. After all, we would hardly inaugurate such a project without setting our sights, as it were, on the Heavens. But let us return to the story.
We, that is the Psmithian, emboldened by those glad endorphins that post-regimen swim swiftly to the noodle, had just finished delivering a mellifluous harangue on some now forgotten subject, an oration of the sort that would have had old Red Jacket himself slapping his knee and calling “Hallelujah,” or something of the sort, when my dear droog and work-out pal Cuthbert “Cutty” Matheson, tauter of muscle than of mind I am sad to say, let slip the damning remark, “Why don’t you blog about it.”
Naturally, I was shaken. Not only had I always relied on young Cutty’s unflagging support for my most lunatic exhortations but I had also presumed him to be, like any honest citizen, fundamentally suspicious of the Internet, and specifically that dark institution’s democratic approach to journalism, soap-boxing and vituperation. On the Internet, it has been said, everyone gets fifteen thousand opinions, no matter how outlandish, and therefore it is not quite the sort of place for the man of learning, especially if he, like the Psmithian, is of a gentle spirit and a poetic nature. Therefore, I cast a stern gaze in Cutty’s direction and coolly remarked, “I will write a blog the moment that the near- and perhaps actually-mythical face of fervor Osama bin Laden arrives on American soil in a red, white and blue body bag.”
To which Cutty replied, “Deal.”
To which I replied, “Deal.” And that was that.
So, dear readers, there you have it. And although, in actual factitude, Mr. bin Laden, if one can believe the stories, now hangs up his turban in Davey Jones’ Locker, I have agreed to honor the spirit, not the letter, of the wager. Thus, I am pleased to present to you the Psmithian, a modest online journal devoted to Reason, Beauty and Joie de Vivre.