I met your mother when I was blacked-out drunk and when I woke up next to her, I was ashamed

Hi, my name's Eleanor Tomchak and me and my friend Jake Welcker have wanted to create a blog for a long time. It was his idea but I was only too game. Maybe I'm doing it to get noticed as a professional writer. Maybe I'm doing it because it's a lot of fun. Maybe I'm doing it because I respect my buddy Jake and am tragically willing to give in to peer pressure. Maybe I'm just doing it because I'm bored.

As for Jake's motives, that's for the man himself to reveal. That makes it sound pretty interesting and quasi-mysterious. Neat.

Anyway, our original idea for the blog was to write the first installment drug-addled. The idea of journalism influenced as much by narcotic herbs and spices as by your standard Bernsteins and Murrows was enticing. It might have been uproarious. It might have been brilliant. It probably would have been incomprehensible. In the end, what it was was difficult. What I'm saying is, we weren't able to remember we were going to make a blog long enough to get to a computer. Then we fell asleep. We might have also run from the cops, but it wasn't exciting like you think it was.

So instead, you have a slightly more pedestrian introduction. And, because I have a three-paragraphs-and-change limit to contend with, it's looking increasingly unlikely that the important questions the first piece should answer--what it will be about, who the writers are, why anyone should bother to read it--will actually be answered. Or will they?

Think about it. Learn about it. Deal with it. Here is a random pop-culture image associated with the word "Zulu" that might help:

-Eleanor