The internet is one of those places where there is always something new and different going on. At times I find myself struggling to keep up. For instance, what's a blog? According to Wikipedia a blog is a website where entries are commonly displayed in reverse chronological order. "Blog" can also be used as a verb, meaning to maintain or add content to a blog. Even better, if you already have a website with let's say a minimum of three to four pages, is a blog really necessary? If I were to add a blog to this site and get kinda famous the way that some bloggers have would I really have that much more to add about one of the topics that I love than I already do? Hmmm, curious. I guess I could add a little this or that about my daily life right not that it's really that interesting all that I did today was try and figure out how to import contacts from an Excel 2003 database to Outlook 2003. For whatever reason all that I was ever able to really load was 20,000 (No that's not a typo) blank contacts and about 39 cities. Go figure. I guess when you get right down to it I am really behind on this whole blogging phenomenon. Much like other writer's the world over I am insecure enough to wonder how this particular blog - if we can call it that rates among the internet's best. Oh wait I just looked, Perez Hilton's blog rates #6 of the 10 most popular blogs on the net. Of all the blogs that I have come across my absolute favorite belongs to a Universalist Lay Minster I used to work with. Now I am not one to dissuade a person from a calling of the cloth but I really believe that Mr. Hunter may have missed his calling. His book reminds me of the works of George Singleton or Flannery O'Connor. He has a dry with that is both observant and cuts to the core. But more than anything, he doesn't mind poking a little fun at the people he loves best...his family. To get a feel for why I think it is so great I decided to add a little excerpt.

1. Excerpt from Making Chutney:

The Adventures of The Purple Cowboy Hat Lady Or how I got Dogged by My Mother.
Long, long ago, in the neck of space-time known as the Oklahoma Oil Bust, my family became charismatic Christians. We started going to “Monday night bible study,” basically a small house church about a mile from where we lived. It started with around a dozen or less but within a few months had grown to close to a hundred.

Each meeting would start with several renditions of praise choruses intended to sound like authentic Jewish music, if by “authentic Jewish music” you mean a half-remembered rendition of Fiddler on the Roof. After blowing the trumpet in Zion, the Bible study would begin, followed by the laying on of hands and the talking of tongues. (Try it yourself! Just yell quickly: “Who stole-uh my Honda? Come and tie my bow tie!”)


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