twang my thog

Okay, I have a little confession to make. This is a blogging confession - as you know, bloggers are honour-bound to blog about blogging sometimes - it's in the Blogger's Code, and I like to nod in the direction of the guidelines sometimes, just to be on the safe side.

(Sometime I'll tell you about the little thing I have for Geoffrey Rush.)

Well, the thing I did is, I acted like a 2nd-grader in the playground. The other day I discovered - so late in life, and I don't even remember how - Chip Dale's wonderful Diary, and I read his post all about how he had been nominated as a "thogger" - that is, a thinking blogger, a blogger who makes someone think. He had, as it's a meme, nominated five more bloggers, ones who make him think. But by the time I got to the end of his post* and into the comments box** I was so gutted that I wasn't one of Chip Dale's fave bloggers of all, and why should I be? you ask. Not everyone can be stalking the halls of Baroque Mansions all the time (capacious dwelling though it is), and even 15 minutes earlier I had never heard of Chip Dale himself! - As I say, I was so overcome with the ignominy of my position of being unthogged by Chippy of the Dales that I left him a comment saying it was all so unfair and too late for happiness and how I wished he could have nominated meeee.

And guess what happened next. He did.

I'm 5b on his list. I love Chip Dale.

But it just feels so cheap! Did I really make him think? Or did I just make him point, and laugh?

Be that as it may, I am honoured as well as chuffed, and will assume I made Chippy think. Maybe, as he says below, it is best not to ask about what. And now, tagged as I am, I am going to nominate five bloggers who make me think. Or maybe 2 and a half.

1. No, it's no good. Everything makes me think. Let me think about this.



* (as the actress said to the bishop.) ...part of which reads as follows:

"Anyway, the reason I’m working so late" (writes Chippy) "is that I’ve been nominated for a Thogger.

You might want to read that again.

When I got the call, I mistakenly thought it was a ‘Thonger’, which, as you probably know, is the highest accolade in world stripping. No UK stripper has yet won a Thonger, let along a chap from Wales. I thought my life was about to change for the better and I’d become the world ambassador to the world’s exhibitionists, gyrators, lap dancers, and thonglateers. You can imagine my disappointment when Gabby pointed out that it said Thogger, not Thonger.

That’s the problem with these Romanians. They’re so perceptive.

After I’d finished crying, I reread the citation and discovered that Trixy considers that I’m a blogger who makes her think. Think about what, you probably wonder? Well I think it’s probably not a good idea to ask. I try my best, of course, but I never seem to become anything more than a man in thong. I sometimes wonder if an education will come to nothing unless I mention my private parts every hundred words. If I gave you a choice between lots of observations about my wang or something insightful about Auden, I suspect the wang would win every time. Which is typical of the British mentality. I’m also sure Auden wrote a poem about it as he had a similar problem."

** (as the actress said to the bishop)