This blog is a love story. A modern one, to be sure – a let’s-meet-in-that-chatroom, did-you-save-that-log-from-the-day-when, Google-approved love story. One of those stories that Internet made possible, the kind that grandparents look at askance and then shake their heads. The Network of Networks is our childhood playground, an empty, dark theater, our park bench after school. Our summer.
It’s a sign of the times that we believe blogs are bonding exercises, and that a common project involves handing over the keyboard. But we are who we are, and we enjoy the process so much that results are secondary. We wouldn’t have it any other way.
We fully expect to write for ourselves – a sort of photograph of who we were and what we felt, back then in 2011, when we were young and spry and people actually cared about ’em blogs, how archaic!, old people sure are funny. But you’re all welcome to drop by, enjoy, stick around.
Don’t mind the mess.