Chekhov was a genius. Perhaps I'm biased, since I just spent weeks cramming for the one-question True-and-False exam at the end of my Chekhov class, but you will agree when you find out that he came up with Catch 22 half a century before Joseph Heller did. In one of Chekhov's early stories, 'Cвадьба'--not to be confused with 'Женитьба'--a man wants a doctor's certificate confirming that he is insane, in order to avoid marrying a certain girl, but the doctor replies that he can certify the man's insanity only when he actually wants to get married. I was impressed.
Since this is my first blog entry (the test entry doesn't count) I suppose I should explain why I'm keeping a blog at all. But since I'm in a Chekhovian mood, you'll have to bear with me as I revert back to the nineteenth century in a 2am fit of silliness. You should keep in mind that I generally prefer googletalk to the telegraph, and K* isn't really a gentleman. At least not in the way Chekhov would have used the word.
I was once "acquainted" with a certain gentleman K*. It so happened that one day I found myslef in the urban metropolis of M*, while the gentleman of my "acquaintance" remained in another urban metropolis on the opposite side of the lake. One evening, unable to express the depth and intensity of my affection for said gentleman over the telegraph, and groping for a concise way to uncover the feelings in my soul, I told him that he was my blog. (They were charging me by the letter after all, and "my love" has most certainly been overused by dull and unimaginative letter-writers) Struck by my words, he said it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. But he was being sarcastic.
And so I started thinking--perhaps it really is unnatural to force the role of both boyfriend and blog onto one person, perhaps I should keep K* as my boyfriend, and leave the role of blog to, well, this blog.
