We grow older, we get stronger

It's true (about growing older and getting stronger). We would be foolish to deny it. And so, in the spirit of not denying things, I am starting another blog.

Really, it's more of an old blog, The Chesterton Review, but I just don't have time for that garbage anymore. No, I'm diverting my energies to this brave new blog, The Chesterton Review.

As you can see, there have been some pretty serious cosmetic changes from the T.C.R.'s old look, thanks to some Google web designer, or web page designing artificial intelligence. Also, I've found that I've drifted away from the Myspace (TCR's former home). It used to be like a small town, and now it's like a small town full of perverts and teenagers (I don't particularly like either, and together they are just about unbearable). To put it simple, MySpace just doesn't make a lot of sense to me any more. And isn't that sad? "My space" is no longer mine? I feel like how the Indians must have felt? (Do they still feel that way? I hate to put words in people's heads.)

Anyway, I'm hopeful about this change. I expect Frisky Chesterton will drop by sometime, to regale us with his science bullshit, and maybe I'll be able to write a little more often. Part of this has to do with my recent dearth of employment—it turns out that no one wants to be billed for medical insurance, and I wasn't going to force it on them, and my former employer wasn't interested in my all-too-American attitude. Fine by me. We know how communism has turned out in the past, and I don't want to have anything to do with that company when lowish class malcontents are looking for brass to put up against the wall.

Still, I expect the readership of the 'Review to be limited to Frisky and myself for some time to come—I want to generate a little more content for y'all before I start paying for advertisement. At the very least I'd like to figure out how to import my old posts here. (Although, in many respects, those were written by a very different person, and I'm not proud of some
of the things he said. I'd like to blame it all on Frisky, but we're better men than that, aren't we?)

(We are.)

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