The Lost Blogs Read online

  Mr. Rockefeller wanted me to make sure you knew his current e-mail address in the event you would like to send him an idea, a comment or a question about all of his writings here on his personal blog. He appreciates your thoughts on the columns he writes, and is always open to requests for subject matter although you must be aware that since it does take time to write the blog entries, Mr. Rockefeller can’t promise that he’ll choose your subject to write about! He thanks you for reading daily and can’t wait for you to read his blog tomorrow!

  From: http://www.vince_lombardi.com/blog/

  Subject: Is Playing Football a Fantasy?

  Some people suck at winning.

  In fact, most people are losers. That’s why people revel in the success of winners. If everyone was a winner, or most people were winners, then winners wouldn’t much matter in the world since everyone would have the ability to win. But they don’t. In fact, most of you reading this probably lose more than you care to admit.

  No, winning is a rarity, set aside for those who are disciplined and dedicated and have the ability to work themselves to within an inch of their life. Winning is a treasure for those willing to search long and hard. Winning is reserved for a very small percentage of society’s men—for just one percent of the entire hundred.

  That is, until now.

  As a coach, I know what it’s like to win. I’ve finished second only twice in my life. And after those moments, I vowed to never finish second again. (And I didn’t.) People often ask me what it’s like to feel the rush of taking a team to the top. They often say that they wish they could experience the same thing, but they’re stuck being accountants or bankers or lawyers. Thing is, running a football team is no different than running any other kind of organization. Principles are the same. The object is to beat the other guy and to win. It got me to thinking—how could America’s losers at least get an opportunity to feel that same rush?

  That’s when I came up with the idea for Lombardi’s Football Fantasy Club.

  Launching today (just click on the above link)—you’ll be able to be the coach of a football team just like me! From a selection of today’s NFL athletes you’ll pick your players, then follow them through an entire season of game play. Every time one of your players does something great, something truly heroic and amazing—you’ll get the credit you deserve for picking him and coaching him. You’ll be considered a winner! Just like me!

  But just like the real world—in this Fantasy Club, losers aren’t worth crap. If you lose a game or the majority of the players you’ve picked are making bad plays and consistently making mistakes, you will be ridiculed and eventually kicked out of the Fantasy Club. Because losers don’t ever get ahead in the real world, and they won’t here either.

  And there won’t be any of those losers-play-losers games like in the real-world NFL. There will be no second place bowl game. If you lose, you will be kicked out, your user name will be deleted, you’ll lose all the money you put into the game and the Lombardi Football Fantasy Club will deny that you ever existed. Losers need not ever come back! Losers often face this kind of disappointment in life, and the Lombardi Football Fantasy Club will be no different. If you lose, you will feel like you have just ruined your entire life—and you will have! Real stakes. Real situations. Real life.

  Are you a winner or a loser? Will you triumph or will you fail? Will you show your greatness or show your loser qualities to the entire world? It’s a question that you can answer—just by joining.

  Thanks to all my great readers, by the way! You guys are all champions in my mind and together each and every one of you has made my website a smashing success!! Pat yourselves on the back, people! You are so great!

  Questions or concerns? E-mail Vince.

  From: http://www.es.ferdinand_magellan.com/blog/

  Subject: Explo-rants!

  Look, it’s no surprise I wanna be an explorer. You’ve heard it a thousand times. I know I can be one. I’ve studied. I’m in a pretty good place to do it. In fact, in a few weeks I’m gonna head to sea for the first time with Francisco de Almeida on our way to India—but that’s not what I wanna talk about.

  There are explorers… A-List explorers. And they are ranting and raving about the most ludicrous, insignificant things on their blogs without ever stopping to realize that they’re ALREADY FAMOUS EXPLORERS! How many people would die to be an explorer!? How many kids want to grow up to be just like them!? Yet what do they do? They forget where they came from and just rant and rave (I call it “explo-rants”) instead of being humble like they should.

  Why not check out Vasco da Gama’s Weblog? Mr. “Admiral of the Indian Ocean” who was the first to sail from Europe to India doesn’t fill up his pages enlightening the youth of today with just how it became possible or advice on how to reach such heights. His post from last week, Extreme Ultimate Admiral, spends five pages arguing that being called “Admiral” is not nearly enough for the amazing feats he and his crew have accomplished. What an ego this guy’s got! Totally turned me off.

  What about Hernán Cortés’s Blog? Have you been to this monstrosity of ego-ness? Yes, sure, he conquered Mexico for Spain but for that does he really deserve acres of land and Indian slaves? Cortés blogs about wanting more slaves because he’s really busy but I think this is just another example of the fame and fortune going to an explorer’s head! I mean, what does he need all those Indian slaves for? Sure, give him a couple, but why not give some of those Indian slaves to the needy people? The people who don’t have ANY Indian slaves? Man, when I read that about Cortés, well, I’m not gonna go out and buy any more of his famous maps anymore. I’d rather give my money to an explorer who deserves it!

  And don’t even get me started on Sebastian Cabot. This guy, you probably don’t even know who he is! Yeah, yeah—so his dad is John Cabot, who discovered Nova Scotia (i.e., Canada). Big deal! Right? So his dad is famous. Well because of that, Sebastian thinks he should be famous too. In fact, while Sebastian rants about how he deserves his own ships for exploring this new-found land he forgets to tell you that he was the one who was involved in that “discovering China” fiasco. All that press and, in the end, it wasn’t China at all. Sheesh. The kids of famous explorers make me sick.

  Finally, it pains me to even say it, but Christopher Columbus is losing his marbles. All the guy talks about on his blog now is the fact that he hates the names of his ships and he rants about it constantly. Chris, you discovered America. Talk about that. Stop talking about stuff that doesn’t matter years after the glory days are over.

  All I have to say to all of you is this: when I become famous… when I finally accomplish something like, oh I don’t know, circumnavigating the globe or something, don’t expect me to whine all day long about the weight of all the gold on my back or my servants or my title. If I’m an explorer, and I get to do what I have always dreamed of… then I’m not going to take it for granted. I’m going to enjoy it and respect it and give advice to others who were once in my position.

  Man, these prima donna explorers and their inflated egos have just about made me lose my lunch.

  What about you? Do you agree? Let me know.

  From: http://www.spartacus.com/blog/

  Subject: Gladiator School, Week 34

  Ugh, I am so over this whole gladiator school thing.

  Last week we learned how to fight blindfolded and while on horseback. The week before that, I got a chunk bitten out of my left leg by a wild boar. The week before that, while fighting on horseback with a gladius and while wearing a visored helmet (that you can hardly even see through), I got a spear in my right foot from that idiotic Gillias. The week before that, full armor. The week before that, using the noose. Tridents, daggers, nets, wearing nothing, wearing a shield, a visor, or even a full tunic in the hot sun. There are lions and wild dogs and a variety of other wild animals you would never want to spend long periods of time with. Yet here I am, against my will, doing just that.

  Sigh. Being a
slave sure had its advantages.

  Sometimes at night, whichever of us are still alive sit around and talk about our fond memories about being slaves for Roman families. The whippings and the fetching and the never-ending fatigue. It was heaven compared to this.

  Tomorrow, we fight in Ordinarii (or pairs)—one gladiator against another. Tonight there were at least some laughs to be had, each of us practicing raising our finger—when you beat another gladiator you’re supposed to raise a finger to the audience so they can decide if the loser should live or die! That was sorta fun, each of us raising our finger to one another and letting the others decide LIVE or DIE! People were chanting DIE more often than LIVE, but we discussed it for some time and we think that mostly, if one of us had lost a gladiator match that the audience would probably say LIVE instead of DIE. No one wants to see that much blood. People hate the sight of it. Of that I’m sure. So, at least there’s a silver lining to this whole thing.

  Oh! Some good news, actually. Looks like Lentulus Batiatus, who owns the school here in Capua, has decided to give the current survivors their own personal contact mailboxes. So, if you want to correspond with me while I’m incarcerated here, feel free to send a message to [email protected]. I’ll try to respond as quickly as I can, but know that sometimes I am simply out of commission.

  Think good thoughts for me and the others. Hopefully things here at the Gladiator School will get better next week. Probably not, but I can hope, right?

  Oh, and if you’re interested (my old slavemasters were) you can see my report card. I’m doing pretty good so far, no matter that I find all of this a little bit forced upon me. I did extremely well in “stabbing and slicing while blindfolded,” which is, I guess, pretty neat.

  From: http://www.janeausten.uk/weblog/

  Subject: He Who Shall Remain Unnamed Due to Embarrassing Results

  “He” Who Shall Remain Unnamed came quietly into my life a mere two weeks prior accompanied by a selection of digital correspondences that were both witty and respectful.

  Previously, I had mentioned my astonishment at how well-read and intelligent he seemed. He was eloquent, considerate and extremely encouraging. I quickly felt as if I knew his character. ’Twas over the course of many exchanges that I felt as if “He” Who Shall Remain Unnamed was not a rogue but a true gentleman in the finest sense of the word. But perhaps such familiarity was due to the fact that “He” was not a stranger after all, but instead was closer to my heart than any of us could have imagined.

  Perhaps he was Mr. Collinsworth, the barrister with whom I’d shared a cup of tea months earlier. You may recall how, after asking him the reason for his great success in all but love, the colour left his face most promptly. Or perhaps Ernest Doyle, the local businessman with whom I once shared a carriage into town? Upon my suggesting that his hand was in the most inopportune of places (my knee), he stammered an apology and disappeared soon after. Perhaps it was a man with whom I had interacted, but whose confidence for one reason or another needed a costume from which to approach me.

  My solitary lifestyle has indeed grown tiresome, which I can embarrassingly illustrate through the short writings I have submitted to such places as RespectableLadies.com and BritainsBest.net. There, I have found myself, not the subject of a chorus of enthusiasm, but instead a silence most deafening.

  Perhaps that is why I hoped for the best with “He” Who Shall Remain Unnamed due to embarrassing results. The results of which, I will now explain to you.

  Consequences being what they were, it had been previously agreed upon that the two of us (having successfully justified a social meeting through our quick and charismatic textual banter) would meet for afternoon tea at a local establishment. “He” insisted that it was unnecessary to forward me a picture, as the surprise would be far more satisfying. At the time, such a suggestion seemed playful, like that of a romantic rogue—and so in spite of my desire to see “him” ahead of time, I agreed.

  The preparation took hours—I studied his words, making note of subjects he spoke enthusiastically about. I recalled stories that I might speak of, showing “him” that the similarities between the two of us were more than coincidental. I dressed in attire that was not casual yet not elegant. A measured presentation of sorts, as such, to not overexcite or underwhelm. With the hour arriving quickly, I made my way out the house and down to the establishment.

  There I stood, at the time in question, awaiting my intellectual equal… My mysterious correspondent with whom I’d shared hundreds of stories and personal information. Yet, looking around there was no one there except for a boy about the age of twelve. Perhaps younger. He was sucking on candy, which gave away his age almost immediately.

  Yet he suddenly stood to approach me, his hand outstretched.

  “Ms. Austen?” he spoke, hiding his candy behind his back. “Fancy that tea now?”

  * * *

  I have disabled my digital mailbox until further notice, as I do not believe any good can come from the correspondences between faceless individuals and myself. If there is love to be had here, in this strange new landscape—I do not believe it is for me.

  And besides, I have a book to complete.

  From: http://www.confucius.ch/blog/

  Subject: …

  The honest man knows not when he is being honest—an effort must never be made to discern between honesty and dishonesty, as the honest man is honest all the time. And then, how can an honest man who is honest all the time know anything different from such honesty? To him, there is no need to consider a lie. If his soul does not lie, all that comes forth from his lips is the truth.

  So too is the case for the subject line of this digital page of words.

  When does a subject fully encompass the subject that follows? When do words prepare us for other words to follow? A word can never hold the meaning of other words. A phrase can never enlighten us to future phrases. The wise man will never read a subject line and be satisfied. He must dig deeper for a passage’s full understanding.

  The blogged man, he who rises with the sun and gazes upon thousands upon thousands of words as crafted by his fellow man—he does not need a subject line to direct his path. Yet those who do not familiarize themselves with such prose, who are unfamiliar with such style and shape—they put all their worth into such limited prose.

  The righteous man gazes upon a subject line and gives it no weight. Yet the inferior man, saddled with weight already due to his lack of direction, gazes upon such words with faith and dedication. To the inferior man, the subject line says all. To the righteous man, the subject line says nothing.

  The inferior man speaks at the completion of reading the subject line and summarizes what he is about to read, while the righteous man reads the subject line and imagines what he is about to digest.

  That is why the righteous man has no need for a subject line on his blog. That is why I have no need for a subject line on this blog. A man with no subject line on his blog (or his correspondences, in fact) has a life full of possibilities, while the man who is desperate to put prose where it defines other prose, has a life already decided for him.

  (Tomorrow, I, Confucius, will address the righteous man’s lack of necessity for a digital counter, and the inferior man’s necessity for vertigo-inducing background images.)

  From: http://www.william_wrigley_jr.com/blog/

  Subject: Father’s Business

  So far, Chicago has treated the Wrigley family well. Father’s soap business continues to succeed—Wrigley’s scouring soap is a favorite among the merchants and customers and Father has asked me to help think up the next step in ensuring growth for the company. Perhaps adding baking soda to the overall product line might be a good idea—these are ideas I am still debating.

  Nevertheless, Father invited a selection of business contacts over to the house the other evening for an elaborate dinner—I suggested to him this was a good idea because it would make Wrigley’s top merchants feel a pa
rt of the family, and thus, they would be much more willing to get the word out about the products. And indeed, it appeared as if it was a good idea, that is, until dinner was served.

  There, as the lot of us were attempting to talk about a variety of business issues, a strange, startling sound was coming from the other end of the table. That sound, of course, was coming from the mouth of a local businessman (whose name I will keep to myself). As he tore through his dinner, he repeatedly chewed voraciously—smacking his lips and allowing others at the table to see inside his mouth as he repeatedly chomped down upon his dinner. It was, honestly, the most disgusting sight I have ever seen.

  Even worse was this individual’s lack of respect—the way in which he would continue to speak and insert himself into the conversation while continuing to chew. Honestly, and I’m not quite sure why I’ve never noticed this before, but the act of chewing and speaking with one’s mouth wide open communicates a lack of respect to the others at the table—chew and speak at the same time and you might as well be saying, “I don’t care what you have to say, it’s what I have to day that’s most important here!”

  No one said anything, mind you, which made the situation even more grating on our nerves, as this individual continued to do so through the entire meal and well through the dessert portion of the evening. Just picture it—someone yammering away with their jaw clenching and unclenching, mouth open for all to see, saliva being mixed throughout. Even with his mouth closed, seeing a man repeatedly chew as if he was attempting to work his food to his will is abhorrent.