How else to start something like a freakin' class blog than to post a pic of Good Mr. Offutt Himself in which he is a brown-bearded burlyman. Look at him in his youth, like we are now in our youth, and now think of how we will become him -- you know what I mean. This blog thing exists because we need a place to announce weddings and births of stories and poems and books and children and redesigned selves. Yes? For example, without Ropes of Sand, the blog of our beloved Ought Fivers (Mullins, what has become of you?!), we would not know that Sugi sold two books to Random House! Knowing this makes us smile like Mr. Offutt in our own personal, widely scattered trees. Anyway. Hi. Hope all's well. All you best post sometimes so we can keep the dream alive . . . Oh right. Wait. The idea came to start this on Thanksgiving, when remembering Mr. Offutt's feast last year, the generosity, the goodness, the pies, the darts, the ice-cold smokes, the nude singing in Senegalese . . . Do you remember anything else? Please share. Post sentences, poems, pictures, IM transcripts with your semi-illiterate friends, favorite moments from Borat, ruminations, nominations, recommendations, anti-recommendations, links, blinks, and virtual trinkets like this. Where are you? Is it warm?
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