Miles Runs the Voodoo Down

The Internet is a big sprawling mess of stuff. Big. The Web is just a piece of the Internet, and even it is infinitely big. I try to visualize the number of web pages and it gets to be this big creepy cosmic thing, like in Stephen King's Dark Tower novels, where the entire universe is contained within a single rose growing in an empty lot in Manhattan. I like the recursion in that image. Aside from the recursion, though, is the concept of big. An entire universe contained within a rose, which is part of another entire universe contained within a blade of grass, which is in turn....well, you get my point.

Anyway, in amongst the billions of web pages, tucked away like a needle jammed into the middle of the Serengeti, is a monument. In the grand scheme of things, the monument is actually pretty small, but here it is, nonetheless. You could spend your whole life wandering the Serengeti and never step on that needle. If you were to search your whole life for that needle, you may never find it. Nonetheless, here that needle stands, in a dark, lightly-traveled corner of the Internet. It shall stand for as long as the mighty Blogger.com shall stand, and it will trumpet forth its simple message.

Happy Birthday to You
Happy Birthday to You
Happy Birthday, Dear Grandma
Happy Birthday to You

Love,
Hambone*

*As dictated to Daddy, this 23rd day of March in the year two thousand and five