Why Blog?

It seems proper to begin this site with something I clearly know nothing about. As it is my favorite hobby to have only a glancing knowledge of a thing and become convinced that I am an expert, I can think of no better first post then one about the thing which I have not yet actually begun to do. This has the secondary benefit of an excuse to write an essay exclusively about myself, and this second hobby (talking about myself) intertwined with the first is, personally, why I feel like exactly the sort of person who should have had a blog all along.   

While I’m doing my favorite things I might as well start with one of my favorite beginnings… When I was a child.

When I was a child I wanted to be many things, and opera singer, a vet, a zoologist, an entomologist, an actress, or a cheetah. But the main thing I always wanted to be was an eccentric. Every passing aspiration was weighed against how likely this career path would allow me to be eccentric. I’m not sure I totally understood what it meant but I certainly liked the sound of it. I was also romanced by the characters in screwball comedies who could do and say outrageous things and still be looked to as clever and popular individuals. It took quite a bit of time for me to realize that the other characters in these movies were supposed to be irritated with this outrageous behavior. I didn’t pay attention to the irritated ones, I just loved the crazy ones. Katherine Hepburn in Bringing up Baby and William Powell in The Thin Man were particular favorites. But whenever I tried to imitate my heroes’ behavior I was met with the real life irritation of my own personal cast of straight men, and theirs had much more affect on me than Carey Grant’s.

It later became clear to me through my avid (and by avid I mean unhealthy) appreciation for biopics, that eccentrics are the people that nobody likes until they’re dead. No one might appreciate my screwball antics now, but once I was dead then all my oddities would be truly admired. I began from an unfortunately  young age to live my life with the sole goal of it making a good bipic someday. This means that while some girls ran to drama because it gave meaning to their tiny lives, I ran to drama out of the altruistic belief that it might someday afford the actress who played me an Oscar. Yeah, that was the sort of person I was *cough-cough* am *cough-cough*

Biopics, along with my very literary family, also taught me that writers are the ones that really have the eccentricity market cornered. In addition to this Harry Potter made me, along with everyone else in the world, want to write.  The subsequent Harry Potter rip-off genre that sprang up in the wake of the Boy who Lived’s success made me think “Psh, I can do that.”  Every time I read something poorly written I was lit with internal glee. Writing would be the thing that excused my eccentricities and with the release of my biopic posthumous sales of my masterpieces would skyrocket.   

By High School I was pretty great at being eccentric, because eccentric is what I came to call almost total social failure. I knew that in order to be a writer I would have to be a listener and an observer, which is what I called being too shy and weird to talk to people. It was also a plus as writer to  be a misunderstood genius, which is what I called barely passing any of my classes. I was so good at being an eccentric that it was hard for me to contain how much better I was than everyone else. My keen writer’s eye could pick out the hypocrites and cut down the lofty and the prideful. I was a social critic, which was what I called being an asshole.

Now some of you must be wondering how, with all my preparation and natural born talent, I am not now a world famous eccentric author. Let me explain; In high school I wrote a hand full of terrible poems, the first three chapters to a terrible novel, and one very short, mildly terrible, Ron/Hermione fanfic. To put it simply, I am not a doer. I am the sort of person that spends hours reading the synopses of books of Wikipedia, but never feel as though I have the time to actually read the book. I am the person that spends their days off watching Wings on Netflix, I am in fact the person for whom Netflix was invented (I swear I had the idea first). I am the person whose discussion of current events is based solely on headlines. I am the person who sits on the couch on my laptop with Wings playing in the background who clicks on a very interesting looking editorials about Health Care reform, then leaves the tab open to read ‘later’.

‘Later’ is the most important time in my life. It is when I’ll work on my resume. When I’ll call my mom. When I’ll get that mole checked. ‘Later’ is my delusional sense of self worth meeting my lazy incompetence. ‘Later’ is the twilight zone. ‘Later’ is why I want to blog.

Blogging seems likely to meet my requirements for minimum required effort to maximum ego pay-off. I’ve got a few slightly arty friends and when they introduce me to their other slightly arty friends, saying that I blog will probably be an acceptable slightly arty thing, and they’ll let me in their cool slightly arty club. No one will probably ever read it, but for pseudo-intellectuals just like myself  blogging is one of those masturbatory creative outlets we’re always whining about needing. It’s either this or contribute to mankind.


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