This is the beginning. The first post. In books, the first page is often written to catch the reader's attention; well, really, it's more of a case of the first line. What a drab first line the first post of this blog has. Whatever. I'm not concerned with readership. This is a mere session of masturbation, self-indulgence. I can write somewhere between poorly and really well--perhaps even awfully or superbly (but I've never been one for superlatives...lies?). I will likely use many compound-complex sentences and perhaps even run-ons, for the rules of grammar and style are for chumps. Sure, reading The Elements of Style would probably do me more good than reading Underworld, but I'm a pretty big believer in the concept of self-instruction. Whatever. I will not delete anything I write in this space (save spelling errors), and every entry will be at least one thousand words. Perhaps someday I will have written one million words in this silly blog. I'd write on paper, but my hand gets tired after awhile. The convenience of a blog, the computer, the Internet, etc. is sexy and enticing in its immediacy. Sure, hands become tired of typing after many words, but the onset of carpal tunnel is rather delayed. Bloggers of the universe can take comfort in that, I suppose. But will providers of health insurance be okay with the legions of geriatrics making their multiple hajjs to doctors' offices and pharmacies to pick up their wrist-braces and super-fortified Ibuprofen? I guess we will find out.
So, this blog. At this point, I'm not really sure I want to do with it (with the obvious exception of using it as a vehicle to dick around). Or perhaps I'll post pictures and Youtube videos. Or perhaps I'll upload rare psychedelic European prog albums. Or perhaps I'll write love notes to the woman who will never let herself love me back. Or perhaps I will document and detail the successes and the failures of the Cookeville High School soccer teams. Or perhaps I will embark on endless rants about popular culture and the concept of celebrity and how atheism is the biggest crock because sure, humans are great and all and humans have achieved all kinds of ridiculous, mind-boggling feats but there is so much out there that is so much greater than what the human mind can accomplish or even understand--for instance, homeostasis, cell division, our own cognitive abilities, the stability and ability for ecosystems to adjust to debilitating stimuli, that we create abstractions before we can conceptualize and identify them. And so on. Or perhaps I will provide commentary for books I have read or am reading. Currently, I am in the process of reading Delillo's Underworld, Hesse's Magister Ludi; or, the Glass Bead Game, Barthelme's Sixty Stories, and Ortega y Gasset's the Origin of Philosophy. THEY ALL RULE. Or perhaps I will discuss television and movies, except I do not watch much television or movies. Or perhaps I will type many sentences about the tragedy of life in regards to time and how there is never enough time and how so much time gets wasted in front of the computer screen or the television. But then again, would this be considered a waste of time? Hard to say. Sure, I could be doing something tangibly productive, but at the very least, I will admit that writing requires a certain amount of mental exercise. Still, though, it's more likely to be a waste of time...but I haven't checked Facebook or Twitter once since I started writing this!!!
I've been up since about 1:30 this morning. Spent all of yesterday being completely hungover from an of-little-foresight drinking binge on Saturday night, during which I ran up a $60 bar tab because I felt generous and bought my friends and I multiple rounds of whiskey shots. Nobody stopped me. Nobody even asked, "Are you sure?" Not that I mind. I enjoy being generous, but I also did not foresee a $60 bar tab in my immediate future. Welp. In any case, I watched the first half of the Brazil-USA football match (Confederations Cup Final). The combination of the post-drinking binge haze and the elation of watching the United States build a 2-0 first half lead was weirdly disorienting. Surreal. Watching the United States choke away the lead in the second half was heart-breaking. At least we had a good showing in the tournament, and that game will likely become enshrined as one of the year's best (in any sport). I went out for wings and beers after the game, and I achieved the perfect level of intoxication for an early bedtime. I actually made it to bed around 9:00, half-slept/half-dreamed-weird-dreams about a version of Crawdaddy's with a swimming pool in the downstairs area for a few hours, and quit the slumber around 1:30 a.m. when my cats got a little too snuggle-friendly. It's 8:00 now. My day has 13 more hours in it, most likely. Also likely is the probability that I will be gassed by 2:00 this afternoon. I'll have to do something--drink coffee, drink tea, ???--to stay awake. I suppose I could take a nap, but then I would have trouble falling asleep tonight. FIRST-WORLD PROBLEMS.
Well, I suppose I'm going to hang up the keyboard for the time being and take a shower and begin my day of super-productivity. On the docket: download lots of prog and psych albums, work on cleaning my room, shred a bunch of papers that I no longer need, find love, wash dishes, and well we'll just say that there's a pretty long laundry list of this stuff. Hopefully I've made it past the thousand word mark, but I guess when I run this through a word counter later, I'll find out for sure. Pretend this is myspace, leave me comments.
