What You Can Learn About a Blogger from his Blog (A Convenient Summary)

I'm not an amazingly interesting person. Sure, I have my flaws. I'm fucked-up in some ways, and, if, perhaps, your definition of interesting is flawed, then I may be somewhat interesting in that way. But, otherwise, I'm not that great.

     I'm from the suburbs of a city that doesn't even have much urban to it, really. I'm a white male, so, if I, say, had a car, my insurance would be higher than the equivalent female's; however, I am nearly legally blind, so I don't do much driving.

     Oh, right, some people find my eyesight problems to be interesting, but, at this point, I'm sick of talking about it. I'd really like to be able to sate the curiosity of everyone who wants to know why I can't see worth shit, yet do not own a pair of glasses, without having to explain the intricacies of my inherited, dry, macular distrophy. I wish people knew what "macular distrophy" was, off-hand, and I didn't even have to explain that.

     Yeah, and I'm colour-blind. It's not interesting, fuckers. Stop being intrigued by the fact that I can't identify colours properly. It's tiresome. Yeah, I thought that looked green, and it was red. I thought that was blue, and it was purple. I thought that was yellow, and it was tan. Get over it. I'm sick of that half-surprised, half-aghast look in the eyes of people as they flail to grasp what it means to be colour-blind. And, since I actually developed gradual colour-blindness over the course of years, I can assure you it doesn't mean I see in greyscale like some black-and-white movie a la Clerks. That's not how it works, and if you want to know how it does, I'm probably not going to tell you, asshole.

     I go to college, studying for a degree in Fine Arts and Computer Science: the former, because it's something I have a degree of passion for (albeit wanning), and the latter because it gets me a high-paying job, plus I find interesting. I'm minoring in Mathematics and Literature, because they accompany my two majors well and the courseload intersects enough to make it not that many more credits. Yawn, college student? Being in college is like being a vagabond teenager trying to stumble your way into adulthood—a lingering attempt to not plunge headlong into life-consuming responsibilities. Noble academia, my ass.

     I have an ecclectic taste in music, but, you know what? Nowadays, every asshole who listens to some classical music and some jazz, along with a bit of modern and contemporary music—rock'n'roll, punk, alternative, metal—classifies himself as ecclectic. So, I listen to some Vivaldi, then Gang of Four, and maybe some System of a Down, The Pillows, or Miles Davis: I'm not special. That's not interesting. That's what happens when you're a spoiled, suburban, white kid with more resources than time: you're submersed in such a bland, faceless culture that you clamour for your own identity through any means necessary, and music is a quick fix. "Oh, I'm a punk." "Oh, I'm a goth." "Oh, I'm a band geek." Fuck off, nobody cares. I don't.

     I read a lot, and write some—stories, poetry—and I'm decent at it. Yipee. As much as I am constantly constructing English sentences, I would hope that I'm decent at the word game. I like writers like Faulkner and Hemingway, Joyce and James, Flaubert and Cervantes, Achebe and Oz, Zahn and Vance. Whoopie. One in three English majors read Faulker and think they "get it," and they're only doing so because it's hard reading and they want to feel special by untangling the linguistic and narrative puzzle that is The Sound and Fury, or by drawing all the mythological parallels they can in As I Lay Dying. Yeah, you're not the only one: go read a critical essay on the books before putting out your own redundant theories, bastards. I'm, at least, not trying to put on the face of a literary guru or whatever.

     I use non-breaking spaces to occasionally indent the paragraphs of my Blog. I have a Blog with a generic template design and a lot of sporadic, random content. I've been posting on it for three, almost four years. I, typically, forget how many 'c's and 's's are in words like "necessary" and "occasion." I'm anally retentive about grammar and spelling, but not so to a point where I obsessively re-edit old posts to fix them. I'm a Blogger. It's trendy, right now: that's not interesting.

     Who the hell would think I'm that fascinating? I've got a beard with no moustache, and really long, wavy hair; I'm overweight, average height, and moderately strong; I've got blue eyes, but you could hardly tell because I squint nigh constantly, not to mention wear sunglasses about ninety-five percent of the time. I'm not fascinating, I'm some guy with a Blog, and that's it: a college student with time on his hands. That's all . . . I'm the kind of dick who uses Dictionary.com a lot and memorizes the control code for the dash (—).

Now, get away from me.