Nobody Of Note

First entries are always the hardest. Where to start? What to say? One thing I've noticed is the disturbingly casual way that some people begin blogs. All things considered, these are records that could last forever... then again, the could be destroyed in a nuclear blast sometime next year. Let's hope not. Still, does immortality of these thoughts grant me to be dramatic with my intro? Of the 20 million or so bloggers out there, let's say 20% are forgotten after a week. That leaves 16 million. Even after that, another 20% die off in a month or so, when the boredom those blogs fight gives way to having a life. Now we're down to 12 mil. We can safely say that a third of the internet, at least, is devoted to ways to making your dick bigger. That leaves us with an unimpressive 5 million bloggers.

Of those 5 million, we can be sure that 1/5 of those who regularly update their blogs are under the age of 18. Sadly, this means that 1 million bloggers are beheading the foundation of thoughtful writing by pissing all over basic rules of grammar. No forum for thought has mutinied punctuation more efficiently than emoticon-mongering teenage internet users.

To the kids, I say with all my heart... fuck you.

Moving on.

Most of you that are reading this have been friends of mine for a long time. I can imagine a lot of close friends of mine skipping these first few entries-- as though they are waiting to take the advanced course. "E-mail me when you've got something I don't know about you," someone might say. To that, I reply, "Can anyone remember how useful it was to skip the first chapter of a book?"

I can imagine the kids digging this up in 30 or so years, looking puzzled and snickering, "What's a book?"

Even so, I can count up to the toes the number of people who've begun blogs and taught me something completely new about themselves in their first entry-- even after knowing them for years. It's interesting how the basics get skipped these days. Even in conversation. Everything you need to know about someone you meet at a bar is either tattooed to their lower back or plastered on t-shirts in bold lettering. I know, I know... I've worn shirts like that several times. My favorite is the one that says "Genius by birth/Slacker by choice". It's not entirely accurate. I've been known to work on occasion.

So the basics... out with them, you say? Fine, fine.

Name: Non-(Nobody Of Note)
Date of Birth: December 28
Origin: North Little Rock, Arkansas
Occupation: Non-(Nothing Of Note)
Marital Status: If I had a girlfriend, I'd be a 1-month blogger. Check back in 30 days.
Favorite Food: Meatloaf
Languages: English, a little Spanish, some sign language
Disabilities: Hard of Hearing since birth, Addicted to caffiene (it's a disease, dammit!)
Ideal Retirement: To be "that old guy." It involves a lawn chair, a shotgun, and a 3-legged dog.
Pet Peeve: When someone gimps a handshake, or extends their left hand. Seriously, people, is it too much fucking effort to shake with the right hand? Mount your cigarette, set down your beer and shake like someone who at least LOOKS like they give a fuck. I've half a mind to grab your smoldering camel light and extinguish it with your FACE.

I'm reminded of my late grandmother, who taught me the art of letter-writing. Always finish on a good note. I think this will suffice.