As a first post, it's hard to avoid the trap of explaining why I even have a blog. I know everyone's got one these days, but I'm of the general opinion that the majority of people shouldn't have keyboards and fingers, let alone blogs. There is something very self-satisfied and arrogant to writing a blog, I think. You're essentially saying that every computer-owning, internet-connected individual in the world needs access to your opinions on Nick Griffin and Twilight, and they need them immediately. The problem is that there is no quality control, so the internet - the wonderful, beautiful internet that we use for so many, amazing things - is getting clogged up by this sticky residue of moron, like clumps of hair in a plug.
So why am I pushing through a barrier of self-loathing and continuing to type? What makes me separate from the collective hive of fuckwittery that is the 'blogosphere'? I'm a white, middle class, heterosexual male, I've not exactly got Unreported World on my doorstep and a special badge for parking. My views aren't exciting. I'm not into racism and I like cucumber. That's about it. In terms of a unique selling point, the best I can offer is that I know how to use a comma. Therefore, I suppose, this blog is simply an excuse to 'keep my creative juices flowing' like the saliva from a stroke victim.
However, this does not mean that I am a 'blogger.' No, no, I am still a real person, which in this instance will be characterised by the fact that I'll probably get quickly bored of this new interactive trend based on my previous flirting with new technology. For example, I have one friend on MySpace. If you invited me to Farmville or Werewolves vs Vampires on facebook, I judged you. Not to be harsh, but I did. It was an impulsive reaction like the split second choice to buy a comb from a shop rather than, for example, a scratchy, bearded man who lives under a bypass. I'm not saying it was right, but in my subconscious I decided you were less of an important human than the rest of us. And I don't tweet.
In fact, I joined Twitter in its early days to find out what all the jazz was about. I didn't get it. I started 'following' Stephen Fry as that seemed like the thing to do and found out something trivial like he'd eaten a cake. Great. I promptly logged off and carried on with my life. I logged back on recently to find out I had 9 followers. NINE! Christ, when Jesus was alive, he only had the Twelve. I'm three quarters of my way to the Son of God's level of worship without any of the miracles. I haven't even sneezed on my keyboard, let alone posted a tweet. I imagine if I did, my nine mentally-unassessed anonymoids would masturbate all over their own faces and hair with ecstasy, dazzled in a mist of euphoria and incontinence generated by that first contact.
When you actually stop and think about it though, what I actually possess is an incredibly, almost infinitely, powerful tool. I can get a message, instantaneously, to nine people somewhere in the world that I've never met before. That is an interesting power, and I'm sure I have some opinions on it but now I'm bored of typing and want to go lay in hot water and quietly hate myself for actually writing a blog. Bye, World.