It has been intimated to me (in semi-accusatory form) that writing a blog such as mine is nothing less than a blatant act of vanity and self-aggrandizement. I suppose the overall purpose is to try and draw attention to myself by dazzling readers with my own unique style of wit, charm, and expertise. Perhaps I should rename my blog: Read This. I'm Awesome. In reality I suppose there can be no defense. The point is, in fact, to get people to pay attention to moi. So go ahead and check me out. I've got it going on.
However, I would like to believe that there is a little more to it than an exercise of ego. It's not my fault I'm brilliant, is it? And let's be honest, it is no different than writing a book or magazine article, becoming some type of performer (actor, singer, dancer, mime, porn star, etc.), radio DJ, news reporter, professional photographer, so on and so forth. For me it is an avenue of self-expression, something I have not adequately accomplished in the past. Some people sing, play the guitar, paint, juggle, perform penis puppetry, or a host of other things that channels their energy into some sort of fulfilling enterprise.
Me? Well, I stumble my way across the planet in some sort of quixotic attempt to make sense of life, take pictures of shit, and write about my experience along the way. Recording my global exploits makes them more concrete and helps to me to remember. Nothing forces me to post it online, I grant you, but doing so serves two very important purposes: 1) Lets my mommy know what I am up to and; 2) provides a secure place to store my photos and ramblings in the unfortunate event I lose all my belongings. I've probably forgotten 75% of my life. It will be nice to be able to reflect upon my experiences somewhere down the road. I do not want to forget this peregrination.
And while I am on the topic of me mayhap I should focus on me a bit more. I'm my favorite subject. I could just go on and on about yours truly on account of I'm so f^%$ing interesting. I have also been accused of having an arrogant disposition, especially in the presence of folks I have yet to meet or have just met. The defendant will plead guilty to this count, not of actually being arrogant mind you, but to wearing just a hint of Supercilious For Men (apparently my favorite cologne). The origins of this are somewhat complex. I was extremely shy as a youngster so I think I constructed this façade of aloofness as a sort of defense mechanism. And I could be mistaken but I believe that such walls and masks are not altogether uncommon in western societies, particularly in America. Emanate cool at all times. People are judging. So you see the fault lies with society and my cultural indoctrination. I blame the capitalistic consumer environment of materialism and superficiality in which I was reared. Shirking personal responsibility seems to be all the rage. Why should I be any different?
I could be mistaken but that the last time this occurred was in 1999 when I thought I made a mistake. Throughout the years I've tried to counteract this impulse with a concerted effort to project a more visible air of approachableness. However, such a disposition can be a liability while on the road, especially in areas rife with unseemly elements. As I often find myself going solo it is sometimes advantageous to project a 'stay the f$%k away from me' attitude. So it seems I may have regressed a tittle.
The important thing is that those that do take the time to get to know me will find me a rather amiable fellow….probably. Just think of me as a big goofy teddy bear, one that likes to throw the F-bomb around gratuitously (we all have our vices). I am not perfect (it's true) but I would like to believe that I am an eminently decent fellow…who just loves tooting his own horn. Toot! Toot! Frankly, I just assume have someone else toot my horn but like Mr. Jagger says, You can't always get what you wa-ant.....
Speaking of tooting my own horn I have been rather unsuccessful at attracting members of the opposite sex of late. I think I've misplaced my mojo. It is like I have been guzzling Love Potion #6 (6 being the opposite of 9 which is the potion that makes ladies swoon at the sound of your voice. Get it?). Maybe it's my hair. Or the fact that I am constantly shitting my pants. Who knows? I've got a theory that falls nicely in line with the whole Narcissus theme. Maybe it is the Supermodel phenomenon. You see, some ridiculously attractive people have reported being somewhat lonely at certain points in their lives because, they surmise, their appearance intimidates potential mates. That must be it. I'm just too friggin sexy for my own good, dangerously attractive if you will. Staring at me is like staring into the sun. Prolonged exposure could lead to blindness.
I am thinking about buying a new hat, a hat I tried on in the mall the other day. It looked really good, so good in fact that while I was admiring myself in the mirror I could barely resist the urge to go back to my room and F myself. This frightened me, so I placed the headgear back upon the shelf. Too dangerous.
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'Love me or hate me, but spare me your indifference.' -- Libbie Fudim