Who the hell?

     So, you might be wondering who the hell I am. Probably not, but there's a chance. I say probably not, since a majority of my readers are people I know personally. I know there are others who don't, and as time goes on, I hope that a majority of my audience are people whom I have never met personally. Not that I wouldn't like to meet you. You're probably very nice. So nice that when you meet me you'll give me a present. Here's a hint: I like sesame chicken, gift cards to stores where I can buy nice pants, and things that have a very untenable (if any) reason for ever being made into a product. For instance, a hollow glass head. I had one of those, but my ex-girlfriend broke it. On 'accident.'

     Where was I? Oh yes, my favorite subject: (he says, dripping with irony) myself. I guess I've already introduced you to the first thing. I fucking love tangents. Many years ago, on a weekly basis, a few of my friends and I would hit up Waffle House in the middle of the night, drunk or sober. Our conversation would take so many tangents and off-shoots, we started making a game of first A) figuring out how we arrived at the current topic, and then B) somehow create a final tangent that would link our conversation back to the starting point, thereby causing our conversation to look something like this.

     Trust me, when you're eighteen, it's fun.

     Again, I got off on a tangent. The reason I'm writing this is because I want to give all of you, including the ones who know me, some sense of who I am. I'm a fairly quiet person, and not prone to speaking at length about anything, let alone myself. I'm not into the whole gripe and piss and moan about me and my situation and bitch about my shitty life type of blogging, so I will not be doing that here. I already did that here. Long story short, a majority of my last blog was born out of a bitter break-up, but I’ve moved on. New blog, new writing, new style, new stuff. This blog here, you know, the one you are currently reading? This is for me to occasionally put up things about myself, or my life, that I deem interesting. Sometimes I'll put up fictional stories, like this one. Sometimes, I'll put up things that didn't really happen, like this. Other times things will be a little conceptual or straight up brain-poop. Long story short, I want to write. I love to write.

     I hate it when people tell me that they're weird. That's not for them to decide, but for me. Quite honestly, the people who tell you they're weird, they are so benignly boring it's painful. “I'm weird because I like to take showers sitting down, and I change the part in my hair like, every week. Also, one time, in marching band, I totally peed in an alley. Look at me, I'm strange.” All this being said, I'm weird. I know this about myself, and I don't generally broadcast the fact; it is usually readily apparent. I only deign to mention it here because this whole thing is ostensibly a descriptor of me, and I thought you would like to know.

     This post itself is an example. I have chosen to write this post specifically in bars, because it's where I feel comfortable being alone. I like being alone at the bar. It's my quiet place. Even when they're blasting ridiculous music or football games with throngs of screaming, drunken, belligerent people.

     I hate talking. I loathe talking. It's still my dream to have one full day, from getting out of bed to crawling back in it, without having to utter a single word. I know that has been overly used as a male stereotype, but for me it goes a little bit deeper than that. I'm not good at it. I can be good at it, when need be. Hell, for a majority of the jobs that I’ve held in the course of my life, it was the main function of my job; this includes my years in call centers and waiting tables, and even commission based sales. This being said, I love silence. One of my favorite nights in my entire life was me and two of my friends sitting in sleeping bags in the middle of the night in a wide open field on what is the clearest night I’ve ever witness, high up on hill, staring at the stars. It was so quiet you could nearly hear the pulse of the universe. In a way, I guess my love of silence is just a way to recreate that moment.

     The other part of it is just that I'm bad at it. I have a genuinely difficult time having a serious conversation. My default is a mixture of humor and asshole. Needless to say, this doesn't just lead to me putting my foot in my mouth, but a surplus of foots. I don't mean it. I never do. Somehow, even with people I genuinely care for, I somehow manage to take every subject into the realm of slightly derogatory humor. I don't mean it. I never do. Really.

     The best I can figure, and it's something I’ve said (written) a dozen times before, is that I just don't speak very well. My brain is wired for writing. I can be sincere, and emotional, and say what I mean,if just given that little extra time to write what I'm thinking as opposed to forcing it to process immediately to my mouth.

I'm a nerd. Not a particularly good or specialized nerd, but a nerd nonetheless. I love scifi, fantasy, D&D, Magic (both in stories and The Gathering,) Stars both Wars and Trek, math and chemistry jokes, video games, comic books, regular books, Doctor Who, Red Dwarf, comic and gaming conventions... really, you name something you think is nerdy, and I probably know something about it. At the very least, I’ve heard of it. In that same vein though, I’ve never gone too far overboard with any of it. None of my nerderies have ever been an obsession, at least not for terribly long. In a way, I guess it makes me a nerd-of-all-trades.

     Along that same vein, I like to think of myself as a jack-of-all-trades, and certainly a master of none. There's not many things out there to which I don't have at least a passing interest. To pare it down to it's core, I want to know something about everything. I would like to know everything about everything, but that's a little far-fetched and unrealistic. The problem comes when I actually begin learning about things. It's astounding how quickly I’m dissuaded on a subject the more I know about it. It's the magician's paradox, everyone wants to know how the trick is done, but something is lost in the discovery. I tend to become disillusioned with the actual workings of the world, preferring instead to just bask in the magic.

     Another thing about me: I'm really bad at endings.

~

     I would like to use this space for a moment of promotion. A good, dear friend of mine is pursuing her goal of both being a professional writer, and bringing a little love to the world. As a part of this effort, she is collecting love-letters, pictures, videos, whatever you have, to promote the idea and joy of love, in any form. You can find her website at http://jabsloveletters.com/, and she's also on facebook and twitter.

Her first book, Love Letters, Volume 1: Moving On, Growing Up recently became available in e-book format, and it's only 99 cents. If I have the ability to command you to buy anything, then I am utilizing that now. (Remember, even if you don't have a kindle, you can get kindle apps free for the PC, android, and iOS platforms, and really anything smarter than an iToaster.) It will be in print very soon.

     I also urge you all to submit your love letters, pictures, videos, whatever you're comfortable with, to the site. Don't worry, you don't have to be a published author to be able to write something good. As long as it's from the heart, it will be exactly what she wants. At the very least, give the website a look. While you're there, consider making a donation. She has given up a lot to be able follow her dream, and I want nothing more than for her to succeed and become super famous.

     Really, if for nothing else, buy her book because it has my name in there. Right in the dedication. So... fuck yeah.