It goes without saying that anyone who has a computer and the ability to peel their eyes away from the soul-crushing amount of kittens, babies, porn, memes and face-spaces made available by said computer, most likely has a blog. This one's mine! It's new (to me)! It's different (generated from one of 12 unique templates!)! It has an over-abundance of excited punctuation!(!)! Side note: I will likely refrain from using exclamation points for the remainder of my breathing time! Some initial questions that anyone who stumbles onto this page may be asking themselves at this very moment; Who is this guy? Why does he have a blog? Do I care? Is there truly nothing else I could be doing with my time right now? I will attempt to answer these questions, in order, in the following passages.

Who is this guy?

This is a BIG question. I have yet to find a person (including myself) that does not define who they are by a set of cascading categories, beginning at the top of an overflowing waterfall and trickling down to a stream that is much like the other streams, yet beautifully "unique" (my stream likes Star Wars and Star Trek). So, we'll start at the "headwaters": I'm a homo-sapiens-sapiens (sometimes understandably confused with australopithecus-afarensis (not really)), I fall into the gender category generally known as "dudeman" and I reside in the Northwest of the greatest-god-d@$%@d-nation-in-the-history-of-shut-up-and-give-me-that-cheeseburger. If you are one of those nitpickers out there who feels you need more salient information to decide whether or not I'm one of the "good guys" or just another insert politically relevant/divisive term here, well then please refer to the following short answer quiz:

What's with all the parentheses?: It's how I think (seriously).
Anything else?: Mos Def no.

Why Does he have a blog?

Yet another whopper of a question, you are good! I have no intentions for this to be read by a wide audience. Or any audience at all. In fact, I'll probably have trouble choking down some of these ramblings myself. The answer is simple I suppose; as an INFP-A (more on that later, I'm sure), I need a creative outlet, and that thing I do to pay the bills does not meet that need. This is a place I can come to to spill my jumbled thoughts and swirl them around on paper. Thoughts about the things I read, the (mostly lame) observations I make about the world around me, and ultimately, a place to flesh out/tryout words-on-paper ideas because I have always wanted to be a writer, but have only the faintest idea what that actually entails. I need a place to dump some of my esoteric and chaotic thoughts so that at least a tiny bit of focus can occur. I liken this experience to something a female companion once told me while I was studying abroad. She had-from my perspective-an incredibly odd habit of telling total strangers, sometimes literally passing on the street, some of the most intimate details of her life. She would liberally pour out her most inner-thoughts, sloshing them onto the street like some drunk tumbling out of a bar, without even the faintest hint of apprehension. She would not, however, generally share this information with her friends and family, the people she claimed to cherish so deeply. After she told me of this strange habit I immediately inquired as to why someone, ostensibly sane, would divulge such personal information to the unwashed masses. What she said was simple and eloquent, and captures much of my intention here; "It's like throwing out your trash. These things in my head, they get heavy and stinky if I hang on to them for too long. If I throw them into someone I know, they will surely stay around longer than I want. If I give them to a stranger, especially in a big city, the chances I'll see them again are almost zero." She swept her arms in an arc before her-The Sound of Music style-and ended by saying, "These strangers, they are all my trash-men." Side note: everything she said held a substantial weight because she definitely had a Latin accent, and everyone knows accents make you smarter. And yes, I just backhandedly called you my trash can.

Of final note: I will attempt to have this blog not focus on me. The things around me, maybe even including family and friends, you bet. Beyond that, however, I hope to write about things that make me think and write about those things with at least some semblance of perspective that is not wholly narcissistic, despite my secret admiration of Kanye West (yes, seriously).

Do I care?

Probably not.

Is there truly nothing else I could be doing with my time right now?

Probably yes.