A Proper Introduction to Scant

So I find myself creating a blog, and I am nearly ashamed to admit this.  A blog—a technologically advanced and overglorified collection of diary entries.  A sad attempt to impose one’s thoughts and mundane life—mostly trivial, daily events, if they may even be referenced as such—onto others, presumably who have nothing more important to occupy their time than to live vicariously through their transient entertainers.  Except these transient entertainers have no more authority on life than the recipients: the readers, the viewers, the listeners.  Such is the existence of Radio DJs, Reality TV show characters, bloggers.  This remains the sole purpose of so called entertainers and informers, for what other purpose could these individuals strive than subjecting the unsuspecting audience to their opinions and “expertise” in order to establish themselves in a greater position within the hierarchy of social life?  Why must I watch “The Life of Brian” and “Keeping Up With the Kardashians”?  Because MTV demands that I do so, yes I know.  But why should I consider their lives so important when, instead of wasting my precious heartbeats and breaths of air, I could be pursuing my own life.  Why must their conglomeration of atoms elicit more attention than mine, than yours?  Why must I keep constantly informed on Brangelina’s pregnancy, Britney’s breakdown (the only Britney reference in this blog I swear); what does this vicarious obsession contribute to my life? Absolutely nothing.

Nevertheless, perhaps I am too pretentious; maybe the blogging community is just that—a community.  One large, slightly more formal, dinner conversation taking place over great distances and between vast amounts of people.

Thus, now that I have irrevocably disestablished my credibility and have undermined this blog, as I now clearly fit into the aforementioned category of life imposers, let me explain to you why I have commenced blogging. 

I similarly despise other forms of internet social networking, such as Facebook and Myspace because it compromises the meaning of friendship, as I doubt the average individual even communicates with half the people listed as his or her “friends”.  Rather the concept of “friend” on such a network functions only as a popularity contest, pure numbers.  For example, not one week into my Facebook lifespan, a chick, with whom I NEVER communicated during the archaic years of middle school and high school (if anything we shared a mutual dislike), “friended” me and proceeded to “message” me in quite a chirpy and friendly manner: “Oh my god, Girl! We haven’t talked in like fooorever!”  I know, literally FOREVER.  Nevertheless, as campus and community events and information, contact information, pictures, and long-lost friends become more and more confined to social online networks, Facebook (at least, I still abstain from Myspace) becomes inevitable and unavoidable.  Thus starts the internet obsession.  I succumbed and eventually progressed to this—blogging.

I monologue (in my head) sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, and I feel that many of the random, eclectic thoughts scrolling across the info bar in my brain are competitive in quality to many columns and articles found in others’ blogs, newspapers, magazines, and websites.  So I lay my opinions, thoughts, and quandaries at your feet.  May my idiosyncratic interests span many audiences, and perhaps I might even enlighten and/or inspire a few individuals in the process.  Alas, I claim my piece of internet, be it a small fraction, with which to monopolize with my words.

Now then, a few disclaimers and what to expect.  I am a student, beware.  Fervent libertarian, though I will most likely not discuss politics here.  Obsessed Nine Inch Nails and Burberry fan, therefore biased.  Female, but not that female.  Lastly, but certainly not least important, an ambitious, highly idiosyncratic, opinionated, vicious, sarcastic, sardonic, fun-loving, rocker chick who has at least one finger or toe in every cookie jar.  I am a lover of knowledge and truth, although sometimes lies are fun to tell.  Like how my dad owns Chipotle.  And penguins do not exist.