Hello, Internet.

Should I have ever thought that there could be a life that warranted people eagerly waiting to know its intricate details, I can say without hesitation that I would have never suspected it to be mine.

This is a precept that I still devoutly believe in.

As far as the internet goes, I bet I can count my e-acquaintances (or e-Quaintances) on one hand. To make it even more specific, I bet I can count them on a hand that belongs to the victim of a very serious industrial accident. That’s how internet-savvy I am.

I am still not entirely sure how the internet works. After shuffling around and squinting at my computer for a prolonged amount of time, I have concluded that “internet” is a natural resource mined somewhere in the boonies of Michigan and is delivered to my computer by invisible goblins. It seems to be the only reasonable assumption that one can make. I have spend days at a time moving the cursor of this mouse around trying to stir up or distract the goblins so perhaps I can capture one and adequately examine this “internet,” but so far all that’s happened is that pictures of naked ladies have appeared on the screen. I can only assume that this is a peace-offering by the goblins to placate my inquisitive forays, in which case these goblins have very questionable taste indeed, what with how many of these ladies aren’t actually ladies at all.

So this may actually be the virtual equivalent of standing in front of a closet and yelling at your clothes, because there’s actually no one there and no one is listening, nor will they respond. You’re just alone, in your room, distracting yourself. I know, I’ve done it at least twice the week in an effort to inspire my pants to crawl onto my legs of their own free will, but I must not be a very good motivational speaker as they just hang there, looking all pantish-like in the closet.

I suppose I must introduce myself to the internet, as technology as advanced as this surely must suggest a community in which taste, class, manners, and grammar are all considered qualities of the highest kind.

Hello, internet. My name is Robert. I am a young man who is sitting, right now, in a chair at work writing things to you. It is about as interesting as it sounds. Although I applied for the position of “Vice President in Charge of Making Money,” they instead gave me one of these tech-support jobs which means I argue with Michigan soccer moms over a phone line that must run through at least six out of the seven seas before finally reaching either of us. I have considered simply beatboxing into the microphone as this would probably be more soothing to both the caller and myself, but my manager has loudly disagreed upon this point several times.

I’d like to make this simple and just say that I am Sarah, plain and tall, but unfortunately my name is not Sarah, and I’m not quite tall, rather tallish. I don’t know if I’m plain or not. I would say that I resemble the lovechild between a potato and a long, tall stalk of grain, and I lack any distinguishing features in such a deliberate way that many find it worthy of prosecution. I am commonly seen slouching about with a look on my face like I was recently abducted by an unmarked van right off the street and was just dumped right on this corner, not sure how I got here or why. This is usually the case more often than I would care to admit.

A neat fact: in this chair I am capable of spinning around a total of six times before severely regretting it.

I have started this blog for several reasons. The first was that I sat down and decided, you know what, the world should know about me! Then I wrote a few sentences and realized that, you know, there really isn’t anything worth knowing. I suppose I should just sum it up right here.

INTERESTS AND OTHER HORSESHIT:

1. Drinking - I enjoy drinking. Call it a “thing,” but I believe I am from a time that dates back to, say, the 1930’s, because I believe that the world looks much better with a stiff drink in your hand. There are plenty of Puritans out there, I know, who would solemnly shake their heads and say, “Now, Robert, one can’t go about enjoying life. Life is about gravity, and productivity, and apple pies and quilting. Now go back to your home, eat some clean white bread, play a few rounds of Scrabble, and then read a Bible Passage before going to bed.” Well, I think apple pies sort of suck dingus. Quilting is about as fascinating as, well, I’m trying to find something less interesting than quilting, so I guess all I can come up with is watching quilting. Whereas alcohol, on the other hand, makes me physically indestructible. It makes me morally infallible. It makes me capable of passing (or “phasing”) through physical barriers. One time I drank a bottle of gin and punched a hole in God. It was pretty sweet. And so on.

2. Politics - People often ask me, “Robert, where do you stand in politics?” And I usually say, “I don’t. I sit in the back and stay very quiet.” This is because there is no better way to ruin nice fancy dinner parties than bringing up, say, abortion, or genocide. Very nasty stuff. So, when it comes to politics – shaddup.

3. Music – I usually describe my musical tastes as “shit you hate.” I enjoy weird, nonverbal avante garde bands in which the climax is an overweight, barely clothed man dressed in a ragged swan outfit swirling around on the stage while yelling. Well, it’s not quite that bad, but it’s close. I’ve recently become fond of the Tin Hat Trio. I think Tom Waits is God (not the one I punched a hole in), but most people don’t know him (but regularly claim to know God on a personal level). I like Irish music of the type that angers people immediately or incites ridicule. I also like Classical music, possibly the least popular out of the bunch.

And etcetera.

Another neat fact: When I am wearing my headset, I am only capable of spinning around in my chair three times before doing serious damage to my face and computer. The computer is worth much more.

I read a shitload. I watch a shitload of movies. I have no problem with sitting down and watching three movies in a row. Some people’s faces curdle and begin whining like they are little girls whose pigtails have been pulled upon, but I’m a man, baby, that’s right, I’m such a man that I have no issue with lying still and looking at a box for six hours. Take THAT Tom Selleck. Who’s the man now?

I suppose now is the moment in which I wind down to the one defining quality of this blog, besides its uselessness. As of this moment in my turbulent and often illegal life, I am attempting to have a book publish.

Gasp. I can hear it occurring. A massive drop in oxygen levels around the globe as someone realizes, to the protestation of every bit of reason in their heads – someone wants to be a writer.

Y’know, it seems like a pretty usual thing, almost to the point that no one notices anymore. Everyone has a goddamn book or story or some idea they have in their head that they think will make them a billionaire. Everyone WANTS to be a writer. A few even are working on books. A few even have finished them. A few have started them several times, much like smokers and quitting. It’s an eternal characteristic in a certain cross-section of mankind that we can always be found sitting around, scratching away on paper or stone or mud, thinking that here we have wrought such a series of words that it would make the gods above us weep with inspiration. Also, it has vampires and sex and guns. And some sort of conspiracy, I don’t know.

But I’ve worked on books before. This is my third, honestly. The first two weren’t worth a crap, or even half a crap. Well, maybe a little of the second, but honestly, I’ve been writing and writing until I decided I had found something remotely acceptable, and I’m trying like hell to get it published.

So hooray. I wrote it in about two months or so and it’s gone through a lot of edits, but on the whole I think it’s fun and I wasn’t trying to do anything other than entertain. Which I hope I did. I have no high-minded opinions of me or my ideas or even my writing, other than, shucks, I’d like for more people to read it. I just think that’d be the tops, folks.

As of now, it’s being reviewed by two agents. One “just barely” passed on it, saying that she liked the hell out of it but it just wasn’t her cup of tea, thus doing the basic equivalent of walking up to me, gouging my heart out of my chest with a rusty spoon, eating it raw, placing her mouth against mine, and then heartily vomiting, causing the remains of my heart to spray out of my heart-hole and other holes like some sort of awful supersoaker. I tell you, it was a treat. I mean, the one thing that’s worse than a thing that doesn’t work is a thing that just barely works.

But so it goes. Hope for the best and expect the worst, because this is likely a year-long effort. Writing it was the easy part, getting someone to like it, well… That’s where Sisyphus comes in.

And until then I suppose I’ll keep writing. And drinking. And whatever.

Places I have been kicked out of or asked to leave:
Baskin Robbins
Bed, Bath, and Beyond
Taco Cabana
The Purple Turtle
Kerbey Lane

And that’s all. I’ll always have “internet” to keep an eye on.