This, of course, is the obligatory "about me" exposé wherein I tell you everything you need to know about me before continuing onward through my/your new and improved life on the blogosphere. The time has come to drop some knowledge on you. I'll spare you the detail of weather conditions and facial expressions. Here's the brutally honest truth:
The Good - Planet Earth makes me cry for beauty. Music is why I breathe and wake up in the morning (almost) every morning. I donate to charity and petition the government for change, but not so much that I am annoying to others or preachy. I am laid back and open to try new things (within reason). I have been to Europe.
The Bad - I am sometimes lazy. This is what I look like. I, love, commas (and parenthetical interjections). I have been to Europe.
The Ugly - I once threw a full Mountain Dew can at a retard on a bike. I can still see his little lopsided face in my nightmares.
Now we get to the section wherein I answer the questions I think you may ask if you actually read this blog. Again, brutally honest truth:
Are you retarded yourself? Sometimes I like to answer questions with questions, both for ambiguity's sake and to strike up those neurons in my readers. With that said, riddle me this: who in their right mind would give up a cushy government job during a crippling recession (depression?), a carpeted dwelling, a girlfriend, a dog, and most of his/her worldly possessions for the remote possibility of living in a racist, backward country for a year to teach inbred children English? You decide.
Why are you writing a blog? Do you think your life is important enough for other people to read about it or something? The decision to write a blog is a tough one for sure. I incorrectly used a Venn diagram to weigh the pros and cons of starting one. The cons were few: time consumption, malnourishment, eye deterioration. The pros were many: personal journal keeping, peer interaction, (and my personal favorite) the Benjamins. We all know that blogging is one of the most lucrative professions around, and I'm ready to cash in. And finally, in the little overlapping part of the diagram I just drew a picture of Groucho Marx.
What the hell is a flâneur? Ok, I know that dividing zero by any number either can't be done or still makes zero, but I hope that this doesn't put anybody off. This is the most serious that you'll see me get while still being in a good mood/not getting shot at. A flâneur (pronounced: prick) is really best described by Zigmunt Bauman in one of his über-important documenty papery books:
Like the world which is his home, the flâneur wanders without aim, his stroll punctuated every once in a while by looking around. Without aim? That aimless stroll is the aim; there could not be, there should not be other aims. Neither the world nor the solitary wanderer knows to where they move or what is to be found around the corner; the aim of the present move is yet to come, and the aim of the aimless move is to prompt it or lure it or force it to come. The flâneur wanders in search of the aim of his wandering. The strolling is the Impuls der Erwartung the Incipit Vita Nova incarnate; an obscure existence with a yet-undiscovered-essence, looking around in hope to find the predication that has-not-yet-arrived, the hope on a hunting expedition in which aim is the game.
To save you a further question, if you've ever met me, you know the "world-class" part is hilariously sarcastic. I'll put your hideous mother to shame with my uncouthness.
Everything else will be revealed in time, when the planets are aligned and the sirens call you over to their rocky beach for what you think will be a super awesome orgy, but eventually turns out to be a unanimously voted cataclysmic disaster. My metaphors may need to be mentioned under the "The Ugly" section.
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