Let's get this party started.

When blogs first made an appearance years ago, I thought to myself, who would actually read these? Any idiot can go on and on about his daily life as though it might be interesting to anyone other than himself or a desperate telemarketer. Blogs felt unseemly to me, kind of like when you leave a too-long message on someone's voicemail or when you realize your pants are sagging, exposing your underwear--which happens to be inside out. I thought blogs would just be a fleeting internet phase, burning themselves out when bloggers realized that people only used the internet for email and porn.

Clearly, predicting trends is NOT one of my strong points. So here I am, the straggler-blogger. I'm a narcissist as much as the next person, and as an aspiring writer, I'm much less inclined to write for myself than I am for an audience, imagined or otherwise. I figure if I have a b-l-o-g (I'm still kind of embarrassed to say it out loud), I'll at least exercise the writing muscle, since *** knows I'm not exercising any other muscles right now. But remember, this is a safe, casual environment to flex my word-mavericks, ideas, and impressions, so DON'T judge me please, unless it's to deem me as awesome. This is my writing not dressed-to-the-nines for a Gala of publication, but rather sporting my jaunty but ruffled clothes I pulled off the floor before running out the door. This is no polished, triple-distilled and elegantly bottled liquor. This is my home brew. Unfiltered.