Mommy I want to be a writer!!
Thursday Sept 18th - Friday Sept 19th
How glorious... Now that I have waited out the popularity of this site to the extent that I know absolutely no one uses it anymore I am free to rant and rave till my fingers chap and bleed all over the keyboard causing certain letters to stick so that my name is now Jff Raws and you are all unt btchs. (I can swear, its ok, no ones here remember?)
In all honesty my children, I clearly have no direction and purpose in this writing other than to stroke my own ego by believing the incoherent thoughts matriculating in my mind are deserving enough to be placed to paper, er.. screen. Some things in this life are given to us (our names, our genes) others cling to us like day old dryer sheets (nicknames, ex-girlfriends, social phobias created by years of undesired attention due to society's unrelenting need to point out "hey.. Your hair is really red; I mean like wow, I’ve never seen red hair like yours. Do you dye it?... Can I, can I touch it?") Finally there are those things that one must strive to attain. Under this category falls the following basic question; What do we want to be when we grow up? Each person’s chosen profession is just that, a choice.
You choose to graduate high school... or some don’t. You choose to enroll at a major university. Blowing a large portion of your parents savings while blowing your favorite chosen drug (that you claim is only recreational, and I promise I'll quit after graduation because I mean hey man its fun now but no one wants to be a forty year old coke fiend who still raves on the weekend but its fun to do now because fuck man blow is great and I’m an amazing, far more interesting person on it and so are my friends, and so is this song, and so is this bar and so is this…)
There are others who attend a small liberal arts college named after some abstract biblical reference or a person you've never heard of and couldn’t care less about if it wasn’t on a transparent sticker plastered to the rear window of your Volkswagen Beatle that your daddy bought you because a monetary value for your love was less time consuming than a hug. (Smile baby, daddy loves you. See you next 1st and 3rd weekend of the month).
Regardless of the institution your money goes to for classes, but you manage never to attend, it is a fairly safe bet that you plan on obtaining a degree that will secure you a job, so one day you can send your own kids off to college and they can perpetuate the cycle. The question that remains though, is what did you want to be when you grew up? This degree is supposed to guide us on our way down the path of life. Now while there are those that know what they want to be from the day their first grade teacher asks them that question, this individual has lied through his teeth to every teacher since that first one.
“I want to be a teacher!”
That’s been my response since I can remember. I lied. Flat out I lied. I may not have known it at the time, but I deceived you all. And I deceived myself. This urge for me to have the spotlight shining so directly on myself that I'm getting a burn, has always been with me. Call me egotistical, call me self centered, call me a product of a reality-TV-anyone-can-be-a-star world I live in today, but the facts remain the same... I want you paying attention to me. No not him, me over here, the prick whose ramblings you’ve been reading. Now being a product of a sterilized, cookie cutter suburban upbringing it is engrained into us that one can dream as big as they want and be anything they want, and don’t stop till you reach the stars champ… until college. Then its time to get over our delusions of grandeur, water down our dreams and file off our edges so this square peg can fit into that round hole and declare a major. The teaching gig seemed like a logical place to remain the center of attention. Um I mean HELLO, the little delusional dreamers HAVE to pay attention to me, right?! What I discovered was that it simply did not make me happy. That’s it. No cynical, drawn out explanation. Guess my file was worn down. Still didn’t fit quite right.
Where does one turn to when they believe that what they believe is what everyone should believe and even future generations need to believe? Well my interview with Fox News didn't pan out as expected so logical deduction brought me to here, or more precisely... to you, whoever you are, wherever you are. I will write the books, you will buy the books, and quite frankly I do not care if you read them. Skim the back cover, get a gist for it, put it on a shelf, and Voila! Your friends now think you’re intellectual and shit. I’m discovering in my writing process that it takes a certain level of self importance and bravado to assume that what I want to say is what you'll want to read and like and eventually pass off as your own personal insights to an uninteresting person you've just met at a party or awkward first date setup by your friends who don’t really know you, but think meeting a strange person, in a forced social setting is just what you need to "get back out there."
::Side note:: Its ok steal it, I do not mind. The look of confusion on the person's face when you quote this will buy you enough time to plan your escape strategy. Unless you're Houdini, cause in that case you've already planned it out you tricky devil.
Just as I assume to be true with actors, musicians, and artists who also put themselves out there to the public, to be a writer you have to either believe that what you are writing will benefit man in some way or just be so self-consumed to not give a fantastic fuck.
How glorious... Now that I have waited out the popularity of this site to the extent that I know absolutely no one uses it anymore I am free to rant and rave till my fingers chap and bleed all over the keyboard causing certain letters to stick so that my name is now Jff Raws and you are all unt btchs. (I can swear, its ok, no ones here remember?)
In all honesty my children, I clearly have no direction and purpose in this writing other than to stroke my own ego by believing the incoherent thoughts matriculating in my mind are deserving enough to be placed to paper, er.. screen. Some things in this life are given to us (our names, our genes) others cling to us like day old dryer sheets (nicknames, ex-girlfriends, social phobias created by years of undesired attention due to society's unrelenting need to point out "hey.. Your hair is really red; I mean like wow, I’ve never seen red hair like yours. Do you dye it?... Can I, can I touch it?") Finally there are those things that one must strive to attain. Under this category falls the following basic question; What do we want to be when we grow up? Each person’s chosen profession is just that, a choice.
You choose to graduate high school... or some don’t. You choose to enroll at a major university. Blowing a large portion of your parents savings while blowing your favorite chosen drug (that you claim is only recreational, and I promise I'll quit after graduation because I mean hey man its fun now but no one wants to be a forty year old coke fiend who still raves on the weekend but its fun to do now because fuck man blow is great and I’m an amazing, far more interesting person on it and so are my friends, and so is this song, and so is this bar and so is this…)
There are others who attend a small liberal arts college named after some abstract biblical reference or a person you've never heard of and couldn’t care less about if it wasn’t on a transparent sticker plastered to the rear window of your Volkswagen Beatle that your daddy bought you because a monetary value for your love was less time consuming than a hug. (Smile baby, daddy loves you. See you next 1st and 3rd weekend of the month).
Regardless of the institution your money goes to for classes, but you manage never to attend, it is a fairly safe bet that you plan on obtaining a degree that will secure you a job, so one day you can send your own kids off to college and they can perpetuate the cycle. The question that remains though, is what did you want to be when you grew up? This degree is supposed to guide us on our way down the path of life. Now while there are those that know what they want to be from the day their first grade teacher asks them that question, this individual has lied through his teeth to every teacher since that first one.
“I want to be a teacher!”
That’s been my response since I can remember. I lied. Flat out I lied. I may not have known it at the time, but I deceived you all. And I deceived myself. This urge for me to have the spotlight shining so directly on myself that I'm getting a burn, has always been with me. Call me egotistical, call me self centered, call me a product of a reality-TV-anyone-can-be-a-star world I live in today, but the facts remain the same... I want you paying attention to me. No not him, me over here, the prick whose ramblings you’ve been reading. Now being a product of a sterilized, cookie cutter suburban upbringing it is engrained into us that one can dream as big as they want and be anything they want, and don’t stop till you reach the stars champ… until college. Then its time to get over our delusions of grandeur, water down our dreams and file off our edges so this square peg can fit into that round hole and declare a major. The teaching gig seemed like a logical place to remain the center of attention. Um I mean HELLO, the little delusional dreamers HAVE to pay attention to me, right?! What I discovered was that it simply did not make me happy. That’s it. No cynical, drawn out explanation. Guess my file was worn down. Still didn’t fit quite right.
Where does one turn to when they believe that what they believe is what everyone should believe and even future generations need to believe? Well my interview with Fox News didn't pan out as expected so logical deduction brought me to here, or more precisely... to you, whoever you are, wherever you are. I will write the books, you will buy the books, and quite frankly I do not care if you read them. Skim the back cover, get a gist for it, put it on a shelf, and Voila! Your friends now think you’re intellectual and shit. I’m discovering in my writing process that it takes a certain level of self importance and bravado to assume that what I want to say is what you'll want to read and like and eventually pass off as your own personal insights to an uninteresting person you've just met at a party or awkward first date setup by your friends who don’t really know you, but think meeting a strange person, in a forced social setting is just what you need to "get back out there."
::Side note:: Its ok steal it, I do not mind. The look of confusion on the person's face when you quote this will buy you enough time to plan your escape strategy. Unless you're Houdini, cause in that case you've already planned it out you tricky devil.
Just as I assume to be true with actors, musicians, and artists who also put themselves out there to the public, to be a writer you have to either believe that what you are writing will benefit man in some way or just be so self-consumed to not give a fantastic fuck.