Disclaimer: Blogs are stupid. Only narcissists and people with too much free time have them.
That being said, conveniently, on many days I find myself falling into both of said categories. I've been flirting with the idea of starting a blog for a while now. The issue is I've never really had one thing I wanted to talk about, or was especially knowledgeable about, to the point where anyone would give a flying fuck. Most people I know have a music blog, a food blog, a travel blog or some sort of topic specific blog... I'm seeing this more as a stream-of-consciousness blog (aka a random rant blog). A place for me to speak my peace about whatever I want, and hope that no one with any authority in my life ever reads it.
If that were to take place I would see it as a parallel to getting a friend request of facebook from your mom... something all facebook users hope to avoid. I know getting one from my aunt was bad enough, but thanks to facebook's nifty privacy settings all the dirt she can get on me is that male (god forbid that news ever make it's way back to my loving yet slightly naive parents). I don't have a lot of "dirty laundry" per say, I just find it more comfortable to keep my family and my facebook as two separate entities in my life. Luckily for me both my parents are, how should I say, "technologically challenged" so I'm not too worried about them stumbling upon my facebook or this ranting space. I'm assuming it's a generational thing. I mean how can I expect them to be able to grasp the workings of an iPhone and facebook when they're still excited about this whole "e-lec-tri-ci-ty" thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm not claiming to be a computer wizard by any means, but last time my parents visited me I had to show my dad how to put his phone on vibrate, twice. How he managed to get it off vibrate in between my two tutorials is still a mystery to the both of us.
There is one thing that involves a computer that they both have undoubtedly master though: the chain email. You know the ones I'm talking about. They range from the lists of 293847093 facts you'll never care about (some of my favorites being that it is illegal to drink beer out of a bucket while you're sitting on a curb in St. Louis, it's against the law to pawn your dentures in Las Vegas, and the fear of vegtables is called Lachanophobia) to stories that would be inspirational if they didn't both send them to me multiple times (in their defence, I don't think they remember each individual time and upon each new reading the story still has it's initial "aw" factor to them).
Maybe I'm being a little harsh. They were, after all, the people changing my diapers when I was a baby and I guess they did bring me into this world. I undoubtedly owe them more than I will ever be able to repay, but I'd rather stab myself in the eye than explain to them how to use limewire again. I guess the moral of the story is I love my parents, they're amazing. They kept me out of jail (hopefully I don't fuck that up this summer), pushed me through high school, and set me up to do pretty much anything I want (except study abroad...). They have more redeeming qualities than not, but I rue the day my mom decided to treat herself to an iPod touch.
