Struggling to hide his globular pot belly was a black t-shirt featuring a picture of four vaguely confused rifle-wielding plains Indians, and a caption that read "Homeland Security: Fighting Terrorism since 1492." Thick, square-lensed glasses rested snugly on the tip of a bulbous nose. His tongue painted his lips and his crowded yellow teeth with saliva repeatedly, until it became such a presence in the early morning subway car that it took on its own small but distinct personality, like a nosy hand puppet in a children's television show. Bumpy, the Tongue.
Two things confused me as I watched this man on my way to to the restaurant where I work. The first was his t-shirt. Was he pro-Native American? Or did he find their security methods inefficient and reveled in mocking them via message t-shirt hundreds of years later? Implicit in the t-shirt was his opinion that the pioneers who settled America were terrorists. So he was pro-terrorist, right? Then the true tragedy of the situation occurred to me-- "Oh my God. This man can vote."
This is my roundabout way of saying that democracy is inherently flawed. Just as I don't want this psychopath with his tongue and his canvas bag stuffed with back issues of The Village Voice to select the leaders of my country, I don't think everybody who pays for internet access buys the right to publish whatever they want. I never read blogs because there is no discrimination between what is aesthetically or culturally significant and what is uninformed opinion or drivel. The internet has leveled the playing field-- everybody is encouraged to publish whatever it is they're thinking, regardless of the consequence. Hey, you may even become a celebrity!
So why is it that I've started a blog? Because I'm an egotist looking for recognition. Just like millions of lonely, pretentious, tech savvy people out there, I've fallen victim to the lie common to democracy and the internet: I am important, and what I say counts. I guess.
More directly influencing my decision to start a blog is my sister's blog. It's fun, and harmless. When I read it, I witness no great tragedy of the hyper-connectedness of the internet generation. Nor do I see the pathetic assertion of her ego. It's fun to read and keep up with what's going on in her life.
I wrote that just because you pay for internet connection doesn't give you the right to publish whatever it is you want. Well, I'm too broke to pay for the internet anyway. I steal wireless from some guy in my building with the network name "PFlood3128."* I am really fortunate that my parents paid for my education, effectively giving me the opportunity to try an become an actor here in New York City. I truly am here on borrowed time. With no loans to pay, I figured, why not give it a try, at least it will be fun.
That's how I feel about this blog thing-- I'm here on borrowed internet, and it looks like fun. Why not write about what it's like trying to make it as an actor and see what comes of it?
* If you are reading this, and your wireless network is called "Pflood3128," assume it is just a coincidence and do not password protect it.
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