The Acceptance of Probable Defeat

Okay, you jerk, I will make this blog and then no one, including you (or excluding you) will read it, which will bring up the eternal question. If someone posts their thoughts and opinions online and nobody reads them…were they ever stated?

The fallen tree will never know.

This initial post is the result of a bet, and I don’t feel like being the proverbial Freddie Prinze, Jr. to the hypothetical tiny brunette chick whose name I have forgotten. And, to be honest, I hardly remembered the name of the guy-hunk and if I would ever tell that to anyone I know, they would stare at me and ask how that could be possible.

Possible ironic icon identity perplexity.

There’s a catchy title. I don’t have a title for this post yet, nor have I one for the blog.

Perhaps I will search my soul for it!

What makes this better and more stupid is that blogging is nothing personally new for me, at all. After the honorable Jerkface Betson brought up his greatly inventive “proposal” and “challenge”, I recalled the days spent in high school, when my friends and I each had our own Blogspot account. We would post about things I don’t quite remember any more.

In fact, I don’t even know what the title for my old blog was. No, actually, I remember the title, and after looking it up just now, I see it has been luckily deleted from the server.

You’ve been spared, world/no one. You have been spared.

What do people blog about now and where do they do it? The internet has changed and I don’t exactly like paying attention to it. Or, whenever I do, for an occasional hour or so, I quickly log off and go for a walk.

It’s no longer an inviting place.

Twitter seems strangely (overly) pivotal to me and I want to know whether or not Tumblr is named after a cup, and then Facebook silently took over MySpace, and Instagram is not SnapChat. Gamers twitch, nobody watches television by themselves, a person has to wait ten minutes between comments, and film enthusiasts can earn lots of money by asking questions which all begin with “Wouldn’t they…?”

The world is weird, now that I notice it.

People have the urge to speak up on and about everything, too, and yet most of those comments go unread.

Suddenly, everyone is a publicist, and they are trying to sell themselves as people they may or may not be. Perhaps in our self-definition we are losing ourselves. TM 1977, Somebody Else

There wouldn’t be much of a point in being totally honest.

Also of not much use would be posting my thoughts for nobody to see. But I will win the bet, Betson! And my posts will not be about adjusting to life in a different country! The only thing I will mention is that the coffee has been pretty good so far, but I suppose in a place where everyone is supposed to know French, such should be expected. Poing américain, Nord-Américaine, cafe américain, frigo américain.

Tell me if I used those correctly, please.

I don’t even know where I’m going to post this yet.

Since you’ll be the sole reader, assuming you really read this, I might as well leave you notes, requests, and reminders…doing that makes as much sense as posting a “public blog”. Can we talk about the idea behind the term some more? It’s paradoxical, I think.

It’s almost like a person should only blog if asked—important people can blog but it feels pretty stupid doing this. (So you know, Betson, I am not important.)

I wouldn’t read this blog. I probably wouldn’t read most blogs. There are hundreds and hundreds of years of books out there, and libraries let people borrow them, without charge!

Who cares what I think? Who cares what anyone thinks? What makes people care what others think? Call and no response! Why, hello, and good riddance!

But people enjoy doing it, I guess. Good for them!

What did I blog about back then? You also should have given me a word minimum. My old blog had pictures.


So, no. I don’t think this will be good practice.

Don’t worry about the microwave. Now would also be the appropriate time to forcefully insert the sentence describing how you’re currently lying quietly on the couch, perhaps asleep and definitely unaware of what I am doing despite being the sole reason for doing it.

However, with that couch so many inches away, the bet must still be won, and it will be won by me.