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Tiny Bobblehead Scutt recently brought to my attention the following: nobody wants to hear about a dream if it wasn't about them, nobody wants to see a picture if they're not in it. I mean, these things are okay and all, but one's interest is greatly heightened by one's inclusion.

I agree that this holds true for Aunt Mabel's endless slideshow of Mexican cabana boys, but what about creepers on Facebook? The stalkings of exes, the tentative pokes beneath the surface of some new acquaintance? Those dudes who try to friend-add girls with hot pictures who they've never met, but want to wank to? Of course, in the case of the creep-wank then it really is about them, which sorta supports the theory.

There hasn't been one single movie about me (except for Godzilla vs. Mecha-Godzilla, but I was in a rubber suit so you can't really tell), but I've seen a lot of them anyways. Is it because I feel emotionally close to Tom Cruise and his stupid wife, whats-her-name?

I don't really get why people read People magazine. It should be called Pedestal, or Dr. Expert's Marital Adventure Tour (inside: ten ways to get invited to those star-studded weddings!). If you went to some movie star's wedding, would you actually go talk to these famous guys or would you stand in the corner hyperventilating with a hand over your mouth to keep from throwing up? Would you tell them that Scientology sounds pretty cool, but it's too rich for your blood?

If you're reading this, does it piss you off to be bombarded with rhetorical questions? Are you wondering how in God's name I've strayed so far from my original premise and (until this paragraph) somehow arrived at yet another ill-conceived rant about Hollywood celebritydom? Me too, me too. It's a bit too early in the day to be spiraling into a spice typhoon.

If a blog is narcissistic - and it is - then the person who writes it must, according to the premise above, be the most interested in the blog out of anyone in the world. It's like looking at picture upon picture upon picture of yourself, smiling at your reflection, putting your thumb over the infidels who dared to poke their heads into your shot. You're doing a kegstand... someone must be holding your legs, but who? Doesn't matter, you're doing a kegstand and the focus is on the trickle of beer and vomit running down your inverted forehead. The average blogger haphazardly slings their own wretched opinions onto the internet, hungry for expression and probably very smug about it too. The reader, on the other hand, is 'meh'.

I thought about this though. If I am indeed my own biggest fan, then why don't I comment on posts more often?? This lack of participation is hardly obsessive-compulsive enough to cement me as a Clemens willing to give his own insignificant life for his hero, Clemens.

Posted by Chris at 11:41 AM >> Commentations (9)