Think about it. It's like keeping a diary that anyone can read. Ironically enough, no one usually wants to. Do people honestly care about your views of the oil crisis in the Gulf or the myriad of troubles in the middle east? Probably not. Do people want to read rants about the events of some stranger's most likely uninteresting life? Actually, some people do. Badly written blogs can be extremely entertaining. Picture this: you're sitting there at your desk with a cup of something or other, surfing the internet. Somehow you end up looking through blogs. You check out a couple. The blogs are typically either boring or geared towards a separate demographic. Then, all of a sudden, it appears. A blog so badly written, filled with such painfully trifling content, formatted so...weirdly that you become entranced by it. For like, twenty minutes, you'll sit there, chuckling and murmuring to your dog or cat or household plant about how terrible this blog is and "where the heck did they go to school anyway". It doesn't usually end there, though. You'll be screwing around on facebook later, and you'll send out a handful of links to a 'hilariously bad blog" or "some retarded dude's blog". In a couple weeks, you'll check the blog again. And again.
There it is, ladies and gentlemen: how blogs become popular!
I kid though. There are a lot of really cool blogs out there. Hard as it is to believe sometimes, there are some really talented writers on the web. It's those few writers that inspired me to make a blog. I hope that someday, I'll become one of them. I created this blog several months ago and left it. A lot's happened since then (cue the part where this blog gets boring). My great grandma turned one hundred. My dog turned five. Nevertheless, if there was an event worth writing about, it was eighth grade graduation.
Quite a spectacle. On a hot summer day, a crowd of relatives, friends, and free-loaders vying for the refreshments are crammed in a muggy gym that's lacking in plastic chairs, to watch a bunch of thirteen and fourteen year olds sit on stage for about an hour in order to recieve...a piece of paper! to commemorate their middle school achievements. I was happy to graduate. Especially happy after sitting there on stage, with my white dress and drooping flower, staring at a bunch of people I sort of knew while our headmaster was trying to use iPhone apps as a metaphor. I came to the ceremony that day with a firm mindset: I was going to miss everyone, but it was time to move on. But when we all came bursting out the gym doors into the courtyard, laughing and posing for pictures beneath the trees, I burst into big, crocodile tears in front of everyone. I was ashamed of myself, but I couldn't stop. Even now, I can't understand why. The average person would say, "WELL DUHH DEEP DOWN YOU WERE REALLY SAD TO LEAVE SCHOOL AND YOUR CHILDHOOD AND STUFF JEEZUS!" It goes deeper than that.
Anyway, it's eleven o'clock now. I conclude this first post with the promise to write more because seriously guys; if I'm going to be a writer, I gotta practice a heck of a lot more. Peace.
