Well, I did it. I wasn't going to publish this bad boy--publishing bloggers, at least of the not-political-or-current-events-ish variety, have always struck me as useless in theory if not in practice--and yet here I am. I have identified myself on chicagobloggers.com, which (if you're reading this) is probably WHY you're reading this, as I've made no indication elsewhere that this blog even exists.
Why? Well, why the hell not? Why is anyone else's solipsistic navel-gazing any more important or eyeball-worthy than mine? Why are anyone else's unsubstantiated blorts of opinion any more valid than mine? Yes, yes, I know: just because I -can- doesn't mean I -should-...but since everything (EVERYTHING) is a pseud, this indulgence harms no one. If you choose to thusly waste your time, more power to you; if you get something out of it, even if it's an unearned sense of your own superiority over a lonely little potato like myself...well, so much the better.
Now, if you want to keep reading, go on then. I'm willing to offer a summary here:
I am 34 years old, or nearly. I work with computers, and I've been at the same job for not quite four years, which is notable because not only is it my own personal best tenure at a job, but it's also my job's organization-record for retaining a tech. Nobody else with the brains to do what they need done can stand the monotony of what they demand from their tech--nor can they stand the hierarchy. The hierarchy sucks ass.
I live in K-Town. K-Town, for you non-Chicago types, is one of the "bad" neighborhoods; "bad", for you I-live-in-a-perfect-world-and-don't-know-about-euphemisms-either people, means "non-Caucasian". I bought a house here in October 2003. The "Why" in "The Story of Why" refers to that decision, for which I got an amount of flak that is simply not to be believed. The original intent of this blog was to justify and explain my reasoning; it's grown more into The Life And Loves Of Gladys.
Oh, and incidentally, my name ain't Gladys. Everything, as I said, is pseudonymous. This is more to protect my mom from my nosyfucking relatives than it is to protect me from the brutal court of public disapprobation. There's an exception to this rule--some first names are real, but only tangential characters, and there's one whole name which I am not going to obscure because if anyone deserves to be flayed alive and subjected to any wrath I can generate, it's Thomas A. Slaughter.
Thomas A. Slaughter sold me this house. To give you an idea: This house (which is an integral part of this whole experience inasmuch as, if it wasn't what and where it is, neither would I be who and where I am) has now been officially nicknamed The Catastrophe With A Roof On. The things that are wrong with this house are legion; plumbing, furnace, basement, floors, water damage, joists, roof damage, all sorts of evil shit. He knowingly concealed these things and conspired to commit fraud--so I have no interest in protecting his interests.
Anyway. I have promised myself that I will maintain this blog more diligently now that I've admitted its existence. God knows I've got enough opinions.
No comments:
Post a Comment