An Urban Simpleton

And yet another familiar venture into modern day narcissism. I have never really been a facebook-twitter-online social network-kind of girl. I have no desire to prove i have 700 friends, ensure that they are aware of my every move, take a billion pictures of myself everyday and scrounge for flattering ones to plaster all over publically accessible pages, along with little non-witty blurbs. Don't get me wrong, i am in no way hating on these social butterflies. I observe them with vicarious excitement-which is probably worse.

Instead, like most old-fashioned bloggers, i intend to impose lengthy, random, pessimistic and mostly unnecessary opinions and observations about all that is wrong with the world, hair, untoned glutes, fashion, bildungsroman, and my shiteous life in Fort Mcmurray onto a minuscule community in cyberspace, comprising individuals who are now obligated to continually humor this insufferable hobby of mine upon reading this.

Like Don DeLillo, one of my favourite writers, says: "writing is a concentrated form of thinking...a young writer sees that with words he can place himself more clearly into the world. Words on a page, that's all it takes to help him separate himself from the forces around him, streets and people and pressures and feelings. He learns to think about these things, to ride his own sentences into new perceptions." I totally agree, but really though, i just want to talk about myself and pretend people look at the shit i create.

Welcome, and thanks for coming out.