A Contradiction in Terms

Another blog, who the fuck cares? There are literally millions of them. Millions of people across this planet of ours who believe their every thought is of such intrinsic value that they publish their ramblings online. They facebook, they myspace, they twitter. They write about their cat, their day at work, their children, their opinion. Well, fuck Fluffy, fuck your career, fuck your kids, and definitely fuck your opinion. I don’t care. I will never care. Don’t waste my time.

Does this make me a compassionless asshole? Nay, I say. I like people…most of them. I hope everyone finds happiness and fulfillment in their lives. But we’re not living that life of glee if we spend half our day tweeting. What’s missing in our lives that we’re searching for on facebook? Do we actually believe anyone cares that we went to Denny’s and had the Rooty Tooty Fresh n’ Fruity? Do we really think anyone gives a rat’s ass who our Doppelgänger is? Or that our favorite color is chartreuse? No one even knows what chartreuse is! And the only reason we choose it as our favorite color is a failed attempt to come across as unique, to draw attention to ourselves. Our desperate hope is that someone—anyone—might think, “Ooo, Todd’s favorite color is chartreuse, ain’t he sophisticated!” Sorry Todd, we’re not thinking you’re sophisticated, we’re thinking, “Todd’s a douche.” I Googled it, and chartreuse is not an attractive color.

And, of course, we get responses from our Rooty Tooty posts, but let’s not fool ourselves into thinking that means anyone actually cares. They don’t. It’s their own misguided ego seeking attention. It’s an opportunity to express some meaningless drivel about their own mundane existence. “The Spam’s my favorite part of the Rooty Tooty.” This is an exchange we need to have? Ask yourself: Do you honestly care what Barb had for lunch? Then why would she care about what you had for lunch? I love my mother and father more than anything in this world; I’m genuinely interested in what’s going on in their lives. But I couldn’t give a damn about what they had for lunch today or any other day. We all eat. It’s not pertinent to anything. Our lives have become so devoid of any true substance that we have an uncontrollable urge to vomit up useless information in a bewildered attempt to fill the emptiness. We live vicariously through Paris Hilton and Britney Spears, through the constant onslaught of reality TV. Our lives are so hollow, so passionless, that we have thrown in the towel. And we know this—usually on a subconscious level—and it eats us alive. As an effect, we have all turned into megalomaniacs. Our blown-up egos stem from insecurity. We display a façade in a misguided effort to hide the apathetic fear we feel. We front. We pretend like we’re something special because we know we’re not.

But the instinct that we are nothing is a fallacy. We’ve all hit the lottery, in fact. We are alive on this little, blue planet, floating in an immense galaxy, in the corner of an infinite universe. There’s a bit of luck. And how is it that you and I get to play this game? There are potentially hundreds of millions of sperm cells in a single ejaculation, and each of those cells creates a unique person. We are all that sperm cell, and we’ve already accomplished the most difficult task we will ever be faced with.  It’s like lining up all 300,000,000 people in this country for a foot race, and you’re the winner. Life should be cake after that. But somewhere we took a wrong turn. Somewhere we lost ourselves. We bought into all the bullshit we’re bombarded with every day. We listened when people told us we couldn’t do something. We didn’t ask questions. We allowed ourselves to be manipulated. And we’ve been doing it for so long, we don’t know how to pull ourselves out of the muck. We’re drowning in quicksand, and the longer we’re in, the deeper we sink. All 7 billion of us on this planet have a unique destiny. There is something each of us is good at, something that brings us joy. And the only job we truly have in our incredibly short lifetime is to be happy. And if we’re happy, we won’t feel the need to pretend we’re something we’re not.

So why should you give a shit about another blog? You shouldn’t. But I’m going to continue to write anyway. Because I’m a megalomaniac.

~ by tylermsmith on April 5, 2010.

Posted in Uncategorized