|This will make sense once you read the last paragraph.|
I came up with the concept for a blog about how I’ve relied on style over substance for most of my life. I’ve always been good with grasping concepts and communicating them well to others without paying much attention to detail. The title, I thought, fit because I tend to use style to overshadow the shortcomings of my work.
I’ve got a confession to make. One that is a lot easier to make here to you strangers than to people I know and love. I’ve got a problem. It all started in high school (what doesn’t?) and it’s been with me ever since. I’m an addict and I always will be. I’m beyond redemption really. Here I’m trying to suck ‘em in with the hopes that people will be attracted to a train wreck. As much as it pains me to say all I can really do is manage my addiction to half-assed work. You thought you had me finally, didn’t you? No, this isn’t the often requested alcoholism post. It instead deals with my preference for style over substance. Here I make light of the not-at-all-funny issue of addiction by comparing my own distaste for hard work to alcoholism and drug-abuse. Classy.
Since I was a young child I’ve worked to cultivate the image that I’m a man of substance and complexity when in fact this isn’t true at all. Here I’m saying that it’s all a charade that I have any substance but really my ego is trying to say to the world “Hey! Look at me I try so hard to sound deep! Appreciate Meeeeeeeeeee. In reality I’m only really good at two things: wordplay and excuses. This is actually true although I’d probably add making a killer sandwich at 4 AM. I learned at an early age that I could talk myself out of just about any predicament short of a fashion faux pas like wearing an embryo necklace. I take great delight in saying things I shouldn‘t, this was another example of that. In the academic world, my witty wordplay excused my utter disdain for research. Hey look at me I went to college and all I learned how to do was string together two words that start with the letter W. The practical application of such talents in the pursuit of women is obvious. Yea, like I’d have a blog if I was that good with the ladies. I won’t go into detail on that point because the women that frequent this blog are much too intelligent to fall prey to such dastardly tricks. Oh no. Besides, I’d never want to offend any of my beautiful female readers. Idiot. Seriously, I’ve got to have the hottest followers on blogger. Oh, it gets worse. I’m thinking “Ladies of Blogger” Calendar for 2011. 20 bucks a calendar, a dollar to each of the lovely contributors, how could we go wrong? It was at this point that I realized this could never be posted. Then I realized I needed to take myself down a peg and in fact did need to post it.
This stuff below was originally weaved in there somehow and shows just how messed up I really am. Goodbye followers, it was fun.
When I was about 12 I heard about the “Great Books Program” pioneered by Columbia University and the University of Chicago in the 1920’s and I was enthralled with the idea. Not because of any academic aspirations or anything but just because it had “great” in the title. How fucked up of a kid do you have to be to read Machiavelli’s The Prince and then decide to fill it with 4-leaf clovers with the hope that you’ll grow up with some sort of evil good-luck mojo? One afternoon whilst daydreaming I wondered if it was possible that I was the second coming of Christ because my name is Christopher and I was born on Christmas Day. I ruled it out minutes later because I thought I’d make a better anti-Christ. I don’t even know what to call the disorder I have. I googled Napoleon complex but had to rule that out because I’m 6’ tall. Unless… Wait, when they’re talking about short-man syndrome are they referring to ol’ Floppy?