Writing a blog post is easy. You can do it in three simple steps.
1. Pick an object of seemingly minimal importance.
2. Proceed to make the object look like one of maximum importance by comparing it to God or the difficulties of life.
3. Think of a clever but obscure sounding title.
Sounding intelligent is easy.
1. Use lists, graphs, and analyses as writing devices.
2. Leave out all contractions.
3. Keep an online thesaurus open in another window and use whenever you’re about to
use utilize a verb that is under five letters.
Writing an honest blog post while still sounding intelligent, however, is on my list of top ten most difficult things to do, right up there with “giving someone a handshake.” You think I say this just to make a smooth transition to my next topic, but no; I spend more time thinking about this more than is entirely healthy.
Handshaking is awful. Sometimes you barely know the other person, but you desperately want them to like you. You think that they’ll assume you’re dull or odd if you extend your hand. Or maybe you know that they’ll forget your name anyway, and consider just skipping the handshake overall. Maybe you’ve met before, but you do it anyway and then realize how redundant it was afterwards.
And that’s what it feels like to write an introductory blog post. Did I mention this was an introductory post? I don’t know any other way to do this, so here’s my awkward handshake.
Hi, my name is Julienne. My mom always tells me to say “My name is Julienne, like the vegetable!” so people will understand how to pronounce it. Unfortunately, that trick only works on humans ages 30 and up, or culinary college students. The best method I’ve discovered in introducing myself is to just to assure the other person that they are under no pressure to remember my name, and I won’t be insulted if they have to ask again. Yes, I know its long and weird sounding, so you can just call me Julie, Jul, Jules, Julia, Jillian, Julian, or Hey You. If you’re the cashier at Jamba Juice just write down Juliette and give me my darn smoothie.
I have the unfortunate pleasure of being an artist. Artists, man. You love what you do but you can rarely get paid for it. Especially because I’m in high school with people constantly asking me about my future college education, my life is an unending battle between pursuing a safe career route and going “Screw this, I wanna be a cinematographer.” Except, like, as an artist you don’t just want to be a cinematographer. You want to be a screenplay writer and an author and a director and a costume designer and an animator and an editor and an actor and an expert in typography. I’m really looking forward to the day where someone else chooses a path for me, because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.
I guess by now you’re able to tell that I’m a sucker for film. I’m the person that social commentaries and news statistics pick on: I’m a female between the ages thirteen and seventeen who reads god awful books to the finish and sacrifices time in the sun for the warm glow of a laptop. Darn television shows and movies with their pretty camera tricks and witty dialogue. But I still have a love for things that are flawed. I will simultaneously laugh and cringe my way through and episode of Doctor Who and then watch it a thousand times over.
I guess I shouldn’t glorify my life; this is beginning to sound like the beginning to a YA novel. Let’s have some unflattering details, shall we? I make a lot of complicated jokes that people don’t understand. I am extremely afraid of ordering coffee at Starbucks. I personally don’t find anything wrong with eating in the bathroom. I can’t talk to people who are college-age. Sometimes I hate things that are popular, but then I end up liking them because too many people hate them. I stream movies online and then end up buying them anyway out of guilt. I eat with my hands, double dip, and lick my fingers afterwards. I am literally attracted to any guy who speaks eloquently, but I can hate them as soon as they finish their sentence. I am extremely critical of too many people.
So by now I’ve written enough to bore myself so I’ll abruptly end this blog post. How was the handshake? Too enthusiastic? Probably. Now excuse me as I go curl up on my bed and come up with a hundred better ways I could’ve written this.