An Origin Story

Hi everyone, I'm Ben Stanton and I have decided to start a blog. The word blog makes me want to fucking vomit. It just sounds like I think I'm important. It also sounds like a competing Play-Doh product that went bankrupt because everyone found out it had lead in it during the late nineties. The demographic for people who write blogs skews heavily towards those with degrees in actually knowing how to write and individuals who have products or unpopular bands to update the public on. I don't have any of those things, but I am still going to go ahead and write on (Or is it "write in?" This is already the worst fucking blog.) this blog on a near daily basis in the hopes of really putting my effort into something productive.

I realized I needed to put my thoughts in a public, online space when I realized I was spending way too much time spouting non-sense in this other, public online space called Facebook. Many people bemoan the fact that they are incapable of being productive or performing any normal activity without obsessively checking their Facebook profiles; Mark Zuckerberg has basically turned everyone into those annoying, pompous kids who always fox-guard the "base" in kick-the-can. I, however, don't exactly subscribe to this social-media-based affliction, I posses a much rarer strain of online retardation: the compulsive urge to always be updating my status. See, statuses are beautiful things, it's like being able to yell at everyone you know in a socially acceptable manner. Instead of riding around to all my friends' houses on a swift steed and hollering about how much I hate the DMV like some pretentiously entitled Paul Revere, I can instead, with minimal effort, and while under the influence, type anything I want with the guarantee that people who know me will read it. Needless to say, this unbridled access has quickly gotten out of hand and I am now prone to, over the course of 24-hours, posting two songs an influential quotation and a few clever thoughts as statuses every day. And whether people find it interesting or not, it's just a depressing reality to live in. When you start sucking dick for crack-cocaine, you stop smoking crack-cocaine. When you write a status on Facebook, only to realize there's something else you would like to publicize to everyone you have sort-of-met-before immediately after, you make a change in your life. This is my sad little change.

For my innaugural post I will give a little background about myself and a bit of a roadmap where I would like to see all of this going. My name is Ben Stanton and I am 18 years old and a freshman at Boston University. Publishing writing, even just blog posts, at the age of 18 is a bit like starting a pornographic website while in grade school. Writers rarely receive meaningful recognition, and when they do it's usually not until their 30s or 40s at the earliest. I'm really hoping, however, that the things I have to say won't come off as the ignorant ramblings of a teenager. So for now, just pretend that maybe I'm like, say, 32. Just imagine that my hairline is receding and that due to the unblemished nature of my tailored suits and the sleek design of my glasses, that I have potentially interesting things to say. However, if by some rare chance, I happened to actually be 18, know that I would be a Theatre Performance major at BU's College of Fine Arts, that I am tall, with short hair that has no distinct color and cannot be described through written devices (I like to call it "apathetic brown") and that I am skinny. 

I am usually very upfront and casual about my shortcomings. I can easily jest about how I use big words just to be a douche bag and how unorganized and unpunctual I am, but for a long time I have been really uncomfortable about how skinny I am. I still am. People will often times suck in air while at the pool or at the gym like a pufferfish in order to give the illusion of additional body mass; I do that with such consistency that it is almost second nature. I am in slender denial. The blog (every time I write that word a philanthropist gets beat to death with a sack of fruit. Jesus.) is titled "The Skinny" not only because in World War II it was a commonly used phrase that meant "What's happening?" but because it represents a paradigm shift in my life--a metaphorical sense of acceptance of myself. I will still eat protein bars and go to the gym and pretend and hope that one day I will have a "situation" six-pack of my own, but I could probably due with an exhalation of breath. 

Besides overanalyzing myself, I have a varied set of interests that can be expected to be written about with consistency. I am a huge fan of music, which isn't very unique or special--it's sort of like being a fan of photosynthesis and is also a very subtle way of cluing everyone in on the fact that I am not deaf--but I like to think that my taste is eclectic and interesting enough that often times people haven't already heard the songs that I find, but mainstream enough to recognize that any song can be improved by letting Akon sing on it. Going hand-in-hand with music, I am a lover of movies and the movie industry and have very strong opinions about the critical reception and artistic value of films. In addition I like sports, I like politics, I like stand-up comedy, I like being competitive, I like acting, I like seeing plays, I like to drink milk, I like to drink rum, I like avoiding drinking rum and milk at the same time, I like graphic design, I like classic literature, I like comic books, I like the urban streetwear fashion industry, I like drawing, I like sweatshirts without hoods, I like body piercings and much, much more.

This was very much the obligatory, introduce myself and the blog (*shudder*) sort of post and I hope it was mildly entertaining. As a benchmark goal I will be posting at least once a day, if not more, so check back whenever you get a chance. I feel like I'm a prostitute on her first day of work who is all nervous about approaching cars and offering sexual favors--I know I am supposed to put myself out there, but I still just feel slutty.

Now that I've built a common line of empathy between me and those who sell their bodies for money, I can now end this post.

BS