Explaining the Subtitle of My Blog

When I first decided that I wanted to write a blog, I was hesitant. I thought, “Who the hell would read anything I wrote?” I had no intention of making a journal, documenting all the moments of my life and revealing my deepest thoughts and secrets for all to see. Such an idea did not appeal to me, nor does it to this day. My journal is for my eyes only.

At first, I wanted to make my blog about the silly experiences one has, coherent and intelligent discourse concerned with the terrible restaurant experience, bad drivers, poor grammar, and, to be frank, the random bullshit one encounters in daily life. I wanted to present some perceived injustice, rant for a few paragraphs, and then offer my advice.

It came to pass that this style of presentation was deeply unsatisfying to me and I felt that more could be done. The perennial question became: “Who the hell would read anything I wrote?” That was shortly followed by questions related to making my writing more appealing. To date, I have found a suitable solution to this dilemma (I will address this a bit later). I was able to transform my original concept of a blog into something that I would be (and am) happy to contribute towards. The blog you now read is more akin to a social commentary about the experiences common to all. The discourse found herein will still be concerned with restaurant experiences, poor grammar, bad drivers, and random bullshit. But where this blog will differ from my initial conception is that I intend to present the topics I think are important in terms of acceptance.

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Tickle a Brain

“I don’t see any use in having a uniform and arbitrary way of spelling words. We might as well make all clothes alike and cook all dishes alike. Sameness is tiresome; variety is pleasing. I have a correspondent whose letters are always a refreshment to me, there is such a breezy unfettered originality about his orthography. He always spells Kow with a large K. Now that is just as good as to spell it with a small one. It is better. It gives the imagination a broader field, a wider scope. It suggests to the mind a grand, vague, impressive new kind of a cow.” – Mark Twain

I will preface this post with a little about myself. Despite what my writing (and speech patterns) would suggest (alas, you can’t hear my rich cadence on this blog, so you’ll just have to imagine it), English is not my first language, a fact that I have only recently come to realize. “Quoi,” you say? Well, my first language is Spanish, English is my second. I never truly gave much thought as to which language I learned first because I have no memories in which I did not know either language. The idea that I had always known both languages was shattered when I discovered that I had been placed in ESL (English as a Second Language) classes in grade school. My English-as-a-second-language status should have been painfully apparent to me because both of my parents had been learning English at approximately the same time as I had. As I mentioned, I had never given it much thought, so I would understand not only if you were vexed, but if you also slapped your own forehead. I suppose my ignorance of this simple fact could also be attributed to two factors; first, I was never told that I was actually in an ESL class, and; second, the teachers I had had done an exceptional job making me feel normal.

I believe my placement in ESL classes, coupled with my insatiable hunger for knowledge, are responsible for the meticulous nature with which I treat the English language. I have been told by many people, from acquaintances to friends, that I am a great writer with an admirably strong command of the English language. Although I am inclined to accept praise (quite gratefully so) from wherever it should come, I am truthfully much too modest and self-deprecating to make such grand claims about myself. I would consider myself somewhat normal, mediocre at best.


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