I sometimes ask myself, “What the hell am I doing writing a ‘news’ column?” I’m just some guy, right? Just another opinion, just one more voice out of millions pushing and shoving through a fatally overcrowded mob scene, one more vulture scavenging for a bone to pick dry.
Just reading the news is an excruciating process for me. No matter how well-written and soundly researched, tales of the same Machiavellian assholes the world over engaged in little more than a whose-dick-is-bigger contest that’s as old as civilization itself run together into a redundant blur. Only the most superficial of details ever appear to change, and the plight of the majority who take the brunt gets trivialized under all the static.
I’m not comfortable calling that information.
Becoming the Enemy:
There is nothing I hate more than authority, and to write about something for the world to see is to imply being something of an authority on your chosen subject. I always hated the writer pictures at the tops of editorial columns; they looked so smug, as if to say “Hey, I make the news, not you.” Just another elitist clique for the ignorant masses to grovel at the feet of.
How do I know that that’s what they’re thinking? I don’t. For all I know (i.e., highly likely), it’s all in my imagination, nothing more than the projections of a pathologically contrarian mind.
Naturally, the sight of my own face staring back at me from the top of my first published article only twisted my mind further.
Getting One Over:
And now here I am with a weekly column in a legitimate news forum. It’s not that ironic, though. Mind you, just because someone hates most news media doesn’t mean they don’t care about the news itself, and it doesn’t mean they have nothing to say about it. I’m as opinionated as any jerk you see on TV, so why shouldn’t I get a pulpit to stand behind too?
Partly out of contempt for conventional dissemination but mostly because I didn’t know what else to do with this rare opportunity, I sensed that I was going to have to dispense with any pretense of “proper” writing and wear my recalcitrant, functionally uneducated worldview like a badge of honor, like something that a real writer with a graduate degree and crippling debt ought to be jealous of.
Somehow, it’s working out.
The Last Laugh:
If I can carve out a place in the news world, anybody can. If we’re lucky, enough freaks will come out of the woodwork to totally level the playing field.