Here we go.

Hello everybody. My name is jc (Yes, I intentionally use lower-case letters; it's just my way.), and I will be your server this evening. And when you're ready to check out, I'll be your cashier as well. Our special tonight is "American Independent Thought," a dish that has been marinated for 30 years in a delicate blend of the following: pride in the strength, honor, and dignity of the traditional American family; nostalgia for the rapidly fading American way; deep distrust of the shamelessly self-interested institution of the new American government; utter distaste for, disgust in, and disbelief of the new American media; and abiding love for both the awesome and unchanging Lord, my GOD, and my figuratively red, yellow, black, white, and brown neighbor.

I honestly don't have the stomach for long introductions, so I'm going to skip that oft-obligatory pleasantry. I figure if you, the reader, decide you'd like to get to know me, the writer, on some deeper personal level -- if you decide you'd like to find out how many cats I have (zero, thankfully), or how many times I've been married (zero, thankfully), or what street I grew up on in what part of the country, or what "mom" used to cook for routine early suppers after long Sunday church services (a scene that could not possibly remind me less of my mother or any Sunday under her tyrannical reign)  -- such an interest will more likely spring from some deeper sense of being either connected to or repulsed by my musings than by any amount of pleasant introductory sprinklings of personal imagery. Just sayin'.

So, let's get to it, shall we? I feel kind of foolish to say that I have become inspired to keep a blog in response to learning that my friendly neighborhood religious zealot (sort of like that nutty uncle every family has, except instead of reaping general condemnation, the zealot is more of the sowing sort) has kept one for some time. The reason I suppose my entry into the "blogosphere" has me blushing a bit is that somewhere deep down, it occurs to me that I may be operating in anticipation of some future feeling of victory to be had in this outwardly directed inner-proclamation: "Two can play at that game; if you want to blog, then blog we shall!"

And while some reasonable folks might argue that a healthy appetite for a bit of intellectual competition is certainly no cause for embarrassment -- an argument with which I am, under most circumstances, likely to agree -- it might be expected that the same reasonable folks would scratch their heads at the proposition of a competition in which one guy has no idea a competition is even going on. If you recall those perverse -- and mercifully short-lived -- reality television shows that pitted wild animals against human beings in battles to the finish, you might get my point. In truth, those competitions would have at least been hilarious if they weren't such a sad indictment of the hopeless folly of mankind; you might recall thinking to yourself, "That bear has no idea that the little Asian guy is trying to eat more hot dogs than him. He's just hungry," followed by, "Bravo, FOX programming. Now onward to the 'All-Bags-of-Flaming-Poo-All-the-Time' channel."

I suppose what I should really do is humbly thank my friend for inspiring me to take the podium. You, the reader, may officially consider this the voicing of said gratitude.

So, like every writer who is worth his weight in ink, I have written, revised, and re-written just about every line up to this point in this entry. I think most writers who engage in this perfectionist's nightmare aren't actually as perfectionist as would be the easy default assumption. In fact, I would propose that this level of torment must be rooted in a problem much more accessible in its logical origin. For me, it has more to do with the constant three-part inner-struggle between satisfying my own expressive urges (artfully and accurately depicting my own voice), pleasing men (drawing in a reader), and avoiding the broad road (morally speaking) in my expression, while somehow keeping all three pursuits both harmonious and equally served. I'm actually taking a poetry class -- very manly, I realize -- which has reminded me of the great importance of not wasting words -- selecting every word according to what logical, moral, or artful significance can be extracted from it. That is what I intend to endeavor for the remainder of my time with you, my cherished reader.

We will talk some politics, some religion (the two things you are never supposed to talk about), some food, some music, some culture, some sports, and some of all sorts of other stuff. I will teach you some stuff, and you will teach me some stuff. Together, we are going to forge ahead in what will prove to be a grand adventure.

So, until my next post, good night to you. Be sure to tip your waitress... I guess that would be me actually.