Mic Check. 1, 2, 3.

Is this thing on? Hello? Hot mic! Can you hear me now…?

Great! Can I get a little light on the cheap seats in back?

Thanks. That’s much better.

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, little purple alligators that command me to kill: feast your eyes upon what may very well be the last legacy of one Mr. Justin Lee Pakuris. Of course I’m using the word “legacy” loosely here. By “legacy” I mean it is possible, though highly unlikely, that this totally spontaneous and completely insincere attempt at creating a blog could one day turn into something I’m proud of. In fact, there is even a chance (much like the chance of winning the lottery or passage to Adriana Lima’s vagina), that this action (taken solely on a whim mind you) could even become profitable. I’ve never aspired to be a blogger, but if it allows me to gain 45 lbs, sleep until noon and convert Mountain Dew and Twinkies into energy like sunlight to chlorophyll, then count me in.

For whatever that’s worth.

But just think about it- How much was I born to be a blogger? If I were a blogger I would finally be my own boss. Imagine the hours. Imagine the dress code. Hell, I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone. Except Weber, that is. He already cleans and cooks around the apartment, I can’t imagine he would react positively to his roommates “Trouserless Tuesdays” policy or my intentions to make his bedroom the “smokers lobby”. But besides Weber and his puritanical opposition to my intended corporate environment, I would be a slave to no man! I could sleep in late and then wake up at whichever hour of the (after)noon I see fit. Then I could lounge around in my boxers, eating cereal and watching Sportscenter while I catch up on the exciting world of internet pornography. In other words, if I was a blogger my life would be exactly as it is now being unemployed, only I wouldn’t be bored and feel guilty all the time.

Surely succeeding as a professional blogger would change my life for the better. It would be like Christmas in July (and for a Jew ironically). Finally, being me would actually be useful. Finally all the weird shit that flies through my head would aid, not hinder me. Fuck you ADD! Screw you, teachers who unanimously labeled me insolent! If I became a blogger it would be like a retard realizing that he could fly. It’s almost like it would validate my whole existence.

Think about it: I’m unemployed. I’m bored. I’m chaffing. I start a blog because it seems time consuming and assuages all this guilt I have about being unproductive. I put in a few hours of work at first; five or six entries. Suddenly being unemployed gets a whole lot more bearable. Then the money stuff happens. I’m not really sure how you make money through blogging but I think the “Invisible hand” has something to do with it (I’ll iron out the specific details later). But after I’ve figured out how to make money off of my incoherent and highly irreverent ranting, before you know it I’ll be a professional blogger. Actually, I’ll be a professional blogger who doesn’t have myspace and has had sex at least a dozen times. And that makes me a rarity in a field built on variety. Booyah!

So with that said (and your time sufficiently wasted), I would like to get to the meat of this, my first blog entry. And in true iconoclastic fashion, I’d like to begin my blogging career by attacking blogging itself. Specifically the blogging world. Or the “blogosphere” if you drink Starbucks and read Picthfork religiously.

First a confession: Just the very notion of “blogging” turns me off.

But wait, you’re probably thinking. Isn’t this the first entry of many? Aren’t you launching a blog yourself?

Good question. And I have an easy answer:

Go fuck yourself.

Seriously. This blog will be ripe with contradictions. Get used to it.

See the fact is, while I’m excited about the prospect of blogging I’m terrified of being grouped in with 90% of the blogging world (for obvious reasons), and I’m even more terrified of being a part of the blogging movement. I’m equally torn between feelings of elation and repulsion right now. On the one hand, I have the three qualifications of every successful blogger in that I am a) a narcissist, b) redundant c) in love with myself. Furthermore, I have the false conception that not only are the escapades of my daily life worth recording for future reference, but that my perspective on these events is so fresh and compelling that everyone else in the world should be able to hear about them as well.

You’re welcome by the way.

However on the other hand, my ego is so bloated that whenever I’ve given writing a blog any serious consideration, I always end up convincing myself that I’m above the whole thing altogether. It’s not that I feel I’m above other bloggers (at this point I’d be happy to be the Matt Christopher of the blogging world), but it’s more that I’m very apprehensive about rallying behind something I feel so much contempt for.

See, in theory blogging should be a good thing: It stresses self-expression, which is a rarity in this corporate wasteland we call 21st century America. And blogging seems to be good for our sense of communal morale, as it undoubtedly brings complete strangers together to laugh and hurl expletives at one another through the anonymity of the internet. Whether its a 45 year old pederast writing suggestive messages to a poorly parented 13 year old or a bunch of gleefully ignorant Republicans jumping on a messageboard to slam Senator O’Bama for not wearing a lapel pin, the internet brings people all over the world together, provided they have enough money for a computer and a solid high-speed connection. The internet is a pretty big part of the globalization, and I think that’s ultimately a good thing.

But when all is said an done, blogging is just too easy to implicate in the moral and social degradation of mine and future generations. When I was a kid (that is, before Al Gore invented the internet and manbearpig), kids (read:girls and drama club) wrote in journals or diaries if they felt the urge to express themselves. There was no blogging because there was no need for blogging: journals and diaries were kept secret and were intended solely for archival purposes. If you kept a journal you didn’t want anyone to know about it and you sure as hell didn’t want them to read it! Journals and diaries were used for keeping secrets and venting about your parents and schoolteachers (or so I’m told… I was far too busy with my sticker book an my pogs to notice).

Which (finally) brings me to my point: Somewhere along the way from the apathetic and cynical children of the 90’s we became the celebrity starved, robots of the 2000’s. “Generation Y” became “millennials”. Kurt Cobain became Britney Spears. Kato Kalin became Paris Hilton. Pearl Jam became Nickelback. In short, we went from Seinfeld to American Idol in the span of less than ten years, and I suspect I’m not the only one who feels that we’ve lost something very important in the changing of the guard. And to me, blogging (as well as “emo”, “The Hills”, narcissism and gleeful ignorance) is a major culprit.

Our grandparents generation has been called the “the Greatest Generation”. They sacrificed themselves during World Wars and Great Depressions for the good of the nation and their children. Our parents grew up during one of the most bountiful and opportune times in American history. At their brightest moments they broke down the barriers of sexism and racism, overturned an unjust war in Vietnam and were on their way to earning equal rights for gays and poor minorities. But somewhere along the line their promise not “sell out” gave way to “buying in”. Buying in to the world we live in today. A world where nearly half of all children are products of divorce and even more come from broken homes. Where righteous dissent was a badge of honor for our parents, a baby boomer-centric world silences youthful dissent hypocritically and without humor. Worst of all, most Generation X and Y’ers aren’t even aware of the shift that this country underwent in the time between their parents left college and passed the (deflated) ball to them. The sad truth is, we don’t even know what we’ve been screwed out of, and yet more and more people my age are beginning to sense this and are responding with dangerous apathy.

To me, blogging is simply a consolation prize. Something to keep those with views and opinions happy, all while keeping them as far away from the position of influence as possible. As far as I’m concerned bloggers fall into two groups: The self-absorbed masses who see it as the chance for unwarranted celebrity and attention from like mided-peers, and then the illuminated few who see it as what it very well may be: The last gasp of “true” free speech.

So know first and foremost that this blog isn’t going to be about celebrity gossip and I won’t mention The Hills unless one of them (preferably the brunette one) gets in their Mercedes and personally drives to Philly to blow me. And even then, I will be posting pictures to document the occasion.

So, without further ado, I give to you the beginning, possibly the end, of ‘The Opinionated Prick’..

Give me money.