My Life Without The Internet

In case you were not aware, and I can guarantee you most likely were not, I have been abroad for the better part of two weeks now. I am currently living by myself in Paris, which is not that bad because, as I have told every single girl I have ever met, I am entirely fluent in the language.

The only downside is that I do not have internet access in my apartment. I have it at work, but the best I can do is check Google News compulsively. I always have this sneaking suspicion that my every move is being monitored; should I try and check Something Awful, for example, sirens might go off and I might be dragged off to "the basement". Don't ask about it; the woman sitting next to me jumps out of her chair and runs around the room screaming every single time I try to bring it up.

As a result, I have been completely unable to compulsively visit any of my old haunts. I cannot follow the NBA off-season, I cannot stay abreast of the crazier websites out there and I certainly cannot dedicate hours of my life to bothering people online. It is, simply put, tragic.

As a result, however, I feel my creative juices returning. It is amazing how much time I spend just reading things other people have written, as opposed to developing my own original thoughts. Admittedly, the people I read are funnier and considerably more talented than I am, but I now feel like I have a right to provide the datasphere (it is like the INTERNET but sounds SO MUCH COOLER) with my own particular brand of typewritten drivel.

Before we continue, however, I would like to propose an experiment. Read David Egger's You Shall Know Our Velocity while listening to "Float On", by Modest Mouse. It is not a bad time by any means.

The pleasant aspect of my isolation is that I am no longer exposed to American politics on a daily basis. I no longer have to put up with the Bush campaign labeling Kerry/Edwards at "too liberal" and "out of the mainstream". That alone has done wonders for me.

Ironically, the French do not actually care about American politics. While Chirac is admittedly a jackass and has dedicated way too much of his time to attacking US policies, the average frenchman could care less about we do on our own time, provided we do not bother other people. Contrast this with the average American blog writer, who can spew entire paragraphs filled with anti-french invective.

This just confirms my long-running suspicion that we take ourselves way too seriously. Lighten up, America. Get drunk, smoke some weed, have some sex. More importantly, turn off the radio. It would do wonders for your complexion.

Listening to: Float On - Modest Mouse