I’m gonna answer that tentatively in the affirmative and as proof, I offer my own life.  Now, it’s not that my life is necessarily boring, although I feel from an outsider’s perspective, it is.  Like last week, my life consisted primarily of locating wireless connections so that I could check my email and dilly-dally around the webosphere.  Then I’d come home and watch French New Wave movies.  Oh, and there was some eating thrown in for good measure.  And, come to think of it, some drinking.  For the weekend, the drinking increased and I played some music and then I played some Stratego.  As fun as Stratego is, and it is fun especially in the state of otherworldliness I played it in, it doesn’t make for much in the way of a blog post (“So, dudes, I was totally playing Stratego against my buddy Huge Dog and I totally found his flag before he found mine—It was KRaZY!!!!”…).

There are, I’m guessing, two different kinds of personal blogs (I’m guessing because I’m too lazy to do research about this, and because I don’t particularly care), those that detail the absolute banality of the blogger’s life and those that detail the unceasing drama of the blogger’s life.  I’m pretty sure that’s an either/or option.  There is, of course, a certain beauty in the banal, and drama’s always good for narratives, but I don’t especially feel like blogging about my laundrey (“I’m no good at separating colors…They raised the price of each load, those fuckers!..Just how many dryer sheets does someone have to use to keep his sheets from getting all staticky?”) and what drama does occur in my life is usually just in the made-up conversations I have with people in my head (Besides, I try to keep all real relationship drama detailed over at wellssexblogs.tumbler.com).  Which means I’m left with either celebrity blogging (Oh, the drama of others’ lives!), political blogging (Oh, the drama of, say what? there’s no drama there?  Well, then, let’s invent some! McCain and Obama have a love child and it’s name is Rudy Huxtable—and she’s voting for Nadar!) or blogging about some niche topic (“Lincoln Mark VIII Lovers Unite!” “I Hate the Stares People Give Me When I Walk into Starbucks and Scream ‘Coffee Is the Opiate of the Assess!’” “My Bunyon’s Progress”).

I think I’m pretty bad at this blogging thing (and my blog’s hatred of me probably goes a long way towards supporting that statement), but I just can’t bring myself to discuss foot odor or the smile my waitress gave me at lunch.  But I’m OK with being bad because I’m pretty sure I don’t like blogs.  I mean, I think they’re fun and all, but I’m also fairly certain that blogs will lead directly to the downfall of man (women will, somehow, survive the blogocalypse).  If I may take part in that downfall, I guess I should—no one will want to be sitting alone at home on the Friday night that party breaks out.  So I guess I’ve made a commitment to badness and, shit, I think I just came up with my blog’s theme: I propose that my blog will be, and forever remain, the worst blog in the entire blogosphere, the kind of blog that’s badness will be like a virus that infiltrates said sphere like an ebolic version of avian flu.  Any blog that has unprotected sex with this blog will surely die bedridden and forty pounds under weight.  I haven’t decided if this badness is intended to hasten or retard the upcoming blogocalypse, and I can’t be troubled to care!  In the words of our esteemed commander-n-chief, “Bring it on.”