because it's so much better than marmite

Despite thinking the ratio of annoying whining indie kid bloggers to possibly sub-normal bloggers is about 100:1, I'm going to give this a shot. How can typing what you're thinking feel so awkward? Typical Britishness maybe? There is that constant awkwardness associated to most British people, and by most I mean Hugh Grant, whom most Americans seem to think makes up the entire population of Britain. Ahh getting a bit anti-American here... I don't dislike them, but I don't particularly like them either... Then again I hardly know everyone in America well enough to judge the country as a whole. I do judge people though, maybe too much. It becomes a bit of a hobby, which isn't a good sign, but it sure is fun when you're bored. People watching is a hobby of mine, even if that does sound sad and sort of stalker-like, it really is fun. It's like being at the zoo, you see all the different animals. Starbucks is the place for pretentious writers, which really is interesting. You see them on trains too with their apple macs, typing away with eyes shifting from side to side to make sure people are noticing and thinking "gee, this guy is really motivated and, from the looks of his material, he has a really unique outlook on life!" when really they're thinking "Smug bastard." and judging his sub-standard rip off of last years fleeting best seller about high flying executives who have affairs with women who have love children by dangerous men in prison but don't care what society thinks because they are strong, independent and filthy rich. Utter rubbish. I'm not exactly saying I can do any better, but if you're going to show off your writing in public places with the idle hope that maybe some publishing editor sat drinking a frappa mochachino with double espresso will spot them and see the potential for the next "big thing", then at least have absolute certainty that what you're so narcissisticly displaying is half-decent. Rant about smug starbuckians over, being judged myself for clearly thinking i'm incredibly clever for reading a fat non-fiction book on the bus about to begin. Karma, but I love it really.