Recently J stopped by my blog and left rather a nice comment. He may come to regret it.
I didn’t recognize his letter, so once I could finally hit the tiny little hyperlink with a mouse click I visited his blog. (You try to hit it -- the 'J' in my first sentence is a hyperlink.) I liked him and his blog immediately because he had a post about a “pocket pussy” that looks like a flashlight (the “fleshlight”). As an aside, I reproduce my comment on this entry here because it is all about me:
Incidentally, I'm holding out for a plastic taco that looks like a toaster. This is because I want somebody to catch me at it and say "Dude, why are you humping that toaster?" I can't wait to see what I answer.
Actually, I found out a number of things about J that I liked. One is that, as indicated by his moniker and his blog bio, he’s terse. Sort of an anti-Hulles. Another is that he’s a photographer. As he says in his blog bio (tersely), “i live in minneapolis and like to take pictures.” His gallery is here, check it out. I’m sure his work is excellent but I couldn’t actually view it myself. He has a Macromedia Flash thingie on the site, and Lucille, my aging laptop, creaks and wheezes so loudly when it encounters a Flash thingie that the other people in the coffee shop scowl at me and swirl their chai in a decidedly unfriendly fashion. (Bring it on, you milksops; I’ll open up a can of fisticuffs on you.)
It also seems that he’s a friend of Lo’s. As we have recently learned I have become quite fond of Lo, so this is a big plus in my book. (And just for the record, she explains missing me at the Gala Bookstore Opening last weekend here.)
I have to confess, however, that the thing that intrigued me the most about J was the little picture that accompanied his comment. My immediate reaction was, I want to have that picture on my comments. As far as I can tell from an image the size of a postage stamp, if that's really his photograph he looks like a cross between Ferris Buehler and a straight Doogie Howser. And he looks young.
As I was thinking this, a thought occurred to me that has no doubt occurred to countless other people since Lewis and Clark opened up the Internet for us to explore in 1815 (according to Wikipedia, anyway): that I can be him.
I can swipe his picture, stick it in my blog bio, and start writing tersely. Okay, that last thing might be a stretch but maybe I can fake it well enough to get by. No one will suspect that, instead of being an angst-ridden, hip-hop loving young artist, I’m really an angst-ridden, hip-hop loving old lecher who couldn’t photograph his way out of a paper bag and who doesn’t create metaphors very well.
New Identity Theft Commercial:
Young man wearing sunglasses and looking like a cross between Ferris Buehler and a straight Doogie Howser is sitting in a Starbuck’s holding an expensive camera and a copy of Kafka’s Metamorphosis. His voice, however, is that of an 85-year-old white man that’s forgotten more about perversion than the young man will ever know.
Young man: “The other day my friends and I folded up our walkers and took the short bus out to the Mall of America. We bought Preparation H, fiber supplements, tickets to Cats, and I even bought a new Apple Powerbook. The great thing is that it was all on this young punk’s Discover card! It’s OK, though; his dad probably pays the bill anyway.”
Young man cackles obscenely then starts coughing up gobbets of phlegm.
Fade to logo.
Another great thing about this evil scheme is that I always wanted to be a photographer. This way I don’t actually have to learn about f-stops and composition and lighting and stuff, all I have to do is claim that J’s web site is really mine. (“Yes, Amber, that’s right, I created the web site myself in Dream Weaver. That Macromedia Flash thingie is pretty nifty, isn’t it?”1) This is a swell idea. God forbid I should have to go to the trouble myself of actually taking studio photographs of naked young girls... wait a minute.
But upon further reflection, I like being the age I am. I like my bio picture, especially with that intriguing growth on the left side of my face. And I’m creative enough that I can probably figure out a way to run the aforementioned studio photograph scam without pretending that I’m 20 years old.
Seriously, most of the time I am happy that I’m exactly the same age as Hulles. In fact, just yesterday I found myself yelling at some poor woman who recently turned 34 (sigh), saying essentially that you’re as sexy as you feel no matter what your age. I recommended to her that she go out and buy a Jurassic 5 CD and a bottle of Jägermeister and get over it. Well, I guess it’s time to take my own medicine. (And medicine, ladies and gentlemen, is sure as hell what Jägermeister tastes like.)
Therefore J, I guess your identity is safe for the time being, at least from me. I’ll stay Hulles, the mature and grandiloquent pundit of postmodern humor, whatever the hell that means, and you can remain a terse, angst-ridden young artist. Besides, Lo likes me better.
Maybe I can borrow your studio sometime, though.
1Except that I'll have to learn to bullshit tersely and not use old man words.