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Two Posts In One Day!

April 7, 2008 4 Comments

My friend Gerard at American Digest has a handy diagram of his desk on his page today, which in a fit of inspiration he stole from someone else. I’m not sure if Gerard is a raconteur or not. I never met the fellow.

I always like to imagine my friends are all raconteurs. See, I’m an international man of mystery, so I’m sort of obligated to surround myself with raconteurs. There is always a danger in this world of trying to associate yourself with the proper sort of raconteur, but ending up, sadly, with mere wags.

Now, I realize that this is the Intertunnel, so for all I know Gerard is actually a four-hundred pound Korean woman who cleans herself with a rag on a stick, collects Potsy Webber bobble-head dolls, knits big loud afghans to donate to the American Friends Service Commitee, eats only Pringles, and drinks Jolt/Red Bull/Zarex/Rohypnol Smashes all day and night while posting 2200 word rants about her sewer rates in the comments at Perez Hilton. Anything’s possible.

But I hope he really is a raconteur. I need to maintain a certain tone in my Intertunnel arrangements.

At any rate, I’ve prepared a sort of “How To” map of my affairs, just to help you people along that don’t know how to handle yourself in the Go-Go world of big-time Internet Celebrities like me. And Gerard. I think.

The Internet. They Gotta Lotta Nice People There. A-Hau-Hau-Hau-Hau

April 7, 2008 14 Comments

Sippican Cottage! Now with bonus points for perhaps obscure title reference!

[Editor’s Note: Pastor Jeff, who is a very pleasant fellow, ain’t he, has suggested that we re-run this item in lieu of participating in on of those there mimetic thingies what for occasionally sweeps this here web with all sorts of whoopin’ and a-hollerin’ and a-linkin’ and a-postin’ and whatnot. OK]
{Author’s Note: The editor watched Rio Bravo last night and he’s got Walter Brennan on the brain. But we do like Pastor Jeff and welcome any opportunity to avoid working, so here you go. And there is no editor, and it’s not my birthday.}

Today, I’m forty eight years old. I don’t care.

I’ve cheated death a few times. I’ve had good fortune, and I’ve been royally screwed. I’ve had money, and I’ve had none. I’ve gone hungry for a little while.

I’ve been simultaneously propositioned by one woman while being assaulted by another– both strangers. I’ve signed a few thousand autographs. I’ve been recognized on the street by passersby, confusing my companion. I’ve gone unrecognized on occasion by my own relatives.

I blinded everyone in my chemistry class in high school. I counterfeited money in shop class for a lark. I was nicknamed “The Phantom” by that chemistry teacher, because I was constantly truant. I was a National Merit Scholar.

I’ve performed dangerous backbreaking labor. I’ve been paid to teach frisbee.

I’ve been a welder in the desert. I’ve had pretty secretaries bring me coffee.

I’ve saved a few people’s lives. I’ve seen a man murdered.

I’ve worked for charities. I’ve committed vandalism. I’ve been robbed a half dozen times. I’ve stolen things.

I’ve been thought a clown. I’ve been considered dreadfully serious.

Half of the employees at my last job called me Mr. Rogers. The other half called me the Prince of Darkness. They were all correct.

I’ve been picked on like a sissy. I’ve knocked a man senseless–that struck me first– with one blow.

I’m very polite. I have a terrifying apoplectic temper.

I’ve worked with people for four years and never said a word about myself, despite the fact I talk all the time.

I made a joke, in a foreign language, in a foreign country, and people laughed. I’ve been booed, loudly, before.

There was a stretch of my life, lasting one third of it, where I was profoundly unhappy all the time. I doubt anyone knew that.

If I could live a thousand years, I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing, if it meant one fewer minute of sitting at a table I made, in a house that I built, across the table from the wife I won, watching the children we made smear their dinner on their faces.

Day: April 7, 2008

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sippicancottage

A Man Who Has Nothing In Particular To Recommend Him Discusses All Sorts of Subjects at Random as Though He Knew Everything.

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