Had dinner at our friends’ place last night. The blog was a topic of discussion. This friend, let’s call her ‘Amber’ (Hi, Amber!) was surprised at the content of my blog. It seems she expected it to be “mean” or “sarcastic” rather than “cute”.

She also told me that another friend had been reading this, though she wouldn’t tell me who. (Hi, Chiara!)

I’ve made it a point not to get too far into my personal garbage on this blog. I’ve got loads of mean sarcasm, believe me. I just censor myself so that I don’t come off like so many other bloggers in the world– using this medium as a cheap substitute for therapy.

Still, learning that my friends are reading my not-really-written-for-anyone-else blog gives me that feeling that I get when new friends meet family or old friends. Two worlds colliding. It’s a very strange sensation.

I’ve always had this feeling about creative outlets that anything should go. I should be able to write on here that I’m a psychopathic pedophile terrorist. It’s just words. It’s not real. It might be fun to see where allowing my imagination to stream takes me. In the real world, though, you just can’t do that without lots and lots of disclaimer. Incidentally, I’m not a psycho jihadist child molester. Or am I? No, not really. Probably.

The other night, I went to sleep listening to one of my favorite podcasts, Wiggly Wigglers. Farmer Phil aired his personal demons by tossing out rather harsh jokes “Richard hasn’t got any intellect” and crazy non-sequiturs and red herrings roughly analogous to “you can’t tell me not to torture people; you’ve never run a prison camp.” He was clearly displacing his anxiety about his actions and what he knows to be true, the cognitive dissonance of inertia vs. the realization of a need for change, on Richard.

It was eerie. I felt like I was hearing the inner workings these people who a) I don’t know and have never met, and b) “talk” to every week and actually care about what’s happening with them.

And then I thought… maybe not. Maybe they are simply taking the advice of a listener who wrote in and suggested “more arguments.” Maybe their producer is simply saying (off-mic), ‘it’d be good to call Richard a name here…’ How would I know? Does it matter?

When Oprah gets upset with some guy for writing a memoir that’s moving but not true, what’s she upset about? Who cares if he went to prison or not? It’s a book. It’s supposed to be interesting to read, enlightening, whatever. It’s not like the guy’s the president or reporting from the war. He’s just some guy saying some stuff.

That’s me. I’m some guy saying some stuff. Believe it if you like. Or don’t. The chickens are real. Maybe. I might have kids. Probably do. They are NOT abducted. Most likely.

Ma’as salaama.