Last week, a librarian sashayed past me on her way elsewhere.
Librarian: Is your dad going to be in a movie?
I froze, then I started walking backward toward her.
Tata: Why do you ask that?
Librarian: I’m on his mailing list.
Tata: His what?
Librarian: He’s very entertaining!
Tata: Once, he and I drove out to Morgantown, West Virginia for a writers conference. I tried stabbing him with a pink highlighter – I MEAN – I was…um…drawing directions for illiterate paramedics! He’s so bad! He’s so bad!
When she stopped wiping tears from her eyes, our Librarian returned to the heroic business of Finding Stuff. It’s harder than you think because government documents could be anywhere. Ask Fawn Hall!
Every three or four months, someone posts in Fark.com’s comments Chris Poppe’s fantastic photographs from Poor Impulse Control’s main site. Do you like those faces? I dreamed ’em up and Paulie Gonzalez and I found Chris in the bar one night.
Tata: Dude, I want to make this website and I need some pictures.
Chris: Oh yeah?
Tata: Let us buy you six beers and explain the concept. [Cue the harps] I saw it in a dweeeeeam…
Eighteen beers later –
Tata: We’ll take tha assss a yesshh.
Paulie: Bartendeler! Another round of Newark’s finessht!
Listen, I can barely take pictures if I steal them but some folks have a gift. These photographs still make my heart flutter and skip beats. I want people to see them, and every few months thanks to Fark, a few thousand more people do. Hey Farkers! Thanks! A person can find anything on the net, and you found me. Congratulations. I think.
I love blogging and loudly encourage artists of all kinds to take it up. Thus, I found myself leaving a message at Nancy Pelosi’s D.C. office just before noon. You may recall I broke up with the lovely Nancy – alas! – but I wasn’t dialing up an ex for some afternoon delight, no. I hate that song. Madame Nancy’s backing the wrong pony, where bloggers are concerned. I spoke up for free speech. Get the lowdown, then get on the phone. Be nice! Just because it didn’t work out doesn’t mean we can’t be civil.
I wonder how Dad’s audition went.