This morning I got an email from someone who wanted to know if the furry guy in my blogger hater entry is Kevin and if he is single.
Dear R. from Birmingham,
Yes, that is Kevin and yes he is single. Since I guess I am his de facto winggirl at this point, I will try to ask the right questions.
Do you love White Castle?
Do you love dogs?
Do you love Keanu?
Do you look like Keanu?
If so, please send a picture of you hugging a golden retriever with one arm while waving a WC Crave Case with your free hand and I will forward it to Kevin.
Maybe it's time to open up that folder where I keep placing all of those letters I get and mean to answer.
Janice T. from Chattanooga, Bob Q. from Levittown, Justin D. from Waco and Ali G. from Oklahoma City all want to know if the people I write about are real and if so, how they feel about being in the blog.
To a degree, yes and they are okay with it. The people and events you read about here are often conflated with other people and events in the interest of protecting the identities of the guilty.
This blog was originally intended to be a small, private affair for a circle of friends in Nashville, Memphis and Bowling Green whose number was reduced by two when a couple of people got offers they couldn't refuse in Virginia and Alabama. It was supposed to be a team effort with everyone posting stuff to keep everyone else up to date. What happened? Okay, how should I put this? You know how Sam Levinson used to say that the best kid for the front of the line in Follow The Leader was always the one with the least amount of common sense? Well, my little circle decided the best person to chronicle our lives was a terminally awkward, dyslexic sociophobe. (Waves hi!)
When I put a counter on here and realized that the readership was more people than the our little group plus my mom, I had a talk with everyone. Instead of being appalled, most of my friends turned out to be big ole hams. In fact, I have been informed (by Jeffrey via Alice) that if certain people (Jeffrey) don't get their own cartoon, certain people (Jeffrey) will be miffed.
Tabitha M. from Oak Grove wants to know where all of the old stuff has gone. She also wanted to send someone a link to my piece about being dyslexic.
A lot of the old posts were not really my best efforts. I have archived the best of the worst elsewhere, including "Fooked in Kofsnif Rowked Fer Mi!" and have sent you a copy of that example of the art of the personal essay. Have fnu!
You would think that the bulk of the email this blog generates would be directed at me. No. An eleven-year-old, 80 lb sheepdog/bearded collie mix gets more email related to this blog than I do. Here are a few examples:
You sir, are an all right doggie! If you're ever in Austin, drop me a line! I'd love to take you out for a Shiner Bock.
Maggie (the Pig)
PS. I am a beautiful, full-sized Hampshire girl, not one of those nasty little pot-bellied freaks.
He must be very big in Austin because that same week he received a letter from another critter in that city:
I wanted to commend you on having the courage to be true to yourself and not herd sheep. You are who you are regardless of what body you're born with. My people seem to think that just because I'm a male longhorn, I want to chase heifers, eat feed and poop all day. Personally, I would prefer a bowl fresh dandelion greens and a good movie, preferably something Australian. Drop by some time and I'll treat you to a platter of my best nachos. I do veggie and chicken. Don't feel bad about the chickens. They're evil bitches who would eat you in a tortilla if they could.
And then there was this guy.
You big, fuzzy retard! If you ever come into my pen, I will kick your ass.
a very angry lamb
Well now. I guess I'd be angry if someone named me Twinkles.
Twinkles did write to wish O'Dawg a happy and safe Labor Day, so he must be a little less angry now.
So. Write me. You never know. I might bring O'Neill to your house to herd your sheep. Or not.
copyright 2008 Jas Faulkner