2004-01-29 - 12:22 a.m.

I'm not who you think... if you were thinking that

You know, this anonymity thing is really a pain sometimes. Not that it's a pain being anonymous, because if it were I could just give you my name and put up a mapquest link to my house. But it's a pain sometimes trying to stay anonymous. I know of many people who have online diaries, blogs, journals, whaddevah, and many of us (that's my hand, it's up) are just not real thrilled at the idea of people we know reading it. Unless, like, we KNOW they're reading it, and exactly who. And we can keep that in mind. Either we know that we trust them and don't have to watch what we write, or we just keep in mind who they are and watch our words. Which would suck, which is why we don't want people who know us reading us. Then there's the reality that several people have been fired over these things. I won't go near diaryland with the Grinch's thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole at work, and I'm paranoid about mentioning ANYTHING from work here.

And yet you all know all about caf chick, now don't you? But trust me, I had emotional issues writing it! Really!

I also have trouble writing about friends and acquaintances. Strangers, no problem. But when it's someone who might be recognized by someone who knows me... again, big paranoia. My last diary was worse. I pretty much discontinued the thing, because it was easier to tell it was mine, because... well if I told you, you'd know, then, wouldn't you???? EEEEK!

Ya know... diary shmiary, this stuff *is* being published to the world wide bleepin' web. And as much as I try not to give personal information, to the point where I won't even mention the name of my favorite band, hello... no one is holding a gun to my mouse and forcing me to click "Add an Entry." I know what I'm doing. I'm aware someone may do a search and say hey... that sounds really familiar... I know her. And then my secret life is all over and exposed! Oh, the humanity!

Would it be that bad? Could be pretty embarrassing. So why don't I just write it down on paper - oh wait what am I thinking? Type it up on my word processor, I mean - and save it with a password and be done with it?

Well who'd read it then? Duh. So is it the act of publishing? Because these things are the ultimate vanity press. Or is it that exhibitionist streak? Like the Players in "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead," who are nothing without their audience? With apologies to Tom Stoppard, we're writers - we're the opposite of people. Or to misquote from a slightly different tale, "To Die For," what's the point of writing anything if no one's reading?

If you doubt the importance of an audience (I can just smell the doubting going on out there), think on this. Technology can, and has in some cases has, to the satisfaction of some, replace sports figures, actors, musicians - anyone on a stage. Sometimes we're fooled and other times we accept the replacement willingly. But the one ingredient that can't be replaced by a machine is the audience member.

You know something really odd and karmic? While I was just doing a little googling to check that quote (yes, I research diary entries, wanna make something of it?) I happened to come across... another diaryland diary. I put in "rosencrantz guildenstern opposite" and damn if I don't come up with a diaryland diary entry, regarding the role of an audience, whose entry title references Spinal Tap. Yet Spinal Tap is not mentioned in the entry, nor is the reference explained. You get it or you don't. And the dude has some writing chops on him, and pardon me if I lust after his vocabulary and cavalier but deadly usage thereof. In an entry about semicolons (ABOUT semicolons - as if I needed more) he used the word whilst. Boy howdy, I have some catchup reading to do. I hope he doesn't break my heart. He would hate this entry.

See... now I'm worried about HIM reading me. My husband would ask me why I have so many people on my committee. I don't know. It came from some Loretta LaRoche thing he watched.

While writing this, I began to think of the Who song "The Real Me." This means I had to dig out Quadrophenia. Which means I had to find my headphones. I left the speakers on too though, because me singing apparently a cappella is not really something I would inflict on anyone I like. And I'm pretty copacetic with my husband at the moment. I was not happy to realize I had forgotten which song was John's. Luckily it's in the thick as a brick CD booklet. And actually it may have been a bit karmic that I had to look in the book. At the end of the story is the following parenthetic statement:

"(No one in this story is meant to represent anyone either living or dead, particularly not the Mum and Dad. Our Mums and Dads are all very nice and live in bungalows which we bought for them in the Outer Hebrides.)"

See - even the Who are paranoid about people reading their diaries and thinking they recognize the characters.

The fear of being caught in the act of expressing your true feelings makes me think of "Harriet the Spy." I watched the beginning of that movie once - it being on TV happened to coincide with me being in the room - and it made me SO angry. Her parents wanted her to NOT WRITE? This is abuse. And the other kids were just vicious to the point of torture. I realize it was fiction and therefore the characters may possibly have been exaggerated a bit. They were not characters, in fact; they were caricatures. But they made me furious. I turned off the movie, because I knew I was not going to be satisfied with any ending that didn't involve blood and carnage, and I didn't envision that as being too likely in a Nickelodeon movie.

A review I just read of "Harriet the Spy" (okay, perhaps I do a little TOO much research for one entry) mentioned "Welcome to the Dollhouse." Now THAT movie I watched to the end. In fact, when I heard about that movie, when it was new, I hauled myself all the way across town to an art cinema (not a euphemism - an art cinema) to see that movie. I don't know if it played anywhere else but theaters with capacities of 40 people. That anecdote in itself may tell you a bit about my adolescence. My friends and I set the standard for the "weird kids" clich� clique.

What my adolescence has to do with this entry is lost on me as much as you. Except for the fact that, aren't we all here to get to know me a little better?

Now... riddle me this. Which parts of this entry did I borrow from other people's lives... and which parts did I invent out of whole cloth... just to throw off anyone who found this and thought they recognized me?

Bwahahahaha.

Is it me, for a moment?

The stars are falling

The heat is rising

The past is calling

And on the dance floor broken glass

The bloody faces slowly pass

The numbered seats in empty rows

It all belongs to me, you know

my mood -

the mood of the whole world wide bleepin' web -