May I Introduce Myself

A mostly-accurate piece about little furry, old me.

Since many of you have just arrived…

Allow me to introduce myself.

And by that, I mean here is an introduction to a piece of writing about me as all others means to introduce myself just do not translate well to a two dimensional page.

Welcome to cute, lovable, furry ol’ me and just in case you are wondering while I do have fleeting moments of cuteness and am actually quite lovable, once you peel away all of the layers of onions (more on that some other time), I am not really that furry. I mean, I am a tad furry, but if your hopes were high for some fur, I’m fairly certain you will be disappointed.

I have decided to write about myself as it is one small step towards non-fiction both in my writing and for my own personal development as many of my closest friends often mistakenly believe I am fictional. It is my New Year’s resolution this year to be as real as possible and yes, I understand, my outfits aren’t helping.

So what is this going to be about? Excited aren’t we! It’s going to be about me and my innerworkings (don’t worry — no blood or guts, or at least less blood and guts as the guy I order from was mostly out). I pride myself upon being a complex person and I believe that I am seen in a multitude of ways by those who know me — or at least I am led to believe that.

For all I know people see me as a simpleton; a piece of Velveeta among gourmet cheeses; a pawn among kings; or a hat among other, taller more exquisite hats — you know — I probably should have stopped one analogy ago — it’s not like extra analogies are making a difference and they run the risk of insulting the intelligence of the reader or leading to mass confusion. Just so you know insulting you was not my intent (confusion often is).

When/if I intend to insult you I will make it abundantly clear and biting. Probably won’t come up — that’s just not how I roll, but you never know (I don’t, and I’m writing this) — consider yourself warned. Oops! That sounds way too sinister and threatening — if you knew me and saw my physique, this would obviously be a joke. No one is intimidated by me, unless they just left someone else who was really intimidating and I am reaping those aftershocks or they are acting intimidated due to some misplaced, yet welcomed, pity they have for me. I have never said no to misplaced pity and I generally enjoy misplaced emotions and items, just not keys or wallets, unless done out of misplaced sympathy for me after I misplace mine.

This piece of writing is an attempt to describe myself and all that I am, not necessarily to become easier to understand (because, honestly, when has that ever been one of my objectives) but mostly as an exercise for myself to get to the core of who I am and what makes me tick — as an aside I am also interested in what makes things tock, just not me! If I start tocking be very concerned! This shouldn’t be confused with stocking (the auto-correct for tocking, by the way) of which I am a big fan or stalking, of which I am not.

For purely meaningless and incomprehensible reasons I have decided to write using mainly metaphors to describe and explain my innerworkings.

Could I have been more direct and obvious? (of course)

Could I have not used such an amateurish and sophomoric writing crutch? (I hope so)

Could I have not used any expressions that didn’t make my points directly clearer? (sure)

Could I have written this without such a long, redundant opening that any editor would have axed? (surprisingly, yes)

Could I continue to ask questions all night and get so distracted that both you, the reader, and I, the writer, totally forget what the whole point was to start with? (has that already happened?)

For argument’s sake, let’s say “no” and forge ahead, because what is reading if not a constant battle to sift through all of the meaningless drivel and self-esteem reaffirmation from the writer and an attempt to either feel smarter or just less bored by the reader.

I aim to satisfy all of those- I will try to balance my own desire to impress myself and make myself proud with an impulse to help you feel smarter and that your time spent reading this has been a good way to avoid boredom for a little while before it pokes its ugly head up again. When/if too many ugly heads start poking up too often and unexpectedly, go see someone, just not me as ugly heads creep me out something fierce.

I can decide to come across sweetly, bombastically, sarcastically, or sardonically and I can choose to portray myself as a character who only eats sardines or one who loves gymnastics (but not the whole competitive gymnastics culture as it would eat me alive) or one who stares misguidedly out windows and yet, I choose to write to you honestly, from my heart.

Why would I do this?

Is it an example of mistrust? (possibly — let me just say that if mistrust was currency I would finally be able to afford some hired help)

Do I fear reprisals? (of course!)

Do I seek love and compliments? (so much so, that I am willing to pay premium rates for them)

Have I coated myself with such a thick layer of protective crust that I am impervious to your glaring and prying eyes and the rest of the features of the faces that inevitably come with those eyes? (the answer is maybe)

I’ll put it this way- writing honestly about who I am and why I am this way is important, but not necessarily “funny” or “now” or “fresh”. I so desire to be considered “now” as opposed to the usual “then” or “yesterday”. For this reason and because I always wanted to try “selling out”, I have aimed for somewhere between 35% and 65% of the truth. Can you handle that precise an array of the truth? Probably, or at least you will be exposed to it now and be that much better prepared if it ever comes up again.

And what of you the readers?

What is your role in all of this?

Are you meant to be solely passive participants? Does the reading just happen to you or can you be more influential and blaze a trail towards a better future for us all? I am calling “shotgun” if you are driving down that trail and otherwise I hope you appreciate single-line slam poetry readings called “Shotgun”. It’s my best and only slam poem. And yes, it hurt me as much as it hurt you.

I would actively read more often but I’m just too exhausted so I take the passive route, but I’m all for you actively reading this. “Get involved” my elementary school principal always told us at assemblies though it appeared she was talking to the back wall of the gym the entire time. In the midst of another boring assembly I so badly wanted the wall to get involved.

“Know your audience” writing teachers have been saying to their naive charges since ancient times when the expression was better known as “knowth thine audienth”. In ancient times it was much easier to know your audience since there were far fewer people. I mean you could probably run into much of your audience on the way to the market to buy some figs and an olive leaf and if they didn’t like your writing, you could run into them again on the way home, only this time you’d be charging at them in your chariot and then they would almost definitely like the next piece much more. I am interested in knowing you all as much as someone can know someone else. I mean there is “knowing” and there is “knowing” and we both know one is creepy and spine-tingling and the other…let’s just say it is grand!

To say — without you, my audience, I am nothing — would be completely false. You are important, but I have a life outside of this and away from you too, you know. Anyways, thanks for reading, skimming or looking at this briefly so you can tell me you read it. I do apologize for any eye-rolling, sighing, head shaking, or facepalming that occurs as a result of reading this or anything else I have or will write.

Just so you know the random thoughts and odd ideas that flow from my brain are not a cause for concern- though I see why some may think that. I love my brain and look for ways to express that love without making other internal organs jealous (the spleen is really juvenile, let me tell you). Actually, I don’t just love my brain, I love all brains — they are just so smart! Of all of the ways to demonstrate a love for one’s brain, this is probably the most socially acceptable and least potentially embarrassing. When it comes to potentially embarrassing material, I could write a book, literally, and I could also sing a song — which would only add to the embarrassment, which would beget another song about embarrassing moments which would invariably lead to another song and so on until I had enough material for an anthology.

This piece has been of particular fun to write — I love metaphors and often wish I could live life more metaphorically. I so wanted to go to symbolism camp as a kid, but I was too busy quilting. I wish the quilting was symbolic of something far more stereotypically masculine as that plays better in the suburbs. If I am to talk about myself, what is better than metaphorical language to help with the job? That question is meant to be rhetorical, but even if it wasn’t — I can’t hear you right now! I mean we are not even in the same building (I think). And if even we were, I am literally blowing my own horn right now as no one else was particularly forthcoming with their own horn, which I am attempting not to take the wrong way.

Anyways, as I wrap this up, sorry to have wasted your time when you could have been eating brownies and watching the Price is Right, or eating brownies with the TV off, or watching the Price is Right and trying to figure out what that strange, craving you are feeling is actually for (hint — it’s brownies). For those who love metaphors, but are now angry that I have not written something with more substance, just use something I heard of called “Google” you may find some there.