Shhhh – wait — I think we’re alone now. Seems like THEY aren’t watching anymore.

Whew, well I guess THAT storm blew over. One of my little billet doux (now removed) caused quite a ruckus, a lot more hits than I’m used to and some unfriendly communications. It wasn’t that I was intimidated or took the threats seriously, it more like there was suddenly a swarm of gnats knocking on my windshield and it made it hard to concentrate on where I was going, so I removed the bug light.

Here’s what I’ve learned – if I’m going to write something critical about a local and/or obscure writer I should NEVER use their real name. These guys don’t really care about anything I have to say, unless it’s about THEM. My subject e-mailed me to say that he wanted to "talk to me." Funny, but a while ago when we sat at the same table with a famous author he showed no desire to communicate with me whatsoever, and as a matter of fact seemed to have a great deal of difficulty recognizing my existence at all. Ah, but when the subject is to be himself and his "work" – well, that’s a compelling topic no matter who you’re talking to. But I’ve already expressed myself on the subject and have no interest in further fruitless debate.

It’s given rise to a new saying of Confucius – He who Googles his own name shouldn’t whine about what he finds.

I decided to forbear arguing or even replying to these people, not even when a certain self-important someone said he’d never again shop in my store. Considering this person has only bought one book in fifteen years, didn’t deign to address me by name last time he was in and confined his remarks to loftily informing me the open sign wasn’t displayed, I can’t say many tears are being shed on that account.

It doesn’t even bother me when someone like that calls me a coward. Yes, RADIOFREEUBU doesn’t have my name plastered all over it, but don’t you think if I wanted to be truly anonymous I could? The certain someone accused me of hiding behind a mask and then (typically) patted himself on the back for ferreting out my identity in five minutes. Sorry, dude, but the average time for local people who don’t already know is two minutes, and my dear Stella pulled it off in 45 seconds. Since I mentioned an event at my store AND my wife’s name in the previous post I don’t think that the certain someone should buy a deerstalker hat quite yet.

The real reason I don’t promote myself is that I’m an old school WASP who believes that fool’s names and fool’s faces often appear in public places. I realize it’s completely contrary to the drift of society since the Reagan days, but to me my words and artwork are what are important, not my mug, moniker or public image.

I have to admit that, along with the negative, the hullabaloo has attracted a lot of support. I don’t think the tastemakers at that smug bastion of elevated taste east of Division are quite as popular as their press clippings would indicate. Maybe the University should invest some tax dollars in a symposium about that conundrum, or maybe even endow a chair. A certain piece I wrote about that certain person a while ago is proving quite popular, and, despite the hard feelings, I’m keeping it up because, let’s face it, it’s hilarious.

My support came, as usual, from the punks and weirdos, which really brought me back to my roots, because that’s what I am, a sneering, snotty little punk – and one who, like Iggy, is going to keep on making a righteous, rude racket no matter what you say.

YR PAL,

UBU