Diary of a Network Geek

“Do you really read this stuff or just put it out on the coffee table?”

“Who are you? Are you for real? Really for real?”

One way or another, people are always asking me that about the “me” they see on my blog. Not everyone is quite as lighthearted as the two people I’ve quoted here, but, sooner or later, everyone who’s never met me in person asks.
I started to write a long piece about all the things I am, with links to old posts so readers could track back and find all the other very self-involved things I’ve said in past posts, but, well, that seemed a little pointless after I got rolling on it. The best way to find out about me is to use that “search” function on the right-hand side of the page. Want to hear my voice? Search for “voice” or “my voice” and you’ll find samples. Want to see pictures? Search for “pictures” and you’ll see me, my dog, my home, and even my parents. Or, you can click on the category links. They all work and will show an archive of all the things in that category. Want to see my pathetic attempts to get out of my shell and meet datable women? Click on the Bavarian Death Cake of Love archive. Want to see the books I’ve read recently? Try the Review archive or the Things To Read archive. (That’s what the first person was asking about. The crazy things I read.) To see more about my attempts at art, digital or literary, you have to hit my other, almost dead, blog, Fantasist’s Scroll. (That’s what the second person was asking about. Considering how much of a hard-core geek I am in the corporate world, I guess they had a hard time getting their head around the concept that I might do any kind of art.)

I’ve had friends who told me that I’m so honest on this blog that it occasionally makes them wince. And, I have tried to be as honest as I possibly can be here, keeping in mind that potential employers and dates will no doubt read it.

The thing is, though, that all you see when you read this blog is one, very limited, point of view: mine. And, if nothing else has been proven out by my personal history it’s the fact that I do not see myself either clearly or the way others see me. I am, for instance, my own worst critic. But, this is such a flat medium. As I’ve mentioned before, you can’t hear my voice or see the expression on my face or “feel” my timing on a joke. This blog is just one small window into who I am. A door that’s open just a crack. In person, you can walk around me and rattle other windows, or try the latch, or jiggle the handle on the doors to see if they’re unlocked. Whatever you think I am based on this blog, you’re wrong. You’re only getting one, small picture of what my life is like. The picture you get of me in person is very different. At least, I hope it is.

So, yes, I’m real. I’m as real as I know how to be, in person or via print. But, there’s more to me than you see here. If you know where to look.

I started cleaning house a little this weekend.

You see, I have this one room that is filled with the residue of a previous life. Old clothes and books and furniture and papers and junk and… Shoes. Lots of shoes.
I stopped gathering bags of junk to throw out when I hit six because I’d more than filled my garbage cans. I have so many more to fill and throw out that it was almost overwhelming. Almost. Most of the clothes will go to someplace like the Salvation Army or to help victims of Katrina or something. (Yes, there are still people from Katrina that need clothes!) I have old school uniforms and jeans and other kids clothes as well as adult clothes. I haven’t even started sorting the boxes upon boxes of books. Or decided what to do with all the left over furnature. Frankly, there are some heirlooms I’d like to see go back to my former in-laws, so that, one day, my former step-daughter might have them. I’m not sure if that will happen or not though. If you all could see this one room in my house filled with so many boxes and bags and piles of junk, you could see why it was so hard to get motivated to deal with it. There’s a part of me that would like to just heap it up on the front lawn and set fire to it, though I wouldn’t indluge in that kind of waste even if it weren’t illegal to burn that much that way. Still, it has to be dealt with somehow, sooner or later, so I’ve started. A little at a time and it will get out faster than I might think.

I joked with my mother not too long ago that I should have a party to get rid of it all. I could go through my house and tag all the things that I want to “dispose” of and then invite single women in to just cart it off, in exchange for contatct information and/or dates. She thought it was hilarious. I even had a plan for different levels of exchange for the stuff.
I could use colored stickers or tags, with each color requiring a different level of personal info. For white stickers, just a name and good phone number, pre-verified. For red stickers, a name, good, preverified phone number and at least two evenings that the lady in question would be available for a date in the next two months. For gold stickers, a name, a good, preverified phone number, at least two evenings in the next month that she’d be available, and one actual, prearranged date. Obviously, the grade of “stuff” goes up with each sticker and the required information to gain access to the stickers. Each level has access to the lower levels of sticker as well.

Like I said, my mother thought it was hilarious. Have I mentioned that my family has a somewhat twisted sense of humor? And, interestingly enough, my father remained rather silent on that whole subject.
Anyone have any thoughts on the merits of such a party?

Now, you may have noticed that this post is surrounded by pictures of shoes. Lots of shoes. On the top left, a single pair of rather sensible shoes, women’s size seven and a-half. The rest, though, are seven pairs of, well, not so sensible shoes. One is a size eight, but the rest are also size seven and a-half. I should note that these are not my shoes, but shoes I am going to be getting rid of, one way or another, shortly. You may also notice that they have a theme, of sorts, besides being mostly black. Notice the extremely high heels, the amazing platforms. Also, if you click on the thumbnails, you’ll see that most of them are hardly worn, or, in some cases, not worn at all. I should note also, that while I paid for most, if not all of these shoes, I did not really pick them out. I retained veto rights over them, so they all had my tacit approval, but I did not go seeking them. They were not my “thing”, as it were, though I had little argument with them as I bought them. In many ways, they represent the worst kind of residue of that old life. They are not what I’m looking for at all anymore. They weren’t even what I was looking for back then, but they were what I found.
I hope that what these shoes represent don’t frighten or disturb anyone who reads this blog, either employers or potential dates. As I mentioned, they represent a life I did my best to walk away from and leave behind. But, I do hope they explain, a little, that when I say I have a sordid past, or that there are things about me that people don’t know or understand, I’m not joking. I’m not kidding around, or exagerating, or embelishing for effect, or even trying to impress anyone, when I say that I do have an unusual past, a slightly different history, than people might think from this blog and my current life. Or, as I like to remind people, even a priest has a past.

So, finally, here’s a little Advice from your Uncle Jim, kids, everyone has a past and that sometimes effects their future. We can change, even though it may be hard and may have a price, but, who we have been will still effect who we become. You can’t always tell who a person was by who they are today.

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"There is no failure except no longer trying."
   --Elbert Hubbard