Worst Things To Wake Up To

Well, I guess "screaming" would probably be the worst thing to wake up to. Actually, there are quite a few things I can think of that would be horrible to wake up to -- zombies, an intruder in the house, a phone ringing at 3:00 in the morning, the business end of a gun...and so on.

But this morning, I had an experience that would at least be top 15...maybe top 30. I woke up to a scrabbling noise, then searing pain across the left side of my face. I shall explain. First, the perp:

Yep...the scrabbling was this little devil bastard trying to climb onto my headboard at 5:00 in the morning. Next, the crime scene:

That's me...chillin' (like I do) on my comfy bed...chiseled, muscled arms all cradling my massive brain-cage. Finally, the crime.

So this goddamn cat (let's call him "Frenchy," because that's his goddamn name) decided that he was curious about what was on top of our headboard -- a place he has never been before. So he decided, at 5:00 in the morning, to investigate. Well, being the stupid, uncoordinated cat that he was, he failed, and (stupid claws extended), landed on my face...more specifically my eyelid...most specifically, my left lower eyelid.

Now I have a really freakish-looking puncture wound under my left eye that's going to be there for, oh, a good couple of weeks or so...becuase as anyone who has ever had a cat scratch knows, those marks refuse to go away. That's one of the main reasons why it's why I gave up "kicking the crap out of cats" 5 years ago (though, really, I can feel the old urge rising up in me again).

So, if you chance to see me, and if you chance to be curious just what exactly the red thing under my eye is. Now you know.

I Traveled About, and Found Gordon...

I tell you what...something is fishy about this new Internet Explorer. Can't quite put my finger on it...but if I were to put my finger on it, then quickly retract the finger and place it beneath my nostrils, I bet it would have a foul, fishy odor. I'd betcha' anything. Well, anything except my "comfortable boxers." I would have no joy if those were taken away from me.

Very briefly, I want to touch on this little guy: First of all...what the damn hell is he looking at (looks like the word "if" from here)? Secondly, how come he gets to have fully realized eyes, with pupils et al? If you ask me, the rims of his eyes make him look like he's wearing glasses -- I'm talking "Morpheus-type" glasses...like this "sexy" gentleman right here:

And I just can't get behind that. I mean, Mr. Orange-Cool-Guy is supposed to be the only glasses guy. Open-Mouth-Looking-Up-Guy just obfuscates the issue, in my opinion.

But there's another problem. According to the geniuses over the MySpace Emoticon Department, this guy is "blah," "determined," "dorky," "high," "nerdy," "pensive," "predatory," "stunned," and "whatevah." As opposed to this little chap: who is simply (and solely) "devious" (which I believe is a synonym for "on fire"). Personally I think this guy is far more devious: Because, dammit, what the hell are you doing in that clam shell? Get the hell out of there! Don't you stick your tongue out at me, you little bastard! Oh really? Really? That's it...I'm sending Mr. Orange Hitman after you now. You will rue the day you climbed into that damn thing, you little smart-ass.

But really, I just don't think my boy Jason here (because his name is Jason...all right?) is versatile enough to handle that range of emotions. I really don't. How can you be both "stunned" and "determined" at the same time? Or "high" and "nerdy?" That dog don't hunt, if you ask me. And I believe you just did.

So here's my plan of action: Boycot Jason. If I feel my emotions ranging toward "dorky," I will instead veer cunningly over to "exanimate," or (because, what the hell does "exanimate" mean?). If I get super-high (perhaps I'm in a plane, or climbing a ladder, or ingesting horse tranquilizers), I'll opt for the breathy indeterminate "numb," or . If I'm "stunned," then I'm probably unconsious, and would you please call my cousin Andy to come over with the smelling salts...?

All I Need Now...

So the way I see it, I'm lacking one vital component. See, I realized today that there are certain words that you cannot say to certain people, or else they will just "go off." For instance, don't you dare call Marty McFly a "chicken," or he will go crazy-hoverboard all over your manure-covered convertible. Call a woman the "b-word" (rhymes with "glitch," looks identical to the word "bitch"), and physical violence of some kind will often be the result. And there are certain ethnicities that have certain words that will provoke certain physical attacks, such as the "n-word" (rhymes with "trigger"...looks identical to...okay....not going to do that one), the "c-word," the "y-word," the "la-word," and finally the un-repeatable "word-word."

But I searched my soul, and I realized something. I don't have a trigger word. Really. There is nothing that you could call me or write at me that would provoke a "Tyler-style" beat-down. And I've been called some terrible things. This one guy said I looked like turkey poop (which I had never seen before...but I imagine it was a fairly inflammatory insult for certain sections of the population). Another young man simply called me a "slime" (which, in retrospect, was a pretty classy insult for such a young man). But I can't imagine a single word that would cause me to morph from easy-going brainiac Bruce Banner to freakish green Lou Ferrigno.

Which could only mean one thing: I've got to create my own word. It's got to be common, yet caustic. Crude, yet clever. Creative, yet cliched. Carrot, yet canteloupe. Cosby, yet Crosby. Clinical, yet cyclical. Craltifilicious yet Cinifinatorianatious! And hopefully it won't start with the letter "c."

The thing is, for most of these guys, there's a long history with the trigger-word. Marty McFly must have been called a chicken quite a bit. That bitch that cut me off last Wednesday has probably been called a bitch her whole life (probably because she is a bitch...dirty bitch). But me -- I'm without much historical verbal trauma -- heck, I don't even have a good old fashioned minority trait to fall back on (unless you consider "Lutherans With Big Noses" to be a minority category). So, for now, I'll keep it simple: "I swear to God, if one more person calls me a 'bimbo,' I'm going to break something over their skull. Probably a chair...or anything else that happens to by lying around at the time."

Bimbo. Oooh, that's good. I got chills just now that was so good. And hey, I can't believe I even have the audacity to write it myself. I mean...is this blog censored by anyone? Could they bleep out the word "bimbo" from my blog? I hope so...because looking at it on the computer screen is making me so angry that I am seriously contemplating head-butting my monitor. Seriously. Bimbo. STOP IT!!! IT'S NOT FUNNY!!! WOULD YOU CALL YOU MOM A BIMBO!? HUH??!! No! No, you wouldn't. Actually...you know....YOU KNOW WHAT!? YOU'RE the bimbo, you BIMBO!! In fact, I've got a present for you. You ready for this?!

BIMBO!!!

Yeah. Yeah, that's right. Verdana font. Orange color. Was that maybe a bit harsh? Perhaps...but dammit, I just hate it when people call me that. For reals.

iPod Shuffle Quiz...

Well, it's high time I got "pedestrian" with my blog. I've decided to play that little game where you "shuffle" your iPod, and the songs supposedly match up with the questions asked...blah-dee-blah-blah. Because I'm of the belief (that is shared by 100% of the population) that my music is the best kind of music. Anyone who doesn't share my taste in music is wrong, and if only they'd listen to such and such a song they'd change their minds about...etc.

But, since this is a bit like the whole "astrology" scam, where you fit the personal details of your life into the broad statements made about your astrological sign, I will attempt to do so for each answer by giving a bit of lyrics (because, if you've learned nothing from reading my blog entries, you know that I comment on the lyrics of songs far too frequently). Also, I may make a comment or two...or twenty. Anyhow, on with the excitement:

-- How am I feeling today?: My Poor Brain by the Foo Fighters

"Sometimes I feel I'm getting stuck
Between the handshake and the fuck"

Maybe people just don't write enough songs about being hungry.

-- Will I get far in life?: Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon & Garfunkel

"Your time has come to shine.
All your dreams are on their way."

Well, I guess that worked pretty well...if you like the schmaltzy hippie crap.

-- How do my friends see me?: The Sound Of Settling by Death Cab for Cutie

"Our youth is fleeting
Old age is just around the bend
And I can't wait to go gray"

For a second I thought it said "And I can't wait to go gay." That would have been very telling

-- Where will I get Married?: St. Louis sound clip from "The Jerk"

"St. Louis?" "No, Navin Johnson." "Nah, do you want a lift to St. Louis?" "Oh! Okay, thanks!"

This was bound to happen. Anytime Erika or I make a mixed CD we include quotes from movies. I was going to skip over them for this quiz, but I thought it worked fairly well in this case. And besides, St. Louis is much funnier than "Poulsbo."

-- What is my best friend's theme song?: The New Year by Death Cab for Cutie

"So this is the New Year
And I have no resolutions
Or self assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions"

That would have worked pretty well for the previous question too...but I'll take it...

-- What is the story of my life?: Silver Street by Ben Folds

"And the styles are moving on
It's hard for a man to stay cool."

Don't know if this totally works...but I do like Ben Folds.

-- What is/was high school like?: Stand By Your Man by Tammy Wynette

"Sometimes its hard to be a woman
Giving all your love to just one man"

Wow. I thought none of these songs were going to work perfectly. But this one did. Perfect.

-- How is today going to be?: Oh Yoko by John Lennon

"In the middle of a shave
In the middle of a shave I call your name"

Because, actually, I do need to shave later today. Perfect.

-- How can I get ahead in life?: Give Me Novacaine by Green Day

"Drain the pressure from the swelling,
The sensations overwhelming,
Give me a long kiss goodnight and everything will be alright"

Once again...a missed opportunity. If this had come one question sooner, I could have explained it away by saying that I was at the dentist earlier today (because I was).

-- What is the best thing about me?: Friendship by Tenacious D

"Friends will be friends
They're running naked in the sand"

I think my iPod is determined to make a gay out of me.

-- What is in store for this weekend?: Not the Same by Ben Folds

"You took a trip and climbed a tree
At Robert Sledge's party
And there you stayed 'till morning came
And you were not the same after that
You gave your life to Jesus Christ"

So...I'm planning on taking a hit of acid, climbing a tree, then devoting myself fully to Christianity. Sounds like fun.

-- What song describes my parents?: She's Famous Now by Reel Big Fish

"I heard her on the radio don't want to sing along, but I've got no choice
She used to be my girl but now she's famous"

Huh. Right.

-- My grandparents?: Creep by Radiohead

"I don't care if it hurts,
I wanna have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul"

Actually, the one that came up is the Richard Cheese version, but I'll give credit to the original artist. I didn't realize that my now-deceased grandparents were so angsty.

-- How is my life going?: Pinball Wizard by The Who

"That deaf, dumb and blind kid
Sure plays a mean pinball!"

Well, I just auditioned for a part in Tommy (which is why this song is on my iPod), so maybe this means I just got cast...?

-- What song will they play at my funeral?: Fuck Her Gently by Tenacious D

"And then I'm gonna love you completely
And then I fuckin' fuck you discreetly
And then I fuckin' bone you completely
But then I'm gonna fuck you haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard!
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard"

God, I really, really, really, really hope they do play that song at my funeral.

-- How does the world see me?: Nothing Better by The Postal Service

"So just say how to make it right
And i swear I'll do my best to comply"

Once again...an angsty love song is how people see me. Brutal.

-- Will I have a happy life?: Save Me by Aimee Mann

"C'mon and save me
Why don't you save me
If you could save me
From the ranks of the freaks
Who suspect they could never love anyone"

So...no, then...?

-- Do people secretly lust after me?: Alphabet Town by Elliott Smith

"I know what you are
I just don't mind
I won't say you're wrong
I know what you want
And it's what i want
So let's go out"

So...yes, then?

-- How can I make myself happy?: New Way Home by the Foo Fighters

"If you could manage me
I'll try to manage you
But lately that's all I ever do"

Sweet Lord...I swear I have more than Tenacious D, The Foo Fighters, Death Cab for Cutie, and Ben Folds on my iPod. I promise.

-- What should I do with my life?: Galapogos by Smashing Pumpkins

"Too late to turn, to turn back now I'm running out of sound
And I am changing and if we died right now
This fool you love somehow is here with you"

So...nothing, then?

-- Will I ever have children?: Losing Lisa, by Ben Folds

"Black tears are falling and she won't say what I've done
She's sitting here beside me, then she is gone
Black tears are falling, falling"

Looks like I will...and the little bastard just won't...stop...crying. Stop it! What do you want!? A bottle!? Diapers?! WHAT!?!? I want to go back to BED!!!

-- What is some good advice for me?: I Ain't Mad At Cha, by 2Pac & Danny Boy

"Well guess who's movin up, this nigga's ballin' now
Bitches be callin' to get it, hookers keep fallin down
He went from nuttin' to lots, ten carots to rocks
Went from a nobody nigga' to the big, man on the block"

'Preciate the advice. R.I.P. 2Pac.

-- What is my signature dancing song?: "I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You" by Colin Hay

"I don't want you thinking I'm unhappy
what is closer to the truth
but if I lived 'til I was 102
I just don't think I'll ever get over you"

Worst...dancing...song...ever...

-- What do I think my current theme song is?: Hey Jude by The Beatles

"And any time you feel the pain, hey, Jude, refrain
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders
Well don't you know that its a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder"

Not the best theme song...but if I ever needed to give Jude Law advice, now would be the time.

-- What does everyone else think my current theme song is?: Tiny Vessels by Death Cab for Cutie

"All I see are dark grey clouds
In the distance moving closer with every hour
So when you ask 'was something wrong?'
Than I think 'You're damn right there is but we can't talk about it now.
No, we can't talk about it now.'"

Uh oh...hope Erika didn't make it this far.

-- What type of men/women do you like?: Black Cadillacs by Modest Mouse

"We named our children after towns that we've never been to. And it's true that the clouds just hung around like black Cadillacs outside a funeral."

Man, I won't lie to you. I feel a little gypped on this quiz. Maybe one or two answers worked...the rest? Bah...humbug...

Fun Times at the Seattle Beauty School

So I look at the store-front window...it's the classy "black block lettering on a white cardboard backing" type of sign. But the design wasn't that important -- the important thing was what was writ therein. "Men $10." I was (and sometimes still am) a man. I had more than $10 in cash on me at the time. Seemed a match made in heaven.

"Ten dollars?" quoth I. "That's a good price. You can't beat that with a stick" (I like to use old colloquialisms that hint at violence. I also like to quoth myself). So I go in, with images of "Frenchie" from Grease floating in my head -- poor, misbegotten teenaged ladies with an earnestness that shines through their lack of ability.

Instead, I'm greeted at the door with the scent of acrylic nail polish. But I'm not talking a little...it was as if someone had smeared a line of nail polish remover across my upper lip -- Dirty Sanchez style (if you don't get that, I refuse to explain). No problems, thinketh I (did Medieval people "thinketh?" I'd like to believe they did). I've endured several iterations of ladies that I was living with turning a sweet-smelling "vanilla tinged" bathroom into a nostril-burning, paint-mixing sweat lodge...I figure I can take a half hour of quasi-huffing for a hair trim.

Next thing to greet me -- a 40ish, 5 foot-ish, poor English speaking-ish Vietnamese woman. "You want hair-cut?" she said, with an accent closely resembling that of the good people residing in the country of Vietnam, in a way that was not even remotely stereotypical or offensive. She then grabbed an apron and said "Fifty dollah, G.I. Me cut you long time."

Okay, she didn't say that. It was more along the lines of "You sit here." Beckoning to an early-70's era barber seat -- probably on loan from an early 70's era dentist office...minus the sweet "motorized reclining action." Anyhow, I sit. Nervous now. Disappointed that I didn't see one naive woman in there with a garishly dyed hair style...but rather an entire shop full of about 20 middle-aged-to-old Asian women. And three nervous white dudes already strapped into their chairs.

As she's buttoning the hair-catching apron about me, she asks, "How you like? How you like?" I respond, trying my hardest not to come off like a condescending English-as-a-first-languager (because when I hear people talking to non-English speaking people as if they were morons, I just want to grab a hula-hoop and just hula, and hula, and hula until all the anger goes away. Y'know?). "I like it short. I mean. Shorter than it is now, but the same kind of style. Maybe, an inch or two long?" She is aghast. "An inch?! Short?! That's very short!" "Er...yeah...maybe an inch an a half? Two? Longer on top than in the back." "Oh...oh...uh...okay. Okay." She then goes about her "business."

Meaning: "she starts to cut." No small talk here. Just the steady buzz of the clippers, followed by the steady snip of the scissors. I come to find out she's in love with the comb -- it finds its way in the proceedings with both clipper and scissor. In fact, I don't think she dropped the comb the entire time she was back there working her "magic." Maybe she got it accidentally glued to her hand or something.

But work her magic she did. For about an hour. Or two. Honestly, I think she must have been snipping a millimeter at a time from my dome. Meanwhile, I'm starting to see Smurfs dancing across the table in front of me lip-synching to Beach Boys songs (or maybe that was the nail polish remover high talking. Boy I hope so...because those Smurfs really sucked -- none of them knew any of the words to Kokomo, they were just dancing around and laughing through the whole song. It was embarrassing).

Finally, pushing through hour #3 (or so...hyperbole may be afoot), she speaks for the first time since she threw the apron across me. "Is good length?" I give it the ol' run-through with the ol' fingers. It's about 7 millimeters shorter than when I walked in -- that's about 2.3 millimeters an hour, by my calculations. "Umm..." I say, really pondering whether I could stand another go around of Brainy slurring his way through California Girls. "It's...um...I don't know...if...um..."

Luckily, before I can make the decision to either cut my losses and go to a real hair salon, or suffer through another 7 millimeters or so (until the shop closed for the night) another 40-something Asian woman intervenes. She starts talking to my stylist in Vietnamese, then turns to me, "Is that a good length?" she says, using much more fluent English. "Um...it could be a little bit shorter. I think. Maybe. I don't know." I didn't want to offend stylist #1...but at the same time, $10 is a good price, but only if they actually cut the hair. Otherwise, it's basically a ticket to "Smurfs in Concert."

So stylist #2 snatches the clippers like a woman posessed, and swiftly goes at my head with them -- sans comb. It's great. The hair flies off of my head like a group of flies that was just shooed away from a person's head. Once her hack-job is complete, stylist #2 leaves so stylist #1 can tidy up. #1 timidly offers, "Sorry...I was scared to cut it so short." Ah. Great.

Finally, after another hour-or-so of touch-ups (and a surprise guest appearance by Azrael -- who did the MC Skat Kat lines with Smurfette in the song Opposites Attract. A real crowd pleaser, I must say), I scamper out. And, because I'm a sucker, I give the horrible hair-stylist-in-training a $3 tip. It was the worst pity tip ever.

I get home, and tell Erika this story. And she laughs it off...oh silly Tyler. Then we get ready for bed, and she sees the "shelf" on the back of my head. That's right, the standard "fade" up the back was apparently not being taught at the Seattle Beauty School. Instead, it was a mullet-in-training. Something along the lines of this:

Pretty bad. I think, "Meh, it'll grow out." Erika thinks otherwise, and practically drags me by my ear to a real barber to fix the mess.

And it was fixed. Thank the heavens. So take this as a cautionary tale -- there is such as thing as a "horrible haircut" for men. You might think it's easy...but take it from me (and stylist #1 & #2), it can be botched pretty easily.

Just Want To Help Out the New People...

So, to help out all of those poor lost souls who just logged on, and are amazed at all the possibilities. "What do I do now?" you must all be asking yourself. Well, I am here to help...because that's what I do. I'm a helper. A hamburger helper. So, to hamburger help you all, I have compiled a list of what makes a truly good, memorable Space. Enjoy...and learn something, for Christ's sake. Here are some things you will need:

Drunk photos of yourself, making sure that the caption clearly states that you were drunk when the picture was taken.

Loud music that you must hide somewhere at random on your profile…so that it will take at least 5 minutes to the viewer to turn it off. The more obscure the band, the better.

Who do I want to meet: Anyone who is cool, and wants to talk!!!

You need to lie about your income…because you know we all really care how much money you make.

Comments from random people thanking you for "the add," which is how you thank new friends (this should really have some kind of application in the real world, methinks).

If you're a female, you need a comment from at least 3 desperate guys on how pretty you are under each of your pictures (I'm still waiting for my first one of these, dammit).

You must love the band Cold Play. This is non-negotiable.

A background picture that makes all the text in your profile unreadable; the larger and more obscene the text, the better.

At least one picture needs a caption mentioning how sexy you look – make sure that it's impossible to tell if you're being sarcastic or not.

Dane Cook must be your friend, because Dane Cook really needs new friends.

At least one Family Guy reference is also mandatory.

If you choose not to have a drunk picture, then you must include either A) a picture of you hiking, or B) a picture of you in Europe.

If you like hip-hop music, you must misspell a lot of words and use absolutely no punctuation. If you like alternative/emo, you must type short responses in all lower-case letters. Rock/punk must include either exclamation marks or capital letters. If you like classical you've never heard of MySpace so you're not reading this right now. If you like country, you must go out and kill yourself…now.

The only TV shows you'll admit to watching is Family Guy, and maybe stuff on The Learning Channel, History Channel, or Discovery Channel. Everything else rots your brain, man…

If you have nothing better to do, pretend you're a celebrity. It's very, very, very rewarding. Again, the more obscure, the better.

<3 means "heart," even though it really looks like a sideways ice cream cone.

If you have kids, you must have pictures of them or you are a bad, bad, bad parent.

If you choose not to write captions, make sure your uploaded pictures are all group shots, so visitors get to play the "find the profile person" game. It's fun, and rewarding.

If you're artistic, make sure all the photos of you are either distorted, cloaked in shadow, or streaked with garish colors.

Make sure we all know "What kind of _____ are you?" We all want to take that test now to find out what kind of ______ we are!

If someone accepts you as their friend, be sure to leave a thoughtful comment like "hey whats up?" on their profile. They will truly appreciate it.

Guys, if you don't have a picture of you with your shirt off, you are a pussy.

Make sure your books are all things that you had to study in college or high school, because no one will respect you if you put a John Grisham novel there.

Most of all, have fun out there. It's a wacky, wacky world.

Privacy

Howdy Y'all...haven't blogged at you in a while, and I know it's been terrible for both of us. But methinks it's time to start the healing, and begin fresh anew. Hence; blog.

Now this may ruffle some feathers -- I'm treading into territory that is dangerously "un-interesting," a place I try to avoid like Hepatitis A or C. It may also offend some...and to those I say: "Hi! Would you like a candy cane?" But here goes. On with the inane.

My new least-favorite thing to see on the Internets: "This profile is set to private. This user must add you as a friend to see his/her profile." Now, let's stay frosty here -- I realize there are a few of my friends who have selected this option and I just don't know it (having added this person previously). And to those good people, I beg your collective pardons.

But here's my problem, and I will give you an example: here. Now, this is a young lady named "Lisa" who went to my high school. Say I was friends with this Lisa in high school, and I wanted to talk to her again. I'd send her a message, right? Problem is, there were about 7 or 8 Lisa's attending the 'Moor. So I try to find out if this is the one I knew, or the snotty one who'd take me on a nostalgia trip down "Pretty-Girls-Who-Ignore-You-Then-Laugh-At-You-With-Her-Friends-When-You-Walk-Away" Lane. Take a look at that picture. I can tell she has a head, that probably has hair on it. And a neat blue vest. That's about it. I'm not about to bother someone who probably doesn't want to talk to me with a message or "friend request" because, frankly, I've got a ton of knitting left to do -- this sweater is not going to kitchener stitch itself.

So I have to contact this person directly to find out these little dumb things, right? Well, here's the problem -- what if I thought I was friends with this "private" person, but they didn't feel the same way? I send a friend request, or message...and it's ignored, or deleted. I don't know about you, but for me that's a bit of a downer. Plus, it makes me feel like a weird stalker-type person.

Plus, there are people (such as this lady Lisa...whose identity I did finally figure out) that I wasn't exactly friends with, but am sorta' curious about (I went to preschool with her...so I knew of her, but rarely talked to her). For instance, why the heck is she in France? This is interesting to me. Stalking? Boy, I hope not. Lisa would be a thing of interest for about 5 minutes, before it's back to posting pictures of monkeys dressed like humans on my fiancee's page.

So here's what I propose: anyone who makes their profile "private," should be restricted from viewing the sites of people who are not their friends. Seems like a pretty fair shake, yes? If your sole intention of coming to this wonderful little MySpace website is to just talk and post things to your friends, why would you ever want to browse through strangers' profiles?

And y'know, even if there are crazies out there, it's a very simple thing to delete all their incoming messages and friend requests. If you don't entertain the crazies, most of the time they'll go away. I say this having never corresponded with a crazy before...but my gorgeous fiancee gets her fair share. And the strangers she's not interested in talking to go away if she ignores them -- more often than not there are plenty of other asparagus spears in the crazy-person's vegetable garden (sorry -- trying to avoid "fish in the sea" idiom).

Or, really, if you're totally concerned about accidentally dropping some kind personal nugget that will be posted on "stalker-freak.com" my advice would be to just not post personal information on your site. Or, heck, don't even create a site at all. I realize that's a bit like advocating abstinence-only (100% effective BLAH BLAH BLAH), but I mean...c'mon. What are you people afraid of? Honestly, if you're scared, stay away completely.

I dunno'. Maybe I'm just getting twisted around on something trivial. Maybe I've never felt the cold sting of being stalked. Maybe I'm insensitive. Maybe I'm just a moron. Maybe I'm thinking too much about this. Maybe I.........