Homebrew, honey, I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to invite you and the lovely swampbear to join any cadre of well-oiled, well-muscled young men I may or may not know the whereabouts of. What can I say? Mi attic es su attic. (NB: The dibs I placed on Sergei against the anticipated incursion of Doper Wimmin extends to you two as well. Ahem. If such a person as Sergei exists, which, as I hope I’ve made clear, I can neither confirm nor deny.)
elbows – yeah, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that rehab somehow got euphemized to “nuthouse” – not that I personally find that an improvement. The thing is, though, that I entered rehab in 1985 – almost 18 years ago. (17 years, 10 months, and, uh, what’s today?, 6 days ago, but who’s counting). This is such old news, and this is so not a secret. I am totally positive there were all sorts of rumors about me at the time – I went through rehab in 12/85-1/86, then taught for another year and a half before throwing in the towel after teaching summer school in 1987. My “disappearance” wasn’t total (I had one final article come out in 1988), and it wasn’t secret – but, yeah, major up-and-comer abruptly leaves the biz, I’m sure all sorts of stuff was said at the time – luckily, no one told me about it.
The thing is – this is 15+ years later. That’s what I find so bizarre about this.
is sergei a ballet dancer? 'cause i have dibbs on all ballet dancers.
it is amazing how some things stick and others don’t. the stupid nickname you got because your older brother mangled your name as a baby. anyone ever seen picking their nose is a nose picker for life.
i guess that the rumour about you, is the most exciting thing in some people’s lives. rather sad that.
Well, it turns out I won’t have to wait till Sunday, when I see C., to find out what the story is – the source himself emailed me last night.
I’ve mentioned numerous times on the boards that in a previous incarnation, I was a sociologist of religion. In fact, I wrote the first scholarly study of Jonestown – and that final academic article I mentioned in my OP was about Jonestown. I had this niche all carved out, and I was in fact developing a name for myself when I threw it all over in my premature midlife crisis in the late '80s.
The person for whom I wrote that final article was putting together a book on the 25th anniversary of Jonestown (coming up later this month) and wanted to find me. He did a google search on both my full name (twickster) and the nickname that everyone calls me (twicks). The “twickster” search led to numerous references to the book that came out in 1984, which is apparently still in some use, but nothing in the first page or two that would lead to me. The “twicks” search led to numerous references to a law professor in Hawaii, now dead, who was an expert in the Holocaust (and, in addition, a couple of puzzle references on the second page that are in fact me). This moron decided I was the Holocaust expert, and confidently informed a number of people that he had done a careful search for me and determined I was dead.
Effin’ moron.
I am speechless with fury about this. How dare he tell people I’m dead, based on a half-assed google search? What kind of idiot assumes that a live Jonestown expert (sociology of religion PhD) in Philly in 1988 somehow morphed into a dead Holocaust expert/lawyer (LLD, presumably) in Hawaii in 2003? Why wouldn’t this asshole spend more than five minutes on a google search if he was that effin’ eager to find me?
Argh! argh! I am so pissed off.
I wrote him an email this morning, tearing him a new one over this – I’ll respond to the rest of his email later. But I can’t. effin’. believe. that this guy would …
WOW. What a JACKASS. Are you going to ask him to search his little, tiny noggin’ for ALL the names that he spewed this gem to? I would insist that he personally email/call/write by pony express all involved and explain his error.
You think that’s bad? My husband has the same name–including middle initial, or a cardiologist here in town. They’re even both affiliated with U-M. We occasionally get his mail. Two weeks ago we got a letter from Dick Cheney thanking him for his generous prior support and asking him to write another big fat check to become some variety of “charter member” of the Elect George W. To A Second Term Club. The letter was full of glowing references to the administration’s many accomplishments and dripped with inferences that my husband had helped make it all possible.
In this household, we’d rather be considered dead than Republican.
I should also mention that once, when my husband was out of work, we got the doctor’s offer letter from a private practice of cardiologists. (You see, there is no way to tell that the mail is not to us until we read the contents). The salary was staggering, and at the time somewhat discouraging.
Cranky – I think you should frame the letter from Cheney. When I graduated from high school, I got a certificate for a “governor’s award” based on gpa or some damn thing – the state was California, and the governor at the time was Ronald Reagan. I’m disappointed now I don’t know where it is, because I think it would be a fun trophy.
twicks, another “better dead than Republican” liberal
Just so’s ya know, I mis-read this at first as “juggling naked in Times Square next to Eve.” Which seemed entirely likely, since she lives in New York.
No – see my post of this morning (go up 6 or 7 posts) – the person starting the rumor was someone other than the person I thought it was.
The person who started the rumor was looking for me, did a half-assed google search, came up with another person (in Hawaii) with my name who turns out to be dead, and decided I was the person who was dead. The person who started the rumor then, based on his five minutes with google, stated that he had definite knowledge that I was dead. The person who he told this to, who knows that I’ve been living in PA since 1987 since he gets a holiday card from me here every year, chose to believe this person for reasons that have yet to be explained.
In other words, the rumor is based on nothing I may or may not have done at any time in the last 20 years, as speculated – rather it was based on some asshole deciding that some other person with my name was me, rather than making any effort to confirm whether that person was me or not.
I knew it. The man in the tweed coat said it was true, and I so wanted to believe it, because he showed me the website. But I knew Elvis was still alive!
