I just got internet service in my apartment, after six months of living in a virtual blog blackout. I KNOW. Can you imagine? The idea was that I would cut out needless distractions (Craigslist m4m) and save a few bucks while I concentrated on my book. All it did, however, was annoy my friends (“What’s a U-Tube?”) and make my own blogging endeavors incredibly complicated and a colossal waste of time for everybody involved. No, I do not recommend stepping back from progress.
I’m not what you would call an “early adapter” to new technology, though, anyway. Not by a long shot. I don’t have a digital camera, my laptop isn’t wi-fi’ed, my cellphone doesn’t have Bluetooth, my iPod doesn’t show videos, my radio still has commercials, I don’t have NetFlix, I text approximately three words a minute, and I’m just now seeing Sex and the City for the first time, because I’ve never had HBO. Oh – and I don’t have TiVo either, or HDTV, and I’m embarrassed to say my screen is less than flat and almost certainly plasma-free. Although I’m not quite sure…Where do you check for plasma?
Just this weekend I made great strides into the 21st century: I finally got on MySpace. YES! Four full years after its popularity peaked, true, true, and just as increased media scrutiny threatens to shut it down – BUT I’M THERE!
I resisted it forever, you know, because basically I’m a grump, and really don’t like people that much. I don’t have time for the few friends I have now, so I certainly don’t need more. I figured it would just be more people complaining that I ignore them and don’t respond to their emails fast enough. (GROWL)
But I was finally forced into making my web presence known. It became a matter of pride. For a while now, I had been aware of “other” James St Jameses out there, on the site, who were apparently living “the fabulous life” online, pretending to be me, and reaping who-knows-what kind of exciting rewards for doing it. There were three or four of them AT LEAST (although, after further inspection, one proved to be just an iguana with a web page). They cut and paste old pictures and random quotes of mine, then fill the rest in with what they imagine to be my writing style. As if!
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not upset with them. AT ALL. Hell, I’ll pay them to be me. They can answer my email and deal with my mother and go to parties as me. In fact, we could get a whole fleet of St. Jamesiacs working – THEN maybe I can finish this damn book.
In fact, at first I thought it was mildly flattering, the same way that it’s slightly fabulous when people drop your name to get into a club, or when you discover you’re a running joke on somebody’s blog, or – OH! OH! – when someone always comments on YOUR blog using your name, constantly wreaking havoc with your friends and making you seem like an absolute loon. I mean: its kind of a tribute, no? It means people are thinking about you. You’re on the radar.
I figure if someone thinks they can get something off me, by using my picture or pretending to be me or piggybacking off my name, well, that’s fine with me. Have at it. And I hope being James St. James works better for you than it does me, YOU KNOW? Maybe you’ll get laid, (while I sit in bed eating chocolate PopTarts). Or get on the guest list to some fabulous parties (while I cruise Craigslist and eat another box of PopTarts.)
So anyway: I was just going to let those other James St. Jameses fight it out among themselves, let THEM struggle to be the most fabulous, you know, thereby making me more fabulous, right? And I can just kick back and get some much needed R&R. But then I noticed that the counterfeit James St. James who’s wearing the (counterfeit) Gaultier catsuit has 799 friends – can you imagine? And although I certainly don’t want 799 friends, I don’t know that it’s right that he has them, either. I scrolled through my “other” friend’s comment section and was touched at how earnestly happy most of them were to be there and that they had such nice things to say to “me” about me.
I started to feel guilty.
And then I started getting angry that this guy was DUPING them all into thinking he’s me! And what’s worse, these “friends” are undoubtedly getting a cut-rate impression of me, and probably saying to themselves “Well, he’s not that funny” or “Gee, he’s actually sort of annoying.” And you know, I don’t want them thinking less of me, just because this guy can’t get cut the funny. They shouldn’t have to suffer for choosing the wrong Jamesalike!
So as a matter of HONOR and PRINCIPLE, I had to join. Set everyone straight.
Now I’m on, yes – WHOOOOOO! – and now I invite everyone to come on down to my page and be my friend. WE’LL SHOW THOSE RHINESTONE CLUB KIDS WHO’S THE REAL DEAL! Although, let me warn you, my site is going to be pretty bare bones for a while. I can’t quite figure out all the bells and whistles. Yet. So there will be no Dancing Wilmers or moaning Fiona Apple songs when you open the page. And no video clips of me and my buds lipsynching to Kylie Minogue in our underwear. In fact, you’re lucky I filled in a few questions.
But I will try and check in every few days, and answer any mail. And I will have book updates, excerpts, appearances, news, and updates, as well as new pictures when I can. OH, and links to the latest St. James Versions.
AND LISTEN: SPREAD THE WORD – THOSE OTHER JAMESES ARE FRAUDS. IF YOU KNOW ANYBODY ON THOSE SIGHTS, SEND THEM TO ME.
– James St. James