BMJ
I am temporarily, until I see fit, changing my name to BMJ. Please allow your insatiable curiosity as to why carry you through the rest of this blog entry on the wings of itchy wonder.
In the last ONE (1) week, I have received THREE (3) requests for a password to my old blog. Michael Jackson has sold more than 110 million copies of Thriller. Three (3) people want to read my archives from before August. This provides me with enough justification to declare myself Blog Michael Jackson.
What some nosy people have already discovered is that there's a little tab on the upper right of this blog labeled "WIND". This tab magically transports you, as if by time machine or a journey through a trippy wardrobe, to all the old WIYV stuff. Just letting you know. In case you're number four (4).
Forever Your...
Blog Michael Jackson (BMJ)
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Reader Comments (18)
Why would anyone care about the archives or stories from the past anyway? I say live in the present, man! Or the future.
I don't know, Neil. The past is always present or some Faulknery thing like that. Do you delete all your archives? Why not?
No, being tongue in cheek because so few people ever read the archives, as if it is over and done with -- I keep all my archives. Well, to be honest, I have cheated and deleted a few, mostly because they were lame parody posts about a TV show that went off the air four years ago. Others treat their archives more as sacred territory than I do. If I had more time, I would love to even go back and rewrite some, because I feel like a blew a decent personal story or two by telling it poorly in 2006.
So the stars have all aligned and some weird magical stuff is happening. I happened upon your WindVaginal site months ago...bookmarked it (I don't know how the subscribing stuff works...I'm a newbie). Introduced to Black Hockey Jesus and then you disappeared. Found you again recently. For the past few days I've read all of your Wind posts, from beginning to end. At one point I thought you were James Frey in "real life", what with the Michigan references, druggie past, writing a book, "the stuff I write isn't real...or is it?". Kept reading. Just finished the Wind archives tonite and realize a crossed path with you, or a tangled thread, or a karmic something. I worked with your aunt when I worked at Orchard View...I feel like a stalker, but like I said, the stars aligned. What is it about the blogosphere that makes the world flat? Not just shrunken, but straight-line flat? How can I happen upon a blog, become fascinated with the truthiness of your writing (your word. love your words. Love the feeling "knifey". You're making your own dictionary and reality at the same time!). Also felt a kinship when you got pissed off that people have the audacity to call you on the phone, or knock on your door. I don't answer my phone. I might be even more irritable than you about people thinking I should jump up just because they feel the need to dial my number. I'm thinking of getting rid of the thing...Pavlov be damned. I do not have to jump when you ring!
Anyways, I now live in Holland, work in GH, and get a weird "wonky" feeling when I read your posts that talk about Muskegon, or Fruitport, or Pontaluna Rd., or even the big mall that was built in the blueberry fields. You escaped this area, live where it's warm and must not ever snow (you suck, by the way) and construct things with words. So foreign to me. Words are not my thing. I can install a ceiling fan without looking at the directions. If I had to write to save my life, well, goodbye. Nice knowing ya. I'm more MacGyver than , well, any "MacAuthor". (know of a good ending for that one other than MacAuthor? You would. You're the writer!).
I've love reading your blog, and I'm now enjoying following your tweets. Again, a universe I don't quite get. I follow but don't know how to interact in that universe. It's been fascinating getting to know you, BHJ. And maybe glimpsing the man behind the curtain. You rock!
Whoa, that was weird. So you read about Adam, which indicated my Aunt Juile and Orchard View. You're so close to murdering me, if you were a serial killer. You're not a serial killer, are you? I saw all the Holland in my stats and wondered about it. Crazy.
You wanna know a weirder one? There was this girl Amber who I crushed on in middle school. I sat behind her in math and tried to draw her neck and hair. I was smitten. And then she moved. I twisted this experience into the book I'm writing.
So then I write a blog post about a friend of mine getting killed in middle school, get an email from this woman who said "I WENT TO THAT MIDDLE SCHOOL AND MOVED! I WENT TO MIDDLE SCHOOL WITH YOU!"
It was Amber. She didn't remember me, which totally sucks, but I remember her neck and hair. The internet is spooky.
There's also someone from Sacramento, reading the whole blog in tandem with you. I'm thinking it's either Randy Pope or Randy Potratz.
I think you having access to the info that I'm from Holland (disregarding that I told you that myself) might mean
you are the serial killer. But I'm not worried. Everyone
knows that all serial killers live in New Orleans. What would be weirder:
when I was in HS in Battle Creek a cheer team from Fruitport came
to BC for a competition or something and I had a Cindy from Fruitport
stay the night with me. Please tell me your mom isn't an ex-cheerleader
named Cindy Something.
Sorry...not Mojo. I've lost my mojo and only have my lojo left.
I've had my heart torn out of my chest by many a Fruitport cheerleader, but I don't know any Cindys. My Mom? What are you like 90?
It's like eavesdropping electronically.
Ok...perhaps I didn't do the math. I told you I feel like a stalker and somehow doing the math feels more stalkerish. I guess I'm about 10 years older than you. I only feel 90 some days. I'm in my own personal crisis trying to figure out how I could have a daughter that is 23 because I"M NOT THAT OLD! Then I turn around and have to use the handrail to climb the stairs because the lunges I did two days ago have given me a case of "lunge legs". Sorry...again, my own personal crisis.
Oh. Cool.
Black Monkey Jesus.
Or even, Black Manky Jesus.
But you have to be Irish to see the mild humour in that.
"Everyone knows that all serial killers are from New Orleans."
Man. I wish I wrote that.
When I notice someone tearing through my archives, I wonder if they are sitting outside my living room window (unlikely in the ten degrees CT has enjoyed lately), stealing my wireless and preparing to dissect me.
Oh BMJ, you're such a PYT... Bless you my child.
You could also be the Black Michael Jackson. You'd still be unique. Or the Breathing Michael Jackson. No claims on that one.
I once read all of your archives. I was home with food poisoning at the time.
I'm so glad I clicked through to read the comments. This is oddly fascinating.
I miss reading you (and everyone else), but I'll catch up soon. Google Reader has helpfully saved almost 1000 posts just waiting for me to be overwhelmed by feeling obligated to read!
Thank you! I'm number 4. And feeling a mite stalkerish now after your earlier exchanges with ... um... those other guys whose names I'm too lazy to scroll up & see.
Found you via Aqufit link to your MamaPop Biggest Loser Challenge. Thought "this guy would be an awesome workout partner." I'll just laugh so hard the pounds fall off. Subscribed to MamaPop. Noticed it was a group of writers, some of whom I recognized. Googled BHJ... found Fluentself post. Clicked links, but was told I needed permission to view. What a tease! Nearly sent an "I'm nice! You'd like me!" e-mail, but luckily avoided perjuring myself by finding this blog first. So now I"m traveling over to Wind to find out the beautiful story behind your BHJ name that FluentSelf promised. Because that's why I'm cyber-stalking you: FluentSelf promised a rabid fan-inducing experience, and that kind of addiction is too good to pass up.
Thanks again for a wonderful evening.