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Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Now for the Last Time Aww, do I have to write about Plane Lane again? Yeah I guess so.
The reason I connected with this girl's writing, back in Sep 2002, was (1) she reminded me of myself at that age, and (2) the actual prose was wonderfully crafted. She came across as lonely, sensitive, caring, and eloquent in her written thoughts, if not in the actual living of her daily life.
And when I emailed her introducing myself, she emailed back. She encouraged my fledgling attempts at blogging.
I followed her life and pondered the personal growth she was experiencing, fully expecting that she would heal from life's wounds, find the right guy and pursue family life. Kinda like I did. I was dismayed at the life choices she made in her blog, commented occasionally, and once in awhile, emailed her with encouragement or exhortation. I suggested that she try to connect with her Christian faith and we traded a few emails on the subject.
Then came the lesbianism, and the lurid sexual details in the blog, and I quit the blog for a time, maybe two or three times, only to come back some weeks later and catch up on the archives. The subject matter grew increasingly vulgar, but it was clear the mind behind the writing was still the same Layne. So I continued to read and follow her story.
Then came the abrupt and infamous ending, about which I suppose I can point here, though there is much to be told about the it, contained in several blogs and comments to blogs.
The punch line is that there is no girl named Layne Johnson and there never was. The blog was written by a guy named Odin Soli, some lawyer type with a wife and two kids from Minnesota.
So yeah, naturally I feel stupid, and moreover hurt, that this Soli character maintained this false relationship with me, and also with many of the other readers of the Plain Layne blog, who apparently shared many more intimate personal details with Soli.
Now that Soli's hoax has been exposed, he assumes a lawyerly detachment and asserts that the entire "project" was "an exercise in interactive creative fiction," or some such phrase.
Now it just makes me angry. I wasted time and brain cycles pondering the life of this young girl, hoped for her, prayed for her. And in the end, I was only casting pearls before swine.
This thing lives on still. The San Jose Mercury News ran a story on it. I'm not going to bother with the links. In fact, I'm not going to bother with it much at all, any more. I was fooled but really, that's about it.
Friday, June 25, 2004
The Curtain Parts...The Plain Layne amusement and amazement train continues to roll along. Today we have none other than the author himself, coming forward and offering a glimpse into the "truth" about PL, and Acanit too. Check it out:
http://emitter.dreamhost.com
It reads like the truth. If it is true, then I can have sympathy for the guy. It feels just a little less like a deception, now, I suppose. Maybe the emails I sent "Layne," and the responses I received, were in good faith after all.
But then again, I was suckered by the Layne character for over a year. I know I am a trusting person and always give the benefit of the doubt. This time, I withold judgement on the validity of the latest turn of the saga.
But, oh my goodness. What a story this is.
My Grandfather Wore a Mustache, TooI bear an uncanny resemblance to my grandfather on my Dad's side. When you look at the old pictures, from when he was a little boy, and into adulthood, it is the spitting image of me. I've always found that remarkable, and just a little creepy.
And he wore a mustache too, like I do, but I didn't know that when I first grew one.
When I was 18, freshman year at Cal State Northridge, I had a girlfriend named Lisa. I knew Lisa from high school, where she was still a senior. We had been seeing each other since the summer after I graduated, when we discovered that we were working at the same place: Robinson's department store, in the "new" Santa Monica mall. The store hadn't opened yet but they were hiring. I was a cleanup boy and worked with a bunch of black guys, cleaning up the pre-opening debris. Picking up trash, basically. Lisa was hired as a sales clerk.
At some point, Lisa had done some babysitting for some three year old kid who, it turned out, had the chicken pox. Lisa never had chicken pox as a child, so she was susceptible to the disease. She told me about this in her parents' house, while we were sitting on her bed. It was the late afternoon, and her parents were still at work. She warned me that she might be contagious. I knew that I had never had chicken pox either, but I didn't care. I was 18 years old, and she was 17, and then we were on the floor (why the floor, when she had a huge bed? I don't know) and having sex. We had sex as often as possible back then. She was on the pill.
Three days later Lisa came down with chicken pox. Three days after that, Dogtownboy came down with chicken pox.
It was miserable. I had an acne problem previously, and it was finally clearing up, but this just brought it all back again. I had the sores all over my body, on my back and legs, on my scalp, and on my face. I couldn't shower for a day or two, and had a fever, etc. But also, with the sores on my face, I could not shave.
My beard was pretty scraggly back then. I grew it for about a week I guess, and when the sores had finally broken, scabbed over and fallen off, I shaved my face but left the mustache. And, with a few brief exceptions, I have had a mustache ever since.
Lisa and I were married four years after that. Two years after that, we were separated, and then divorced.
But I still had my mustache.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Link UpdateDropped a couple, and added the following:
Opinion Journal - Opinion pages from my beloved WSJ.
Belmont Club - The most indispensable writing on Iraq and the war.
Hugh Hewitt - Conservative and concise.
Rambling Rhodes - From the PL association. Fills the MN blogger niche nicely.
Strip mining for whimsy - Talented writer with no shortage of demons.
USS Clueless - Conservative and not concise.
Monday, June 21, 2004
One More Thing (Quick Rant)Before I disappear back into real life for a couple days, a note about voice recognition. Why, oh WHY have the airlines automated flight information systems gone to voice recognition? IT IS ONE GIANT PAIN IN THE ASS.
First, at home before I leave for the airport, I try to check the flight status, to learn if the flight is early or delayed. Well with two small kids running around, there is almost no place in the house I can talk, where there isn't a jabbering kid close by.
Computer voice: Say the flight number, or "I don't know."
Me: Flight 303.
Kid in background: wa wa ga ga stop it! Daddy!
Computer voice: Flight: Fifty-two thirty three. Is this correct?
Me: No.
Computer voice: Say the flight number, or...
Me: FLIGHT THREE ZERO THREE.
Kid in background: ...Daddy! look at me! I'm hun...
Computer voice: Flight: Thirty three oh three. Is this corr...
Me (heading to the bathroom): NO!
Computer voice: Say the flight number, or...
Me (closing, locking bathroom door): FLIGHT THREE ZERO THREE!
And so on. So, I think, well, maybe it's my fault for having all these loud kids running around. I mean, who can't control their kids for a three minute phone call?
But then when I get to the terminal, and want to check again, well, how quiet is the baggage claim area of an airport? There is no quiet place. I know, there are screens with flight information, but sometimes I want to check via phone also. Can anyone figure out why they got away from push button responses? Do people "feel better" talking to a computer instead of pressing buttons? At least, give me the option!
The Return of the Wife and Food PoisoningOkay, that was a cheap shot. But the two things did happen on the same day.
For decency reasons I will not describe the symptoms, but I now firmly suspect the bad, bad pizza. It had been sitting out for some time, and ... Let's just say, now I'm afraid to eat anything. I haven't eaten anything since lunch yesterday. I promise that when I do eat I will not report the results.
Picked up Wifey last night around seven. Joyful reunion. Then when we got home she compulsively cleaned the house. And grumbled about it. And later, apologized for it. Maybe that's a start, the apology. Today I am going to book our Hilton Head vacation travel, come hell or high water. That trip will be fun, for sure. So there's something to look forward to.
But first I'm going to pursue my company's big perk: free coffee and granola bars. I'm crossing my fingers on the result.
Sunday, June 20, 2004
Happy Father's DayWell, this is my fifth Father's Day when I've actually been a father, and it feels good. I have two beautiful children, a boy and a girl, and they are a delight. Finally the baby has turned a corner and has established some independence, so that she doesn't whine and cling so much any more. Everything changed for her when she started walking. She's as cute as a button and we love her to death. It's just a lot easier to love her when she isn't whining!
This weekend I'm playing single dad, since at the last minute we decided that Wifey would attend her Dad's surprise 70th birthday back in Ohio. How's that for a switch: for Father's day, Wifey gets a weekend away and Dad stays home with the kids! Just proves the adage: Every day is Mother's Day! And now I can add: including Father's Day.
Yesterday was great, we basically messed around with no agenda. I did a hard run in the morning on the treadmill, and then we were off to run some errands. Came home and did the yardwork while Baby napped. After dinner we walked to the park and ran around like idiots, and the fun would have continued except that I began to get tired and sore. And started to get a stomach ache. I think the pizza I had for dinner was bad, and it was a real bummer. I had rented Return of the King and had looked forward to watching it with come coffee and Bailey's after the kids went down. But with my stomach messed up I just laid in bed and got through about half of it. UGH!
I had fevered dreams about Evil. There was a structure to it. It starts with the smallest thing. You know that thing is evil, but it is so small that, well, who cares anyway! But once the evil is committed, it is inherently impossible from escalating to greater evil. And it is the growth of thet Evil that darkens the world.
Wow, where did that come from? See what a fever will do. Even now I have flu symptoms, but not enough to knock me down. Pretty soon my parents and two sisters will come over for a big lunch. All I really want to do is sleep, unfortunately. But it will be fun.
Wifey and I have been struggling, there is no question about it. Our marriage relationship is in a trough. Happily, we both recognize it and also know that we need to spend more time together (without the kids). So we are going to get back to Date Night and are going to plan a vacation in Canada. We both know that our marriage is the most important thing in the family. Without that, the entire family life comes apart. Now I just hope we can get it back to where we want to be.
Thursday, June 17, 2004
The Plain Layne Fascination MachineIt's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon...
Oh there's a lot of mundane life stuff to talk about. Wifey's brother's family was in town last weekend. Went out drinking and caught a cold. Been fighting with Wifey, whose brain is definately shrinking, I'm now almost sure of it. Bought some new clothes. Rather, Wifey went and bought some new clothes for me, for Father's day. Seeing as I hadn't updated my wardrobe (I have a wardrobe?) in a few YEARS, it was warranted. I think she's sick of seeing me in the same ugly stuff day after day. I admit, I was tired of wearing it.
But WHO CARES? Plain Layne is MISSING! And, it turns out, SHE WAS A HO! I mean, HOAX!
The entire Plain Layne saga has saturated my brain for the past 72+ hours. This "girl" was my original inspiration for blogging, back in the summer of 2002. I found "her" blog and it was well designed, funny, and dealt with heart aching themes, abandonment, etc. It was from a girl's perspective, of course, but it resonated with me on many levels. And the writing style was wonderful. The use of language, the "rythym" of the writing was darn near perfect. And it didn't hurt that, from the pictures on the site, "Layne" appeared to be a slender, pretty brown haired girl in her mid 20s. What's that line from Risky Business? "... what every white boy on the Lake wants." That's pretty much it.
Well I started my own blog, the oft-neglected, under-realized Dogtown Journal, and over the years traded a few emails with "Layne," (which, for some reason, I saved) in which "she" was always sweet and nice. "She" "envied" my family life, and the stability it implied, in contrast to her lonely single life. Then the life in her blog became more complicated, crazy stuff started to happen, compounded by still more drama, and at times I just quit reading, partly because I didn't like the person "she" was becoming, and partly just to get away from all the drama. But I always came back eventually, and enjoyed "her" writing still, and also the lively Comments section, in which "her" readers discussed "her" life and her decisions, and "she" would continue the conversation in the Comments as well.
A few months ago, a crusty wannabe tough guy pseudonamed "Joshua" came along, and began commenting, and then floated the idea that "Layne" was not real. A creative writing project of some sort, perhaps. The idea clicked with a lot of PL readers, including me, and it inspiried some research into "Layne's" authenticity, and the whole thing began to unravel very quickly. There was a loose connection with another notorious online diarist, "Acanit," which thickened the plot considerably. As it stands now, we have one (fairly reputable) post as follows:
* * *
Good News, Bad News 6/17/2004 1:46 AM
First, my bona-fides; I live in the Twin Cities, am a blogger, and worked briefly at one or more of the companies involved in this saga. I've posted on a couple of threads - mine and Ryan R's, I think - that I had a strong hunch who "Layne" is.
The "Good" news is, I'm up to 99% sure. The "suspect" I have in mind is:
* Male (might have accomplices)
* an accomplished but frustrated writer
* was connected with one or more of the companies involved (kudos to, I think, Greg for doing the digging)
* deep background in Latin America, especially small mexican towns
* self-taught DBA
* was connected with the Blogplus domain.
* ample experience with big, sclerotic corporations (has worked at two companies very similar to Minicorp
* Prefers Volkswagen products.
* Had at least one crushingly difficult startup experience
* Is a runner
* Has the work ethic of a sled dog.
* Knows Woodbury.
The bad news? After thinking about this for a couple of days, I can not reveal who this person is. I think it would cause a lot of problems.
However, the "is Layne real" question is, for me, definitely answered. No.
If the question is "why"? Well, I haven't asked the person yet. I don't know that I ever will. Knowing him (and I do - and he had me just as fooled as the rest of you, until this past week or so), I suspect the answer is "because he could". If I have the right person (and I'm to the point that I'd bet on it), he's a talented writer without much time to devote to anything but a blog.
* * *
There is much more that I am feeling now, than I can write here now. The "Layne" character connected with me, and with so many others, that it feels like an incredible deceit to know that it was all a fake. And it was a guy writing? Well, my reaction to that is, I'd really like to kick his ass. I don't know why, but I do. It wouldn't solve anything. Oh wait, maybe it would.
But after I beat the guy up, I would congratulate him for his wonderful writing style, and encourage him (as I did to "Layne" numerous times) to pursue a writing career. It just can't be that hard to become a freelance writer with that amount of talent. I read a fair amount of magazine literature, and I know what's out there. But maybe this guy is too much of a geek to make that kind of career fly. That would be a shame.
The Acanit angle is also intriguing. This was a blogger/diarist whose story was more worldly, maybe more compelling, than Plain Layne. "She" also had a large following and then went Poof! right around the time that Plain Layne started up (Sep 2001). People now suspect Acanit was a fraud. More recently (like, now) apparent connections between PL and Acanit have surfaced. I have seen cached pages from Acanit's journal, and the writing style is eerily similar. This Acanit angle somehow adds a sinister angle to the entire saga, and I'm not sure why. It's is just so intriguing.
Well for reference, here are some links to the discussion.
Long comment thread at Joshua's blog:
http://www.noematic.org/mine/archives/011459.html
The controversy has surfaced on Metafilter:
http://www.metafilter.com/mefi/33721
Thoughtful post on David Grenier:
http://www.davidgrenier.com/000205.html
Oh, that's enough for now.
OK just one more:
http://www.kottke.org/04/06/plain-layne
Monday, June 07, 2004
I Remember Ronald Reagan'Twas a spendid weekend. Wifey and I had had enough of partying, dinners out, and Things To Do in general. This weekend, we just stayed home with the kids and hung out, as we say, and did little or nothing. Went jogging Saturday morning and I pushed the kids in the jogger - 60+ pounds of kid plus the weight of the thing. It's been awhile since I did that and it worked me. But it was good.
Got home and did the yard, the full deal: trimming plus lawn. With the kids running around, it takes a few hours to get it all done. Tim went off with Wifey for a private swim lesson at our friend's house. Baby and I did the lawn until she needed to nap, then I put her down. I needed a nap too, but I had a lawn to mow. Got all that done but then my weed wacker wouldn't start. Just. Wouldn't. Start. This was maddening, since I did all the work, but if you don't edge the lawn, then to me it looks like crap, looks undone. Wifey and Tim came home with a glowing report: Tim went under, held his breath, even jumped in the pool! Why didn't he do that for me? Apparently the swim teacher is a gruff old guy. Maybe I should try being more gruff.
Ran off to the hardware store and replaced the spark plug. Still the weed wacker wouldn't wake up. I resigned myself to shaggy edges and retired.
Put some salmon steaks on the grill, done to perfection. Had a nice dinner and went out: Target! I wanted to relive some of my childhood and make Tim and me a purple cow. That's vanilla ice cream and grape juice, blended. My Dad and I used to do that. But we have no blender! Burned it out months ago making margaritas. So we went to Target and got a new blender, swung by the video store, came home and had our purple cow. Not bad, not bad at all. Next time we'll do root beer floats, another favorite of Dogtownboy and his Dad.
The kids went to bed and we watched "Cheaper by the Dozen," unwittingly a movie about a family of 12 kids. I didn't really know what it was about, but I like Steve Martin, and it was cute in a Disney sort of way. Hey, for Saturday Night Out we went to target - we have or own Disney life.
Sunday we went to church and out to brunch, then home for another quiet day. We're cycling through our infamous June Gloom: morning clouds and fog, then glorious afternoon sunshine. What could be better? Well, nothing, really. Except: Wifey is cranky again. No reason why. I think her brain is shrinking. But I only have anecdotal evidence. To make matters worse, the Lakers lost. Boo!
In the early 80s I was a tender white boy, enrolled at Cal State Northridge, emerging from three hard years as a hard core stoner. I was too young to vote in 1980, but I liked Ronald Reagan as president. I already had quite naturally gravitated to conservative political principals (limited government, strong defense, low taxes) and Reagan was their champion. And as the 80s unfolded, and I went through college, through my first marriage (I now consider it a childhood marriage) and soul crushing divorce, Reagan was always there, a constant presence. I remember fondly his State of the Union speeches. They were literally uplifting to my spirit. The man made you feel good about America, and by extension, your place in it; your future, and the country's future, and the world's future. All of the haze of the 60s and 70s was evaporating like so much 20th century June Gloom. America is a good place. Why is it bad for the country to be strong? To be right? It isn't. Jeane Kirkpatrick's "Blame America First" speech at the '84 convention was perfect.
Ronald Reagan was a great president. And he came from California, my own great state. Where is his ranch - Rancho del Cielo, is that the name? Somewhere north of Santa Barbara. I know that country. I've cycled a couple thousand miles through those hills and over those mountains. It's good wine country too. What could be better? They said Reagen liked living up on his ranch, mending fences, clearing brush. That's a good thing. As long as your weed wacker holds out!
Ronald Reagan, may you rest in peace.
Friday, June 04, 2004
What a Thrilling WeekActually, not. But we did have a fun Memorial Day weekend. Midsize party at our house on Saturday. I went out and replaced my crappy, 15-year old BBQ with a shiny new Weber. It's bee-yoo-tee-ful, I tell ya. I cooked up a ton of burgers, chicken, and hot dogs and everyone ate well. We rented one of those big bouncer things and the kids went wild. Perfect, sunny, warm and mild.
And it came complete with the requisite Bizarre Incident. One of our friends, who are Latinos (S. American) have three young kids. Clara's (the mom) mother lives with them too. But this Grandma, who I now refer to as "La Bruja," has always struck us as strange. She comes to our little parties, but never talks to anyone, never smiles, but just sits there with her dark eyes. Well, just like some kind of witch, as we came to call her. So as the day unfolded, I was playing Mr. Host, cooking and circulating, and it came close to Game Time - the time when the Lakers would dispatch the T-wolves. Of course, several of the men wanted to watch the game, which meant disappearing for a large swath of time in the middle of the party. So I started making sure the wives had plenty of wine, and were feeling fine, and wouldn't notice or care that the men had left them outside with the kids.
So I'm pouring wine for the women, and suddenly La Bruja appears, wanting wine, and I apologize as profusely as I can in Spanglish, since this woman refuses to learn English, for not including her. But she is fine, saying don't worry about it, and I pour her a glass. And thereafter, as I am plying the women with more wine, I include her. Whatever. I just want to watch the game.
Well the game comes and goes, and the sun goes down and I fire up the heat lamp, and the girls are sitting in the patio under the lamp, and the kids are still in banshee mode. And La Bruja is now the most animated woman at the party, laughing, leaning in and talking to the other women, on her knees, doing bizarre stuff with her hands (some kind of nervous tick) and talking crazy. And she is spilling wine everywhere, all over Wifey, and she says to her: "I never like you before, but now I love you, and your house...!" and such. And everyone is looking around and trying not to laugh, but it gets worse. "But I don't like your friends! Too white! (Gringa.)" And she points to Christy and Steve, two of our friends, and we can no longer contain ourselves and howl with laughter. Clara is mortified, of course. Antonio arrives late, and when he does, La Bruja is all over him, fawning and caressing, and the mortification expands to include Antonio. Eventually they load the kids and La Bruja into the car and get out of there.
And of course we all chatter about The Scene, but I feel kind of bad about it. Clara made a point to blame me, half-heartedly, but still. I did pour the bulk of the wine. But I never expected that. However, it is always true, when a body gets really really drunk, you never know what is going to come out. Was it uninhibited truth? Or some deranged fantasy? It's hard to tell sometimes.
I only remember what my (Greek) grandmother said one time, to my father, who loves wine. "When the Devil can't come," she warned, "he sends Wine as his messenger."
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