apropos to nothing

Welcome to my secret blog.

It has become secret– or as secret as anything can be online –because of a person I don't know.

Imagine that, huh? A person who I have never met, whose face I could not pick out of crowd, whose opinion would normally be useless to me has caused me to lock down my blog.

It was Wednesday when I got the email to my work account. At first read it was fairly rational; this person had taken exception with my portrayal of Powell River in my blog. He did this by cutting-and-pasting things I had written onto the body of the email with his own little comments like: "I like how you generalize people here", and summarizing what I was saying into neat little points like, "…about the people", and "…things to do here."

He said if I didn't like it here, I should leave. Which is a fair, but clichéd argument, usually attributed to morons.

All in all he thought I was denigrating a great and wonderful town, and I was wrong about everything.

Here's where it get's a little less rational.

He said that he showed my blog to his peers and seniors. Seniors? That would involve finding seniors, calling up my blog and showing it to them. Maybe the Senior didn't know how to operate email. Did he help them get online so that he could illustrate how I didn't like the community as much as he does? Maybe the Senior couldn't see too well. Did he read it to them?

Let's call this guy "Kevin Allen", because that's actually his name. At least that's how he signed the email. . . I figure if I was the kind of guy who worked hard at pointlessly angering Seniors using someone else's steam I wouldn't want my actual name known.

Anyway.

Somehow or another Kevin found my blog – which is no mean feat, I have enough of a hard time getting people to find it when I want them to read it – and worked himself up into a righteous enough fury that he forwarded his email– with all the bits he'd stolen of my writing –to everyone he knew. And some people he didn't, like my GM.

As soon as I got the email from him I locked the blog down. But I guess not before the GM had read through it.

He asked, "So what's with the blog?"
I explained to him that I write to vent, and it's always meant to be in humour. I told him that I would stop writing it.
He said, "No, you shouldn't stop writing it, you're a good writer."
He said I should just be careful of what I say, and who can read it.

We are talking about a very reasonable man here.

This was not the reaction Kevin was hoping for. Kevin was trying to get me fired. That's why he chose only certain bits to bring to people's attention.

Kevin, apparently, is also trying to get me lynched. Word of what I had written (through Kevin's filter) had spread to the audience of a hockey game that same evening.

I don't know how he did it; whether he stood on a pulpit like a religious degenerate, or distributed pamphlets, or went from person to person to talk about me. Whatever he did, I was the topic of conversation at that game.

A game that was abruptly cancelled because Powell River had it's first of two power-outs. Luckily, I guess, the audience were able to occupy their time in the utter blackness by talking about me.

How do I know? because I got emails from people. One girl, named Jenny (who may have also been Kevin), sent a message which said basically, "I heard at the hockey game you said bad things about Powell River. Say it ain't so. And if it is so, why can't I read it?" I wrote back asking that she respects my privacy, and invited her to the studio to get her on-air saying why she loves Powell River. I offered her a hockey ticket to the next game if she showed up.

This, by the way, was something Kevin didn't do. He railed and ranted about my writing and failed to tell me what he likes about the place. Although, I suspect what he likes about the place has something to do with being somebody by blind-siding someone else.

When you swish the gravel at the bottom of an aquarium all its occupants notice.

Another email from someone had an entirely different angle. It said basically that they'd heard about me at the game and not to worry, because some people are tools.

It was a breath of fresh air. I've been around enough here to know that great people exist. Most of the people I meet are fantastic, even given my general cynicism towards people that are too nice.

This guy's email essentially said, it's hard being new, find an activity you like doing and do it. Chin Up!

It doesn't change the fact that he overheard stuff about me at the rallying point around which most Powell Riverites find themselves: a hockey game.

This is unnerving to me and probably doesn't help dissuade you folks from the perception that I've been painting of this place all along.

If Kevin's goal was to change what he believes is my perception of Powell River he is doing a really crap job of it. Because now all I can think is, a) many people here trust rumour to form an opinion of someone, b) many people take themselves too seriously, and b) many people here don't a have anything else better to do.

At least the people here who actually listened to what he had to say. Which at that point would be entirely word-of-mouth, because it became even more difficult to read my blog then than it was before.

You see, what Kevin did was take what I was generally commenting about the place he lives and using it to fuel a very personal attack.

Basically Kevin is in love with me.

Why else would he devote so much time to doing something so pathetic? The kind of frenzy he was trying to whip up is a labour of love, of passion, of freakishly obsessive behaviour. All directed at one person, me.

He is a throwback who can't accept someone else's opinion if it doesn't jibe with his own. He is the slap in the face to free speech. The fact that he was creeping around in my writing to try to find things he didn't like speaks volumes about his character. Volumes that don't go much beyond zero.

And "creeping" is the operative word.

I am reminded of Fox News which selectively edits real information so that it can give it enough gravitational spin that it attracts other like-minded sycophants who then commence tea-bagging each other.

Probably even now he is trying to figure out a way that he can read my blogs and expose me as the dastardly person I am. Truth is, if he tries hard enough he will find this and he will read this. And he probably still won't get it.

Nor would he understand that I say enough positive things about Powell River that I really mean on air, that my blogs become the counterweight that keeps me from turning into somebody like him.

He wouldn't know about that though, because he doesn't listen me on the radio. That was his parting shot, by the way, he and his friends are no longer going to listen to Sun FM. They are going to go to the competition.

Okay then Kevin.

But if you're half competent as my censorship committee you'll pay close attention to everything I do, not just write. My observations are broad and take many forms. The stuff in my camera, for example, would make you blubber with delight. And, of course, what I say on the air needs to be taken in account as well. Otherwise you're not doing your job.

Also, mate, there are people here who read it and really enjoy it. That means it's witch-hunt time. Although, I've locked those people out as well as a safety measure. But hey, a good old-fashioned witch-hunt doesn't need anything weighty like actual evidence does it? You should have no problems continuing to live out the stereotype I've created for you.

But, whatever.

I bet you the guy hasn't listened to radio since the advent of the iPod. He doesn't fit the demographic. And I don't think Goebbels' machine is still broadcasting.

Besides, to quote the great philosopher M. Jagger, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."


And that's why the blog is now locked.

I've devoted entirely too much time to this.



You may now return to your regularly scheduled propaganda.