For some reason nowadays, when I type in my own name on a web-search, usually Google but Bing works too, the computer returns results that actually feature yours truly in images and words. I suppose the computer reflects back a kind of ratio of information to interest. In my thinking, people out there in internetland are looking me up and this is reflected in search results. It must be pretty highly attuned; for I can't imagine that many people are trying to find out who I am. I am currently pitching a book to agents, so maybe it's because of that. In any event, I'm far from famous. I don't particularly even want to be famous. I would just like a little compensation for my artistic efforts. You know, a little extra scratch to scratch my itch to travel. I want to see Ireland. I want to see Italy. I would like to visit my sister in Australia. I'm a Sagittarius. We're supposed to be world travelers. I'm also a couch potato. Virgos are the sign that seem to actually go out and do the traveling. But I digress.
Anyways, when I Google or Bing myself I always get mostly the same images. My webpage pictures, natch. Some pictures from local media of me acting my little heart out. But always--always--the portrait of a tombstone with my name on it and a birthdate very close to my own. September 5th, 1964 (huh, Virgo). This, luckily is not my own grave marker. It is the headstone of a man named Christopher F. Reidy who died in 2006. He was a writer from Connecticut. Strangely, he looks nothing like me; but is the spitting image of my older brother. This picture of my namesakes head-stone does not seem to be going anywhere. It's like picture number two. It's rather Dickensian. It keeps me humble. I beseech my higher powers to dispel the hoo-doo! Hoo-doo be gone. Okay, now I can publish this.
The other picture that keeps cropping up is of a man in an orange jumpsuit, who shares my name. Apparently he's in jail in Huntsville Alabama for arson. He says he accidentally set a bulletin board on fire in the lobby of his building while attempting to kill a roach. I do not judge. This man is a Facebook friend of mine, interestingly. I did an experiment a few years ago. I friend requested a bunch of guys who shared my name. I was curious to see who would respond and how, perhaps, similar our lives might be, based solely on having the same first and last name. Several of the Chris Reidys responded. The man from Alabama, it turned out, was a musician. A rock and roll star. And in looking at all the other Christopher Reidys (there were more than I would've thought) I did start to notice something of a family resemblance. And a definite artistic leaning. Many of the Chrises did not respond; so I suppose common sense runs on some side of the Christopher Reidy brain-pan. There is a writer named Christopher Reidy who writes for The Boston Globe and people would often ask me (knowing I had an interest in writing myself) if he and I were the same person. I was tempted on more than one occasion to say yes but I never did. That would've been a difficult to sustain ruse, to say the least. Not that I would've. I don't think anyone would want my reporting on business affairs. The late Mr. Reidy from Connecticut was a sports writer. Interesting; but I've yet to meet a Chris Reidy who is a mathematician. I'll believe that when I see it. Or rather, I won't.
A lot of the Christopher Reidys seem to be heterosexual, which frankly kind of surprised me. I mean, I shouldn't make assumptions; but I'm guessing the Christopher Reidy who lives in New York City and is the head of Bloomingdale's art department might be gay. He's too handsome not to be. Okay, that's crossing some politically incorrect line. You see, you can get into trouble when you gaze into your own mirror too long. But it's human nature, right? Surely we've all searched ourselves...digitally anyways.
Anyways, when I Google or Bing myself I always get mostly the same images. My webpage pictures, natch. Some pictures from local media of me acting my little heart out. But always--always--the portrait of a tombstone with my name on it and a birthdate very close to my own. September 5th, 1964 (huh, Virgo). This, luckily is not my own grave marker. It is the headstone of a man named Christopher F. Reidy who died in 2006. He was a writer from Connecticut. Strangely, he looks nothing like me; but is the spitting image of my older brother. This picture of my namesakes head-stone does not seem to be going anywhere. It's like picture number two. It's rather Dickensian. It keeps me humble. I beseech my higher powers to dispel the hoo-doo! Hoo-doo be gone. Okay, now I can publish this.
The other picture that keeps cropping up is of a man in an orange jumpsuit, who shares my name. Apparently he's in jail in Huntsville Alabama for arson. He says he accidentally set a bulletin board on fire in the lobby of his building while attempting to kill a roach. I do not judge. This man is a Facebook friend of mine, interestingly. I did an experiment a few years ago. I friend requested a bunch of guys who shared my name. I was curious to see who would respond and how, perhaps, similar our lives might be, based solely on having the same first and last name. Several of the Chris Reidys responded. The man from Alabama, it turned out, was a musician. A rock and roll star. And in looking at all the other Christopher Reidys (there were more than I would've thought) I did start to notice something of a family resemblance. And a definite artistic leaning. Many of the Chrises did not respond; so I suppose common sense runs on some side of the Christopher Reidy brain-pan. There is a writer named Christopher Reidy who writes for The Boston Globe and people would often ask me (knowing I had an interest in writing myself) if he and I were the same person. I was tempted on more than one occasion to say yes but I never did. That would've been a difficult to sustain ruse, to say the least. Not that I would've. I don't think anyone would want my reporting on business affairs. The late Mr. Reidy from Connecticut was a sports writer. Interesting; but I've yet to meet a Chris Reidy who is a mathematician. I'll believe that when I see it. Or rather, I won't.
A lot of the Christopher Reidys seem to be heterosexual, which frankly kind of surprised me. I mean, I shouldn't make assumptions; but I'm guessing the Christopher Reidy who lives in New York City and is the head of Bloomingdale's art department might be gay. He's too handsome not to be. Okay, that's crossing some politically incorrect line. You see, you can get into trouble when you gaze into your own mirror too long. But it's human nature, right? Surely we've all searched ourselves...digitally anyways.
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