Fame

Years ago, I carried a camera almost everywhere, snapping pictures of sights and people. I had one friend, Bev, who -- whenever the camera came up to my eyes -- would shy away. She'd feign she didn't want her picture taken. "Don't take my picture," she'd say.

As soon as the shuttered snapped, she'd scream, "Can I have a copy?"

We all want to be immortalized. We all crave a moment of some fame. What's the saying? There's only one thing worse than being talked about: not being talked about.

Am I excited more than eleven thousand people have stumbled onto this blog and at least read a bit? Damn right I am.

I was going through my papers from this past week, and I found a piece of notebook paper from the other night at the casino. I'd written Anastasia's name at the top so I could remember her name. Next to her name -- the handwriting rounder than my own -- it says, "Write about me!"

Even the anonymous want to be talked about...