As I revealed yesterday, I had started to gather up photos of many of you. I am still searching for those missing from the list. A few of you don’t have Flickr accounts, so I’ll just have to imagine what you look like, unless I figure out another way to steal your photo. I didn’t hear any complaints about this little project of mine, so I am proceeding with it. Tonight, I added a few more faces to this prestigious collection of blogger mugs shots.
I just made a Flickr slideshow of all the faces. How cool. All these bloggers, passing before me, one after another, right on my monitor. These are the smiles and eyes of individuals who I know mostly through words.
But do I know the real you? If I didn’t have these photographs, I would walk right past you on the street. You might seem familiar for a second, but I wouldn’t assume that I knew you from blogging. I would more likely think that I remember you from an episode of “All My Children” last year, where I would wrongly peg you as the actor playing Erica Kane’s new cook.
Perhaps it is better that I don’t know the “real” you. This gives me the freedom to write whatever I want on this blog. I never have to see your reaction to anything I say. I don’t have to see you rolling your eyes in dismay or shaking your head in disappointment.
All these faces. Men and women with families, with significant others. People at work. At home. At school. At conferences. Dressed up. Dressed down. In New York. In Canada. In Arizona. You are actually REAL PEOPLE.
Oh my God, and I sit here sometimes writing about things like… my penis. You are REAL PEOPLE reading this. You are sitting in your living room, reading this!
This photo idea was a bad one. It is better not to know that you are real. Writing is easier when you are figments of my imagination, a loyal gathering of glamorous sex goddesses who sit by their laptops, wearing the latest in French lingerie, caressing their bodies as they read my latest post. That’s who I see as my demographic. Not real people.