For the record...
I wasn't running around performing for strangers as I groped for validation in "abused child fashion" (whatever that is). I tend to be reserved, a watcher in situations like that. I talked to the people who talked to me, that was pretty much it. I'm just not that zany.
I've never said it was MY booth. In fact, I've made a point of always referring to it as The Booth.
Andria was a coattailer. And so was I. But at least I had the decency to acknowledge it.
And for Cliff...
I didn't "write smack about the booth." I wrote smack about you and your pals. Pay attention.
Cliffie closed his adorable little letter by telling us what The Booth means to him: "people fighting boredom by being bored in a new place.'
Now there's a lofty goal. Drive miles and hours into the desert to be bored. And then return frequently to do it again and again. My God, what an empty life that must be. Sort of supports my original assessment that they could have had the exact same experience at home.
For all his bluster about what boobs the people calling The Booth are, Cliffie might do well to remember that the boobs are asking the exact same questions his pal Godfrey himself asked when he first called it. Which, of course, makes Godfrey a boob. And Cliff a boob for following him out there. Repeatedly.
One final observation... Cliff and Co. think the people calling are idiots and are annoyed by the ringing of the phone. I wonder what else they expect when they're driving to a phone booth and announcing their arrivals there on Godfrey's website, where they also provide the phone number. Perhaps one day the cause and effect nature of that will occur to them. Or not.
And finally, a final, final observation: They're Burning Man folk. 'Nuff said.
readers of these pages may remember my battles with Elly and her dread
forces of NARC, so you know there are few things I love more than a
good flamewar. Imagine my joy at finding the fresh meat below delivered
right to my doorstep. I know flamewars are inherently interesting only
to the people involved, but I love 'em, so...
Longtime readers of these pages may remember my battles with Elly and her dread forces of NARC, so you know there are few things I love more than a good flamewar. Imagine my joy at finding the fresh meat below delivered right to my doorstep. I know flamewars are inherently interesting only to the people involved, but I love 'em, so...
Let the flamewars begin!
I finally got my first piece of hate mail stemming from my post-Booth write-up last week. I'd been expecting to hear from Godfrey & Co., but I didn't think it would take them this long. Maybe they spent the extra time looking up big words in the dictionary to make sure they used them correctly.
Dr. Cliff fired the first salvo. From what I've gleaned from his website, he's a man in search of an identity -- "mechanic, child prodigy, nihilistic misanthrope, graphic artist, angry punk, molecular biologist, skirt-chasing drunk, fiberglass fabricator, pontificating jackass" -- who has apparently never finished anything he's started and who's now not finishing dental school. (That dental school thing is why he's "Dr.", by the way, not because of any wannabe Hunter S. Thompson affectations -- just ignore the recurring alcohol/drugs theme, his fascination with firearms, and his predilection for taking his "attorney" along on his adventures. Those are simply unfortunate parallels. Don't be fooled by them.)
The good Doctor was kind enough to forward to me a screed he sent to "a couple hundred subscribers to my gallstone mailing list" in which he obviously spent a great deal of time writing the chronicle of ... well, me. He also put up some web pages about his latest Booth experience, in which I again figure prominently. Since he sent the screed to "hundreds" of people, it doesn't fall under the heading of private mail and so I feel free to share it with you here:
Dateline- Mojave Desert. The Phone Booth.
My, my, my! Such venom. Such anger. Such... length. And web pages, too! I must have really struck a nerve. I'm flattered by his effort and admire his deliberate inattention to the truth, but I think young Clifford is tilting at the wrong windmill. If my account of meeting them at The Booth hurt him so badly, he might be better served by examining why it hurt. Dentician, heal thyself and all that.
He'd obviously spent a lot of time and gone to a lot of effort and was so proud of himself that he wanted to share his work with me, so I couldn't just ignore him. That would have been unkind; he clearly needed a response. I just couldn't hurt him twice, so I wrote back.
My first impulse was to correct, point by point, his complete misrepresentation of my activities there, but I didn't want to expend that much effort. Then I considered sarcasm, but opted against that because he'd be expecting it. I finally settled on being a reed: I bent before the wind. Prankishly.
Hey, thanks for sharing that, Cliff. That was tres cool, both your mailing and your website!
I really have to apologize for the whole Booth thing. Looking back on it and reading your take, I think you're right: I really didn't get it. I guess I had the wrong attitude, the wrong mindset. I'll know better next time, eh? Are you going to go again?
And about the "Back to the Booth" on my truck... Man, I don't know *what* I was thinking! I'm such an asshole! You guys must have thought I was a total tool! I'm embarrassed for myself!
for the laughs, chuck. next time we need party
Really? That would be cool, but no reporters, okay? Hey, if you're in Santa Monica and I'm in the Valley, we live pretty close to each other. Maybe we could hang out sometime!
I especially like that last bit: "Maybe we could hang out sometime!" I think I really captured the flavor of clueless adolescent puppydog eagerness there.
I'd love to have been there when he read it. He's probably scratched a bald spot into his head by now... "Is he for real or is he fucking with me? Is he for real or is he fucking with me?..." Even after reading this -- and you know he will -- he probably isn't sure.
I haven't heard back from him yet but I have hopes. The Beast is still hungry, it needs more meat.