My cousin Betsy and I:
Hey, I heard you have a blog.
Who told you that?
A little bird.
Ah. Well, I wouldn't call it a "blog" per se. It's more of a… It's…
I created a web site the summer after high school because I desired a forum wherein I could fuck around with impunity. I wanted to be able to crack boner jokes and call chicks "cunts" without teachers complaining to the administration about how I'm "vile" and "obscene."
That Jon planned on writing for the Daily Bruin, but the tumultuous end to his stint as an amateur columnist soured organizational journalism for him.
Eight years later, this Jon sometimes regrets that Jon's lack of foresight.
I've invested an absurd amount of time nurturing this site, and for what? I can't show Adam Riff to employers. Adam Riff offers no opportunities for advancement.
It's just a puerile, anarchic sandbox. But it's what I desired a blessing and a curse.
Can I see your blog? Or whatever you call it?
You wouldn't like it.
You know, I have a blog.
I'll show you mine if you show me yours.
My parents would probably react to Adam Riff by shaking their heads and shrugging.
Nevertheless, I'm hesitant to mix my public life with my personal one. My family and relatives don't need to see what the rest of the world can. Discussing Adam Riffage face to face with friends is awkward enough.
I am Hitler's child. He's a major part of my identity, but I avoid acknowledging him to people I know.