I'm An Influencer!

"What are you working on?" said the woman sitting next to me at the window counter. It was Claudia, one of the regulars at Egret Café.

"My blog," I said.

"You've got a blog?"

"Sure, everyone's got a blog."

"I don't," she said. 

"Well, you should start one,” I said, “and get a cat if you don't have one. Cats make blogging easier--they make everything easier. Come to think of it," I said, "you should get two cats. You need a makeover anyway."

A concerned wrinkle furrowed her brow. She looked down at her shoes. She shot her sleeves. She smoothed the front of her jeans. Then she stroked her hair and glanced about the room.

I immediately realized I’d blundered in my choice of words. I didn't want to be rude. After all, she’s a regular here, like me, which makes us practically members of the same social club.

"I meant to say do-over, not makeover. You would benefit from a change in your life,” I said. “That's why I recommend two cats."

I thought that would smooth things over, but the atmosphere remained strained, calling for a change of subject.

"I have a blog," I said, “and it has changed my life in so many ways. In fact, I'm thinking of becoming an influencer. Many bloggers are, you know."

"How do you become an influencer?" she asked after finally settling in at the window.

"I don't know," I said, "but there are people on YouTube explaining how to do all sorts of things. And if anyone can influence the hell out of stuff, it's me. I'm a natural influencer."

"No doubt," she said but her words didn't have zing.

"Can I help you," said a voice from behind me.

"Maybe," I said.

"I was talking to her," said Bijou, the master barista and the artist who painted the Caffe's murals. She's a true artist, which you can confirm from the image attached to this post.

Claudia took Bijou's appearance to shake her head and walk away into the throng of customers. A lost gazelle, I thought.

"What's your blog about," asked Bijou.

"My daily life," I said. "My blog is about my daily life," I repeated the daily life part in case she'd forgotten what we were talking about or had misunderstood my meaning the first time I said it.

"Oh, like a memoir?" she said. Damn! I thought. I was so careful to be understood and still missed the mark.

"Not a memoir," I said. "I write about my everyday life; the people I meet, the conversations we have--stuff like that."

"No way!" she said. "You can write a blog about everyday stuff? That's like Seinfeld! A blog about nothing."

Nothing? I thought. Really! Does she think my life amounts to nothing? I'll have to check with Kierkegaard and Nietzsche to see what they say. Better yet, I'll defer to Sabine Hossenfelder--she wrote a book about existential physics.

"I write about the barely tolerable loonies I meet," I said. "I exaggerate the absurdities in my social interactions to make them funny." My unspoken words were, I’ll make her think nothing!

Her ears perked up at hearing some of the nitty-gritty of The Circular Journey, and I began to warm up to the subject even more.

"For example," I said. "The general public strikes me as those who have bust-ups with their families and run away to places like California or New York to recover. Human beings can be so disappointing." 

"Disappointing, for sure," she said, "but I guess that's why God made hair extensions and purple hair dye--sometimes the only option is to compensate."

"But no matter the extent or degree of the nonsense," I said. "I always close each post by distributing happy endings all around. Always spread goodness and light, is my motto.”

"Dope!" she said, and I would have been offended if not for the upbeat way she said it.

"I want to write a blog," she announced, and her words instantly lifted my mood to one of silly joy. 

"What's your blog called?" she said. "I want to read it to see how you do it."

And just like that, I became an influencer. I never thought it could be so easy. It's another example of what I always say, “In the course of life, you just never know!"

Life Keeps Bringing Me Back

"Lupe, do you think that Animal Control always uses humane methods to solve a critter problem? Do you think they relocate the animals and do you think that if the miscreants are cats and dogs and such, do you think they try to find homes for them?"

I probably should have said Good morning or How are you when I entered Circular Journey Cafe, but I'd been thinking about animal control all the way from Leland, and with the Memorial Bridge closed, the trip had taken much longer than usual.

"Hold on," she said. "Take a deep breath, please. What's this all about anyway? Do you have an animal problem?"

"You don't know how happy I am to hear you say the word,  'anyway', instead of 'anyways'. Do you realize that almost everyone says 'anyways' today? I know it's becoming socially acceptable, but it's considered incorrect by dictionaries. And what other trusted authoritative source do we have?"

"Genome!" she said. "Get a grip; chillax, or whatever it is your generation uses. You're hypomanic, and I'm not going to have this conversation with you unless you calm down. Now, don't say anything for a few seconds and ask Amy to close her eyes and think of alpine meadows."

If you're not familiar with Princess Amy, then where have you been for the last 12 years? I don't have time to go into it now, but you can always find her by using the search feature at the top of this blog page.

Now, let's get back to the story...

I stopped talking for a moment. I took a breath. I suggested to Amy that she think of alpine meadows full of flowers, and I may have used the term, blanketed with flowers. I'm not sure why, unless I've heard that term somewhere before.

We writers do like to be original, but we recognize that we are nothing without those who came before us. Our minds it seems, move along grooves laid down long ago by those who continue to inspire us. You might say that we find them groovy.

At any rate, I followed Lupe's suggestion and had a talk with Amy. Bite me! " she said. Amy said those words, not Lupe. Lupe would never. At least I think she wouldn't. It was Amy who was so rude, and I thought it was most rude considering how close we've become lately. 

Opening my eyes, having returned from my meditative encounter with the little tyrant, I found that I still had the floor and so continued with my rant. Would you call it a rant? Seems a bit harsh but perhaps it's on point.

"Using the wrong word or phrase is becoming universally accepted," I said. "I seldom hear anyone use the word 'fewer', even in advertising copy. In fact, I've heard TV advertising talking about 'less' friends, 'less' interruptions, and 'less' annoying interruptions.

As far as that last bit is concerned, I'd think less annoying interruptions would be preferred over the opposite."

"People often get confused," said Claudia, "about whether the term you and I should be used or if the correct term is you and me. It depends on the context, of course, but you knew that, didn't you?"

Did I mention that Claudia was among those accounted for? Well, she was, and I was beginning to feel that this young woman had the right stuff. She seemed to understand exactly where I was going with my observations.

"Claudia," said Lupe, "don't encourage him. This all started with a question about animal control, remember?"

"That's right," I said, "animal control. Like when you have squirrels in the attic or raccoons in the basement."

"Squirrels in the attic?" said Lupe. "Is your problem squirrels in the attic, or bats in the belfry? Do you need animal control or is it Princess Amy control that you need?"

I sighed and gave the whole affair a moment of reflection. Not too unlike the meditative moment I mentioned above but without engaging Amy.

"Right," I said. "Thank you, Lupe. I misjudged you. I apologize."

"You know I'm always here for you, she said.

"Me too," said Claudia.

"And I'm eternally grateful," I said. And after another moment of reflection, I said, 

"Life keeps bringing me back to you, no matter what I do. It seems to have a mind of its own."

Running On Empty

As I drove into the Soda Pop District this morning, the murals on the sides of buildings gave me no joy. At such an early hour, the traffic was light, and the streets were quiet, but all was confusion in my head. I felt like something the cat dragged in after a night of unusual circumstances. 

Now that you have all the data describing the starting point, you can predict the rest.

I'd come to Egret Café expecting to find my 13-year-old godniece Lupe there. She'd mentioned it in a text message I received this morning while preparing Uma's medications. I refer, of course, to Uma, Queen of Cats and Empress of Chatsford.

Lupe also mentioned something about AC/DC tour dates, but I labeled that as an aside and gave the subject a miss. 

Her first text was terse and demanding. Come immediately, is what it said. I refer, of course, to Lupe's text, not Uma's. Uma doesn't have a phone anymore. I had to confiscate it after that mysterious box of cat toys turned up at our door last summer.

I was at a loss to understand the exact meaning of her words. Come where? I wondered, and why? I had no immediate comeback, and I pondered the words, trying to find the most appropriate reply.

What do you mean, come immediately? I typed.

What do you mean, what do I mean? came her response. I'm here at Egret Café waiting for you, you big jamoke. Get here in the next 15 minutes or eat my dust.

I suddenly remembered that I'd requested this audience the previous evening, and I knew that if I didn't show up right away, the Egret Café sidewalk would be noticeably free of Lupes.

Still, even with good intentions and all that, I had to cross the river to get to the cafe. I don't mean that I had to row or catch a ferry. There is a bridge, but still, a few minutes were required to relocate. And so a few minutes later, I was turning onto Castle Street, and as I mentioned, the murals gave me no joy. 

I entered the cafe and saw them immediately. Lupe was dressed in a denim waist jacket if that's the term. She wore a short flannel skirt, black combat boots, and one of those leather caps that actors used to wear in movies of the late 60s.

I only mention her attire because, since moving to the Castle Street Arts district, her taste in outer upholstery has changed from Gothic to Hipster. It's something you may have noticed yourself.  

"Good morning," I said to the pair, for there were two of them. I don't mean two Lupes. I wasn't manic after all. What I mean is that she was co-locating with a friend. I knew it was a friend because they were dressed alike. Jumping to conclusions, do you think? Possibly.

"Good morning," said the friend, who resembled that young actress who starred in the movie from the early 80s. The one that became the seminal film of the decade. You know the one I mean. 

"Wow," said the godniece, who had remained silent until now--silent but with wide-eyed surprise on her face. "Why the frown? You look like something the cat dragged in..."

"After a wild night out with the neighborhood raccoons?" I said.

"I was going to say, 'Even though the market for same was sluggish to non-existent'."

"What can I get you?" said a voice off-camera.

"Double cap," said Lupe. "Same," said Claudia. I did mention that her name was Claudia, didn't I? "I'll have an Americano," I said.

"Now tell me," said Lupe, "what's wrong with you?"

"For one thing," I said, "my thumb hurts like unrequited love because I stuck a hypodermic syringe underneath it while trying to load it with Uma's lactulose this morning."

"Oh, ungh!" said Claudia. "A hypodermic?"

"Not the pointy end," I said. "The other end." But she seemed to not get the gist. Her face radiated confusion. Rather than explain, I decided to change the subject because I didn't want this blog post to run overtime.

And as for you," I said to Lupe, "I need some bright, warm, welcoming this morning, and so far your greeting hasn't met the necessary requirements."

"You know," she said, "there was a time when you behaved toward me like a godfather, but you went astray somewhere, and now I have to take care of myself. How could you forget that we were meeting here this morning?"

"Lupe, I need your advice," I said, hoping to cut through all the distractions and get right to the nub. 

"I know," she said. "So whassup?" 

"It's like this," I said. "I've had several events of synchronicity lately. More than the recommended dose for the average adult. Events that involve things like Nickel Creek and Talking Heads."

"That is alarming," she said.

"You ain't heard nothin'," I said. "Most recently, I was reviewing some old blog posts, and I came across the one titled, Saying Goodbye to Mom."

"That must have been difficult for you," she said.

"Don't interrupt, please," I said, "I'll get off topic and never be able to find my way back."

"Two double cappuccinos and an americano," said the barista.

"Did I ask for an extra shot?" I said.

"No," she said, "but I'll take care of it right away."

I looked at the two hipsters seated with me at this table located near the window, but not too near the door. I mention it here only because it's all I was aware of as I searched the recent activities to find my place in the narrative, if it was a narrative.

The girls looked back at me as though they were waiting for me to finish something.

"What?" I said.

"Saying goodbye to Mom," said Lupe.

"Oh, right," I said. "You see, I remembered that the piece needed a bit of revision, and since I had a few minutes, I decided to give it a go."

"Okay," she said and then looked at Claudia. Did I mention her name is Claudia? The above-mentioned looked back at her, and then they both looked at me. 

"Go on," she said. Apparently, they were in agreement that my story was okay so far.

"Well," I said. "The changes were already mad,e and I don't remember making them. The phrases in the revisions were so creative that I'm sure I'd remember if they were mine."

"The mind pulls some pretty quirky pranks sometimes," she said.

"You think that's all it is?" I said. "I just don't remember writing those words?"

"I'd say something along those lines, more or less, makes up the probability distribution of the quantum wave function."

"I'm not so sure," I said.

"Well, at least consider it," she said, "and you might try sticking your finger in an electrical outlet on the chance that EST will reset your brain and clear up the mystery."

Once again, this teenage Jeeves had shown light on the dark corners of my mind. Our little encounter left me feeling better. The pain in the thumb was completely forgotten. Of course, my finger still smarted from the electrical shock.