Narcissistic indulgence #10450

 

Admitting photograph 6:30 a.m.

On account of today's biopsy I had to cancel the Del Mar Antique Show, which opened this morning, runs through Sunday.

It was sad, several clients had written and called and wondered if I would exhibit? Unfortunately there are times in your life where you don't set the agenda and I had no room to negotiate on this one.

In any case, a small story.

I got a call last month from an antique dealer that I have probably known for over 25 years. She also wanted to talk about the show but made the point that she had read about my medical travails on the blog and was concerned.

"The blog?" I said. "You read the blog?"

"Every day," she answered.

Now it was not exactly earth shattering news but I had no clue. We have been friends and colleagues for many years, my life is an open book, not too outlandish that she is reading me. Lots of people read the blast, well over a thousand a day. 

The point is, that I did not know and really have no idea just exactly who is digesting this fourteen year old rundown on my life. Many people never let on.

I had to make a delivery to the show yesterday to return some auction consignments and I ran into my lurker friend. I told her that I was taken aback that she was a long time blast reader and she said something rather interesting to me.

She said that I was much more sophisticated and intellectually focused in real life. Intimated that I dumbed down somewhat on the blog. Due to all sorts of laws of nature and physics, Heisenberg immediately comes to mind, I think she actually may have a point. 

She watches me in action selling at the shows and seems to think there is more worldliness and nuance in the tangible Robert Sommers than the corporeal, virtual version that comes across on the printed page. Certainly less crudity and boorish humor. 

She said that the depth or breadth that she purports to see does show up in my photography consistently, but in the writing, not so much.

It would be an indulgence in sesquipedalian snobbery for me to write solely for the eggheads in my world. I think that Joe Lunchpail would feel somewhat left out and I would end up feeling like an elitist swine, albeit a kosher one. And I certainly don't think people want a steady diet of heavy and certainly not politics at this point.

I guess I am flattered by her observation. Me, deep? Well, now... Is there more to me than meets the eye? Can anybody honestly ever get a correct read on themselves in this regard? Isn't that for others to discern? For the record, I think I am rather juvenile and am honestly surprised that anybody still wallows in this collective mud with me. Except for the pretty pictures of course.

For an antisocial cat, I do believe I have a quiver of pretty decent social skills. And there is a reason for that. I went to twelve schools growing up before college. Jack and Jill, Lemon Avenue, Lancaster, Mariposa in Las Cruces, MacCarthur Elementary in El Paso, Southwoods in Syosset, Hauppauge Middle School, Lewis Junior High, Desert Sun, Dwight York and Walden in New York and Oxnard High to finish it off. Did I forget any?

When you are moving nearly every year and sometimes every six months, you become a chameleon. You learn to not only adapt but to modify the persona as needed, depending on locale. I got really good at it. You stay in one place your whole life you get saddled with all sorts of past shit and history, when you are a gypsy you can start over and retool the narrative, with less fact checking and calls for consistency. Show the world whatever face you damn please!

Quite handy when you are traveling to a new town and don't want to be on the outs or get your ass kicked. And I lived in some rough places, believe me.

Not sure how to respond to such a broadside, not sure if it is true, hopefully if there is a real me, it manages to shine through on occasion like a sporadic ray of sunshine over the cloudy Oregon coast. I think I am still here and hope to be here for at least the immediate future, if not much, much, longer.

But copy all you can of this blog if you like it, as there are no guarantees, no hard copies and Google likes to instantly pull the plug on platforms like this. Before the blast, like me, is a faded memory and so much dust in the wind.

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I leave for San Francisco early next week. Doctor says no lifting, could risk internal bleeding. Guess what? The heavy lifting starts tomorrow. I have no options and the show must go on. Wish me luck.