Tattoo You

What I'd like to share with you today is something that happened as a consequence of yesterday's blog post here. It's the one directly below, where I have the picture of Chris Daughtry and label it "asshole." Someone took such offense to that post that instead of flaming me here or sending me a scathing e-mail, they e-mailed one of my publishers. (!) Can you stand it? Oh yeah. This person sent an indignant e-mail to one of my publishers, complaining about my word choice and how it offended them and how they'd never buy a book from me or my publisher. (!!) AND, get this, they're going to post the link all over to Chris Daughtry fan sites in outrage. (!!!)

I ask you -- Can it get any better than that?

Madone!

At first, I was shocked. Shocked primarily because this is the fellow this person is valiantly defending against being called an asshole:


Secondly, I was shocked and sad, because clearly this person never checked in and read any of my American Idol recaps while the season was rolling. I know this because there were a plethora of pictures and words tossed around during those couple months on this blog that I'm sure would've sent this person into overdrive with their uptight umbrage. I mean, I'd made it pretty clear what I thought of Daughtry over that time: How he's by very definition not a rawker. He's a fraud of a rawker. He's a perfect fit for the commercialized, watered-down, processed, shitty fraud-rock like Creed-Nickelback-Fuel that's marketed to the American public. Daughry is a frawker.

But I got over my sadness at being previously ignored and the joy just bubbled out of me. I mean, can you imagine how my head swelled? Someone had paid attention to me! Someone was so moved as to write to my publisher! Suddenly, I felt relevant! Oh, the fucking ego boost it was.

I was still a little surprised by it, of course. I mean, in the spring, when I heavily engaged in the Daughtry bashing, I got plenty of flame-mail sent my way from Daughtry fans. But that's the thing: Those fans were direct. Those fans were witty and engaging and passionate and the exchanges were, frankly, pretty fun. Certainly, some of the messages were concise, let's call them, and consisted of simply, "your a bitch." But most of them were much more erudite and flamboyant, and we had some great exchanges. But then a half a year later, out of nowhere, comes this lone fan who's an uptight, mirthless little narc. It wasn't the sort of behavior I'd expect from a Daughtry fan. It was the kind of behavior I'd expect from a Claymate.

Nevertheless, it tickled me. I was insufferable for about 23 minutes, becoming quite the self-important asshole. I mean, can you imagine? To work and toil and scribble and write and publish in obscure anonymity for years, and now, suddenly, I'd finally done it. I'd ignited someone. I'd inflamed someone. I'd made a statement bold enough to be controversial enough to get "superiors" involved. Controversy! Fuck, it was exciting. I'd arrived. Briefly, I considered getting a tattoo of my own name emblazoned across my own back!

But then, of course, reality hit as the giggles stopped. I remembered: Oh yeah. I'm not relevant. I'm nobody. I'm just a bitch with a blog. And someone just got miffed that I slammed their crush.

But I do still hold out hope that the whiny, narcy person will make good on her word and link my site all over the place. I really hope she remembers to post an indignant link at MJ's! Maybe it'll gain me a few readers come February when the new season starts, or at least remind people to check back in.

In the meantime, in case she's checking here today to see if I addressed her concerns, I have two very choice words for her. I know you didn't like my use of the word "asshole." (Frawk fans, such tender sensibilities and so easily offended!) So here are two extremely choice words you're probably going to like even less: Thank you. Seriously. It's over something extremely silly, and it was brief. But for that brief second -- okay, 23 minutes -- I really felt special.

Oh. And also? This is the guy you got all worked up over:


Yep. Still an asshole.

And so am I.

But he's an asshole with a crappy, mass market CD. That's a lot more success than I'll ever know. But hey, life is fair. At least I'm an asshole without a tattoo of my own name scrawled across my back.