Hello My New Friends

I feel like a blushing bride, what with the new website and all, and that come-hither banner ad featuring my soulful eyes inviting you to step into my room. Wait, am I the blushing bride, or the come-hitherite, or what? Oh, I’m so confused. I feel virginal and dirty at the same time, which is a strange, pleasant, fresh from a dandruff shampoo-ing kind of feeling.

I suppose I should introduce my blog-self, which, if you’re a regular reader of my print column, will look suspiciously like the last few weeks of my column-self. What can I say — I’m a narcissist. I may have been writing on my blog the last few weeks, but I didn’t really exist, as I understand the word, because there was no one to read me, and so I choose not to accept that I was being redundant. My print column was real, because people read it, and my blogging was not real, because there was no reader whose eyes could act as a mirror, reflecting me back to me, thus reassuring me that I’m real.

I was like the proverbial bush in the forest, which felt inadequate next to the old growth tree and so hatched a decades-long plan to entice the hu-mans to clear cut the old-growthies so that he could stand tall relative to the tree-less plain. Anyway, here I am, all tall and proud (and secretly despairing for the devastation I’ve wrought on my fellow plantlife), ready to be adored by you. Among the gems already to be found in my virtual world are:

Nancy Grace is the Devil, a special, first drafty kind of sneak preview of next week’s column.


Pornography Sucks, a special, first drafty kind of ex post facto version of last week’s column.


Croc Hunter Killed, an early draft of my eulogy for Croc Hunter Steve Irwin, in which I wrote the following:

I’m sad, in a way, because he was an appealing character, and here at DexterNation we’d rather not see anyone, especially the appealing, made dead by stringray attack. That said, I’m also amused, as I imagine everyone who’s not a friend or family member of the croc-hunter is. It’s just too funny not to be amused. I think it’s that I can actually hear his voice, in my head, narrating his interaction with the stingray up to the moment of the lethal wounding. In fact, I can ever hear him narrating his death: "oigh, now that really stings …"

When I first published this, I was a bit worried it might be perceived as inappropriate, but in light of the truly bizarre memorial service for Irwin I just watched a bit of, it’s now hard for me to imagine what could possibly be considered inappropriate as it relates to his death. It’s already acarnival, which is appropriate,since Irwinwas a clown (in a good, went-to-clown-college-and-believes-clowning-is-an-art-form kind ofway), but still kinda weird.

Author: Dear Dexter

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