Here's a post from a friend's blog back in 2002. Came across it today and thought it was funny. And since nothing interesting has happened today (so far), I'll cut and paste from the past. Even if it reflects poorly on me.
Just ran into Jamie Foehl in Union Square. I stop her to say hello, and she stares blankly into my face. This is someone who I have had two separate conversations with, mind you. As thrilled as I am to discover that it is acceptable for me to stop good-looking women on the street, I am still apoplectic that there is no recognition. "I know you," she informs me after a very pregnant pause. "The Devil."
Is it possible that I am not as witty and charming as I think I am? Does my presence not enrich the lives of those to whom I deign grant an audience? Did Carly Simon not sing a song about me? Is my narcissism based on a self-absorption so shallow as to be flagrantly out of touch with reality?
It is Jamie who is wrong.
posted by Michael Malice @ 4:24 PM
I think I had a fever or something and was extra out of it. I don't know. Generally, I have an alarmingly good memory.