"The future's all yours, you lousy bicycles."

Some introduction:

I used to have a Livejournal, and now this is what I have instead. All right, I still have one. I'll be damned if I'll tell you where it is, though. Tristan, a dear friend of mine, writes Quantum Mechanix - notes on politics and culture, managing to be witty and earnest at once. That blog was the inspiration for this one, and I picked up with Blogger on his recommendation... so, if you're reading this, blame him.

And, well - "Robot Redford"?

It started with a story my friend Sean told me in high school, which, three years later, I remember almost verbatim:

"Allright, so I'm at the dollar store with my dad, just kind of walking around, and I see this, y'know, action figure, and it's just this guy in this cop uniform - with what, like, sort of looks like a robotic arm? And that's not really special, and I wouldn't really have noticed at all if it hadn't been for the name, which was 'Robert Cop.' Which, I guess, was supposed to be like 'RoboCop'? And, y'know, it worked, because I went over there. But, I mean, who the hell is Robert Cop? Just a cop named Robert? That's not a fun toy. So then I started thinking about all the famous Roberts I knew, and switching their first names out with 'Robot'? And, I mean, oh man - you have to try it."

So we did. Robot Kennedy. Robot Goulet. Robot Heinlen seemed almost like we were cheating. We liked Robot DeNiro, but thought no one would get Robot Zimmerman. Robot Browning would probably have been a much better poet. It continues.

But my favorite, the one that infallibly sent me into fits of giggles, no matter how inopportune the occasion - was always Robot Redford. I can't exactly say why. I wrote a small zine of creative writing last fall, with the same title, with the same basic introductory notes. What I wrote about my writing there still applies, which is why I kept the title. I mean, yes, it's funny. Try it: I bet you know some Roberts. See, though, it won't be as funny to you, right? Because it's an inside joke about robots and dollar stores and celebrities I had three years ago with a kid who barely still remembers my name. When I tell people this story, as I always do eventually if I like them, it makes them smile - but I know they don't understand why I'm laughing so hard.

I'm always telling other people my inside jokes, is another way to put it. And it feels ridiculous. Everytime I do it I'm falling all over myself to get the context right, to communicate the specific magic of a moment that's gone for good. The stuff that made the moment worth writing down in the first place. Nothing makes me feel like a failure with as much regularity. But I can't keep that stuff bottled up anymore. It's gotten to the point where I don't actually care if no one gets it, because nothing is worse than the feeling of not sharing things like Robot Redford with everyone I know, anyone who will listen.

So, welcome to my great big stupid inside joke, internet.

It's likely to be a lot of writing about writing, which is possibly my worst habit besides not folding my clothes. Also things that interest me, such as art and politics and robots and zombies and cooking and critical theory. Also stories of the bizarre and absurd at my workplace and own true love, Barnes & Noble Cafe. I'd like you to keep in mind that we are not a Starbucks, though we do serve their coffee with pride.

Also, maybe giant squid. If you're lucky.