So, I’m in the men’s locker room at the Downtown YMCA last week after my workout. In fact, I’m just out of the shower, a towel around me, and just about all of the physical issues I go to the gym to correct on full display.
And a guy says to me, “You write for the paper, right?”
Not so unusual. I see the guy in there from time to time, though I don’t know his name, and I talk newspaper biz out loud. It's not a big secret where I work.
But that’s not what’s triggered this. It’s my face. He just recognized me. He wasn’t quite sure where – was it in the newspaper, or on the web? – but he saw my face and put it all together.
Well, this was really satisfying. I follow my blog traffic and traffic on the site. I know how many people check out my work. But this was different than seeing some numbers. This was something altogether separate from data.
This was something that eases up to being, for lack of a term that’s not such an overstatement, fame.
Yeah, I know. It’s one guy in a locker room, but let me give you some context. I used to be a reporter, out on the beat, hob-nobbing, meeting with sources, harassing the powerful. And then I took this job, and I’m not exaggerating here, I immediately ceased getting phone calls or regular mail. I get emails, I get blog posts, but that’s about it for anything that passes for human, work-related contact.
So, I talk to the guy for a minute, tell him what I do, and we move on. By now I’m dressed, having been even more full undressed along the way of our chat, and Todd Jackson, my friend and colleague here at the paper, comes over. “I just got recognized,” I tell him. “First time.” My pride was showing as if it’d just dropped its towel.
I haven’t been recognized since, but I’m as prone to fantasy as the next guy, and I’m playing out the possibilities of my budding fame in my mind.
Holy cow, people know what I look like now! Suddenly, I have to think about how I go about my public life. What will people notice after the realization of my identity dawns on them?
What’s that he’s putting in his grocery cart? Weight Watchers fudge bars!
Is that a microbrew he’s drinking? Snob.
The Roanoke Times’ Data Delivery Editor just rolled through that stop sign! And without signaling!
Ok, so maybe the stalking by fans and paparazzi isn’t really heating up. But a little bit of that wouldn’t be so bad. Or, at the very least, a nice hello from a reader on the street.
So, if you see me and recognize that sizable head at the top of this webpage, feel free to introduce yourself. Tell me what you like about the DataSphere. Tell me what you hate about it, for that matter.
Just, please, wait until I’m dressed when you do it.
Comments
[March 24, 2008 10:33 PM]
JordanThat's the best blog entry title ever.