this is me giving you the "talk"

i know i promised an entry about cereal, but that is going to have to wait for this important public service announcement -


in his recent article in the ny times on "sharing details," brad stone writes about the disregard many young people are showing for their personal privacy by publishing intimate details about their lives on sites like twitter. i have mixed feelings about twitter. when i occasionally sign on, i love seeing L.O'N.'s updates and i appreciate the 'data deluge' of arts information that the feeds i follow spew. for the most part, though, unless you're really witty or i have a crush on you, i probably don't care about when or whether you ate a huge-ass bowl of cereal. one of my good friends, C.L. had a nice sort of parodist approach to "google-buzz," google's over-kill attempt at over-sharing information. this friend 'buzzed' by writing detailed descriptions of his surroundings every time he passed gas (this is the same friend who got massive amounts of hate mail for suggesting that j.k. rowling be used as a hostage for terrorists who needed leverage). he no doubt got the point the across that there are some things that don't need to be shared.

even though i really have nothing to hide, i think there is something to be said about leaving a little mystery in the world by keeping some secrets. that being said, i'd like to formally and publicly release my not-so-big "secret" that i always have a hard time bringing up because, like me, it's a little awkward.

you know how when you were applying to colleges you hated all those kids who had "overcome" setbacks like cancer or were deaf or blind but still wildly successful? those kids had the perfect material for writing samples that show silly things like "personal growth" or "resilience." my high school English teacher, teary-eyed, read my personal statement out loud in front of my entire class. upon finishing the essay with her own personal round of applause, i knew i had become one of "those kids." my good friend T. spoke up, "mrs. kasper, we all know ellen writes good, but don't you think its kinda.. well... useless to read something none of us could possibly write about?" he was right. unless any of my classmates could entitle their essays "i have belly buttons on my face"-- or something to that rather ridiculous effect, chances are they couldn't really approximate what i had to say.

at the homecoming football game this fall, i sat down next to a very inebriated M.W. who introduced me to one of her friends. this friend, who was also quite drunk decided that tickling me was a good idea (unfortunately for him, it's prett hard to successfully tickle me). i sat un-phased by his bizarre flirtations until he started trying to pull off one of my shoes at which point i kicked him (woops?). this dude was persistent though, and as he bent down trying desperately to unlace my shoe, M.W. whispered in my ear, "let him take it off and then scare him!!!" this was a brilliant idea.

when i decided to go along with M's suggestion, this guy successfully removed my shoe and began to oddly tug at my foot. the universe dished him a huge plate of justice when on one of his harder tugs, my foot went flying into the air and onto the seat beside him. he screamed (falsetto style) as M and i let loose wave upon wave of uncontrolled laughter. this is probably one of the crueler practical jokes i've pulled, but this dude was asking for it. if you mess with me, you're inevitably going to mess with my foot, and my foot is very very serious business.

i entitled the main essay i wrote (as a sort of cheap shot) to get into stanford, "i have three feet." it's blunt, it was more or less true at the time and, honestly, wouldn't you be a little curious if someone promised a sort of "freak-show" in essay form? in the essay i wrote about my transition from not having a prosthetic (and thus not really being able to wear anything but really ugly misshapen shoes) to getting my 'third foot' senior year of high school. i won't get into the details of it here, because that's not what this post is about. this post is about making public, once and for all, that what i have of a left foot isn't really a foot. i want you all to know that now so that i don't end up horrifying you the way i did to that poor (yet totally deserving) guy at the football game.

most of my close friends already know about the foot thing, so i guess most of you readers aren't going to be the least bit surprised. it's always a little awkward to tell new people though, especially when i'm dating them. you imagine the scenario: "oh hey random guy i think is hot, let's make out! and, by the way, that lifeless plastic-y thing at the end of my leg, that's a prosthetic. surprise!!!"

inevitably such a situation arises or i have to awkwardly bring up feet in conversation.

neither of these options, as you could imagine, is particularly appealing.

hence, this is me giving you the talk. some things should be made easily accessible and openly public. while i'd never post my credit card number on my blog or tell the whole world (through a tweet) when i have to pee, i like the idea of taking an element of awkward surprise out of my life; because in this world there's already plenty of awkward to go around.