Incendiary Advice

My best friend considers it a good thing, my having all this passion for myriad things. She even calls it that, passion. Like we both don't know it's borderline obsession.

Take the Andy Kaufman thing. Oh, since I'm not a comedian, should I add "please" here? I've been just over the moon about this whole mystery. Nothing like a childhood chock full'a Scooby to warp a growing mind.

Who's behind the blog? What's the story with Brad Friedman's FAQ about the Claire Chanel message boards? Who is Enrique P? What in the heck are those disgusting pictures doing at the Kaufman blog. No, not the Tony Clifton pics. Those were bad enough. But I'd rather watch Nick Berg's decapitation 24/7 than accidently stumble upon the Kaufman site pics again.

The longer I sit and obs. . .er, feel passionately about this subject, the more it brings into focus the transitory and elusive nature of all life. It's all "Here today, gone tomorrow but I left behind some really nasty photos for your viewing displeasure" on Earth. Consequently, the ephemeral nature of existence should make me put the, uh, passions into some sort of perspective and move along.


Trouble is, I can't. Not just yet. Something nags at me about the whole scenario and its utter lack of potential closure, in any form. Yet, I'm aware that it really doesn't matter at all, whether Andy Kaufman is alive, dead, writing a weblog or turning tricks in Vegas. Not like we're gonna become pen pals. So, I know it's immaterial, know I shouldn't care, and yet I still feel involved. Typical Empath, a person who knows better and still does worse just to alleviate any attendant emotions.