Hairy Prison Inmates, Missed Boats, and Happy Endings (of the PG rated sort, not the… other kind.)

Hi everyone, it’s Cindy, guest-blogging for Karl as the Summer of Love ‘08 draws to a close. I’ve known Karl since visiting his home page (‘member those?) in early 1996 and leaving a comment about our shared love for C.D. Payne’s Youth in Revolt (sort of an Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret for horny teenage boys.)

Karl is nothing if not fastidious about replying to comments, so he wrote back… then I wrote back… then he wrote back… and the next thing I knew, I was crushing on him. Hell, I once sent him a rare 1991 Canadian 5-track cassette tape that was independently issued by the Barenaked Ladies themselves.

I got a couple of mix CDs worthy of Nick Hornby in reply, but let’s face it: this was 1996. People just didn’t up and fly halfway across the continent to meet someone they met on the Internet. I mean, for all we knew, we were both hairy prison inmates just masquerading as geeks.

There is something intoxicating about corresponding with someone you know you’ll never meet in person. You can say anything, be absolutely yourself. Because you’ll never, ever meet them. (Here’s a secret though: if Karl had asked me to come to Dallas in 1996 – I would have. I was too shy to ask him to come visit me. I blame this on my Catholic upbringing.) Boats were missed.

So we kept e-mailing – little notes about our lives, comments about books or movies or TV shows we’d enjoyed. At one point we even collected the first year or so of our e-mails into the manuscript of a novel we’d tentatively titled Virtually Yours. I give us full marks for creativity here – this was before anyone else had done an all-email novel. (I was hoping Meg Ryan would play me in the movie.) But alas, in addition to being geeks, we are also slackers, so the novel languishes – literally – in a drawer. And anyway, the ending needs work. Who wants to read a novel about two Internet friends who not only never get it on, but never even share the same time zone?

Then we met.

Five years after replying to my note on his home page, Karl flew to Nova Scotia to visit us for a week. (I say us, because by this point, I was living with my fabulous better half – the sort of man, who, when his girlfriend says, “Honey, I’d like to have the Internet friend I crushed on but have never met, who – it’s an infinitesimal possibility, but still needs mentioning in the interests of full disclosure – could possibly be a hairy prison inmate – come stay with us for a week,” he replies, “Sure!”)

There was karaoke, more than a few pints of beer, the hangover to end all hangovers (mine – Karl never suffers ill effects of liquor, dammit), pumpkin people, and a late night cigarette run that will go down in infamy. In short, we had a blast.

And then we didn’t see each other for another six years.

Karl’s second visit in the summer of 2007 prompted Black Belt Mama to make a wicked video to the tune of Before He (Karl) Cheats. The second visit involved even more beer, a crazy fun barbeque, whales, Paradise (Nova Scotia), a molested turtle, and a forced march (sorry, Karl!) through one of Nova Scotia’s most beautiful parks. And the evidence, in the form of twenty-seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was – is all on Flickr.

What surprised me then and now is how real and enduring our friendship is. Before we met, I wondered whether it would translate in real life – maybe it would be some sort of friendship lite, certainly not like the kind of friendships that have years of shared history – of pub shenanigans, hanging out in coffee shops on Sunday afternoons, walks and adventures and in-jokes and hugs when life just plain sucks. But you know what? It is.

So Karl, buddy – this winter, when it’s dark by 5:30p.m. and the wind howls at the windows, and all of the fluffy movie snow grows dirty and disappears, only to be replaced with icy sheeting rain – I’m coming to Florida. Because, really, what are friends for?

Much love, my dear – thanksfor the spot on your Summer of Love roster.

Here’s the novel that started it:

Wednesday, July 18 – My name is Nick. Someday, if I grow up to become a gangster, perhaps I will be known as Nick the Prick. This may cause some embarrassment for my family, but when your don gives you your mafia sobriquet you don’t ask questions.

I am 14 years old (nearly) and live in Oakland, a large torpid city across the bay from San Francisco. I am writing this in the tenuous privacy of my bedroom on my annoyingly obsolete AT clone. My friend Lefty gave me a bootleg copy of WordPerfect, so I’m doing some writing to try and learn the command codes. My ambition is someday to be able to move entire paragraphs in a single bound.

My last name, which I loathe, is Twisp. Even John Wayne on a horse would look effeminate pronouncing that name. As soon as I turn 21 I’m going to jettison it for something a bit more macho. Right now, I’m leaning toward Dillinger. “Nick Dillinger.” I think that strikes just the right note of hirsute virility.

Wikipedia and IMDB both report that a Youth in Revolt movie is in production and set for UK release in April 2009, with Michael Cera starring as Nick Twisp (a stroke of casting brilliance, IMHO). You can visit C.D. Payne’s website at www.nicktwisp.com.

And for the record? No, Karl and I have never gotten it on.

Karl here.

Thanks, Cindy. Great post. I’m sure everyone can see why we’ve been friends for so long and instantly hit it off.

Don’t forget, gang. Thursday night at 10pm Eastern, it’s another episode of SecondHand Radio. My guest tonight will be John from Buddha on the Road.

Please tune in and tell your friends!