Miami (Dec. 17, 2010) -- The call came in on Wednesday just as my parents and my aunt and I had pulled up to the beach in Bonita Bay.
It was work and they had decided to terminate my contract. The lady on the other end went over the general terms of what is a fairly generous severance package and then it was over.
I got out of the car, hugged my dad, bought a cold beer and then had lunch at a restaurant overlooking the ocean. Florida is a great place to find out that you've been laid off.
This was far from a surprise. One of my managers, either on his own accord or under the direction of his bosses, had been harassing me for the past year and creating a paper trail of any minor errors that I made. This was a completely subjective process that they could do to any editor at the paper if they wanted to create a case against them.
So while the past year at work has been less than fun, I believe that it is actually for the best. I have been ready for a move for some time and a change of scenery and occupation will be nice. And jumping from a sinking ship and a wildly changing industry while I'm still fairly young actually has me feeling lucky that this all went down like it did.
My plan is to fly to Louisville on Sunday to spend the holidays with my family. I'll be back in Paris on Jan. 12 and will begin the going away process that should conclude sometime in late March or early April. I then plan on spending April in Louisville before moving to Washington, D.C. to find a job in public relations or working as a spokesman for a politician. I figure that there are lots of jobs in D.C. for someone with a resume like mine.
So, until then, if anyone wants to visit Paris to see the city I'm leaving, that's the time frame. All guests are welcome.
It's an absolutely wonderful place and I've had the amazing luck of living there for almost five years. I've made some wonderful friends, had some great times and very few bad times, and I've come to love the French way of life. And over the past five years I've gotten to travel the world on paid vacation. I mean, really, what the hell do I have to be bitter or angry about?
It's been a great run. I won the lottery when I got the job and I've kept that in mind nearly everyday since then. Things had to end at some point since I never planned on settling in France or at that newspaper.
So it's over. C'est la vie. Everything ends at some point. I have many fond memories that will stay with me for the rest of my life.
It's pretty corny, but Hemingway summed it up best...
"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."
When I first read that quote I wasn't exactly sure what he meant.
I now know very well exactly what he's talking about.
Finally, I'd like say thanks to Gina Rarick for making it all possible. She fought for me to get the job even though I had never worked as an editor before. And then she left the paper and began a second successful career. I hope to follow her example once again.
Thanks to my dad for advising me as this all went down at the paper. All big decisions get cleared by Pops. That's the rule.
Et un immense merci to all my amazing friends in Paris. You're what I'm gonna miss the most.
Merry Christmas to all.
Take care,
Brett
Friday, December 17, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
The Karma Dispatch
Paris (Oct. 2, 2010) -- "If there were more people like you, the world would be a better place."
Isn't that what we all want to hear?
During a recent three-week vacation in the United States, I was told exactly that. By a cougar dressed in a jean jacket, no less.
What began with me losing my wallet in New York City quickly turned into a solo mission to do as much good as I could for those around me.
Our three-act tale begins with Michael Buchwald of New York City at some point losing his wallet. A kind stranger found his wallet and returned it to him. I don't know Michael and I never met him in person.
I only know of Michael because, on the second night of my trip to the states, I dropped my wallet in the middle Christopher Street in Greenwich Village. This was immensely bad timing since over the next 20 days I was going to be traveling on planes and trains up and down the East Coast before flying over to Kentucky.
All my tickets were accessible using my credit card. Getting the tickets would be possible without my credit card, of course, but it would be a headache each time I had to make a move. And then there was the more serious matter of getting money from my bank account. I tried not to think about that financial issue on that first Saturday night of the trip. I had a feeling that everything was going to be fine.
So after brunch on Sunday morning, I checked my email in a nearby coffee shop and was overjoyed to see a message from a stranger with the subject line, "Your wallet."
The email was from Micheal and explained that he had found my wallet lying in the street. I had mistakenly thought that I had left it in the taxi that I had taken to Christopher Street. And in case you didn't know, all the New York taxis might look alike, but they have different owners. So calling to report something lost is impossible without knowing who owned the taxi. I learned this after a few phone calls.
Anyway, Michael said that he had left the wallet with his doorman and that I could pick it up there.
My friend Travis and I quickly made our way to Michael's building only to find that the doorman was on break. So we used the break time to go over to a wine shop to buy Michael a bottle of Champagne. When we returned, the doorman and my wallet were both there. The $30 that I had was also in the wallet.
Travis and I spent the rest of the Sunday afternoon celebrating by watching sports and drinking beer at Blondie's bar. It was a great day spent commenting over and over about how kindness and civility still exist in the world. We left a few hours later, forgetting behind at the bar a photo print that Travis had made and wanted me to give to my parents. Before we could get too far away, a nice man chased us down and gave it back to us. Karma, baby!
A few days later, I sent an email to Michael thanking him once again and making sure that the doorman gave him the Champagne. He replied that he lost his wallet once and someone returned it to him. "Saved me a lot of trouble," he wrote. I have no doubt about that. He also said that he appreciated the Champagne.
After my time in New York with a side trip to Ocean City, New Jersey, I traveled down to Washington, D.C. to see old friends. On my second day there, while walking to get drinks, I found a wallet lying in the middle of a busy sidewalk. It was my turn, the Karma gods had decided.
The wallet belonged to Robert Louis Harrington. I know this because inside were his driver's license from Arizona, $30, two Social Security cards and various documents and vouchers that led me to suspect that Mr. Harrington was homeless. I have no idea what he was doing in Washington.
Once at the bar, I called the first phone number I found in the wallet. I dialed the number. They picked up. "Good evening, F.B.I." End call. What the...?
After a few minutes, I dialed back and tried to explain to the very serious lady on the other end of the line why I was calling. She had never heard of Mr. Harrington. He wasn't in their "system." And she also seemed a little suspicious of me and my story. I thanked her for her time and hung up.
A short time later, I did a more thorough search of the wallet, spreading out all the documents on the floor and looking through them for some clue as to how to get this wallet back to the owner.
The only other phone number was for a Mrs. Salazar who worked at a post office in Manhattan. I called her and explained the situation. She had no idea what I was talking about. Then I mentioned how a number for the F.B.I. was the only other number in the wallet.
"Oh," she said, "I remember that guy. He was in here complaining about how his Social Security checks weren't getting to him. I told him that he could call the Post Master General. He was mad and said that he was going to call the F.B.I. instead."
Things were starting to make a bit more sense, although I was also getting the feeling that Mr. Harrington was a bit off kilter.
But he had lost his wallet and I was on a mission. Judgments on mental stability would play no role.
Mrs. Salazar told me that if I sent her the wallet to the post office where she worked, she would walk it over the homeless shelter where Mr. Harrington apparently lives. So I planned on sending the wallet to her once I was in Louisville, my next stop on the Karma Tour.
But then misfortune struck. During my last night in D.C., I was out at a bar playing pool. To get the pool table, I had to leave my credit card. I forgot that my credit card was there and I left the bar that night without picking it back up.
It wasn't until I was on my way to the airport in a shuttle the next morning that I realized that my credit card was not in my wallet. I had already paid for the shuttle, so I was fine on that point. But I only had $30 on me for the rest of the trip.
This became a problem when the lady at the airport ticket counter told me that I would have to pay $50 since my bag was overweight. Being $20 short and without a credit card, I had no choice to but to use the $30 in Mr. Harrington's wallet to pay the baggage fee. Thanks, Rob! (And yes, I replaced the $30 before I sent it back to him.)
The next good deed happened a short time later. I was waiting to get on the plane to Chicago, where I would catch the flight to Louisville. A woman I can only describe as The Cougar was talking loudly on her phone to a friend about how she was trying to get to San Francisco before nightfall. The Cougar, about 43, quite skinny, far too tan, with a frosted hairdo and wearing tight jeans and a jean jacket, told her friend on the other end about her problem. She was upset and it was hard for me not to over hear.
It was also not hard for me to hear her next conversation with the Southwest Airlines lady at the boarding gate who told The Cougar that our plane was landing in Chicago at Gate B10. At Gate B18 just ten minutes later, she told The Cougar, there was a flight to San Francisco. If she made that flight she would on the West Coast at 2 p.m. instead of 9 p.m. But, she explained to The Cougar, you need to be one of the first people off the plane in Chicago if you want to make the flight. The Cougar seemed to understand this.
But the problem was that, judging by her place in line to get on the plane, she was going to be one of the last people on the plane.
I saw all of this transpiring and realized I that I could save the day. San Francisco, after all, needs all the cougars it can get.
So when I got on the plane I took a seat in the front row, in a middle seat in between two huge Americans that was uncomfortable but also right by the door.
I put my backpack down in front of me. The stewardess welcoming us all on the plane saw me sit down and said that my bag would have to go in an overhead bin.
"I'm saving this seat for a lady who has a quick connection," I told her, leaving out that it was for The Cougar. "I won't be sitting here during the flight."
She seemed a little confused, but she left me alone and went back to her welcoming duties.
Finally, as the last person to get on the plane, The Cougar arrived.
She began to explain to the stewardess that she had a quick connection but before she could say much more, the stewardess stopped her, pointed at me and said, "This gentleman is saving you a seat."
"What? Are you kidding me?" The Cougar exclaimed.
"Yes," I replied, "I overheard your conversation and so I saved you a seat."
"Oh my God," was the response.
As I slung my backpack over my shoulder and turned to walk to the back of the plane, a woman in a black pantsuit sitting in the next row back pointed up at me and said with authority, "That was awesome!"
Once we were in the air, The Cougar came down the aisle to the back of the plane.
"You're the one," she said. I nodded. "I just want to tell you that if there were more people like you, the world would be a better place."
I didn't know what to say. Thinking back, I'm not sure if I said anything.
The Cougar then went into the bathroom.
When she came out, she handed me a napkin. On it she had written, "If you're ever in the Bethesda/D.C. area I owe you a drink (at least)! -- Sally"
Under her name was her phone number.
Later that night, once in Louisville, I told the story of Sally The Cougar at dinner and the obvious question from the table was whether she made the flight to the West Coast.
I sent her a text message asking her that very question. Her reply came quick. (I still have it in my phone.)
"U r a doll! i did! ran like a crazy woman. unfortunately my luggage was on a later flight so i had to go back to the airport but i got it. thank u SO much for that terrific act of kindness. my drink offer is sincere so let me know if u r game. will be back in bethesda mon. pm. where do u live? sal"
I replied that live in Paris and was just in the states on vacation.
"Bon soir! looking forward to hearing back from u. have a safe trip home."
And so, Michael Buchwald, if you're reading this, The Cougar thanks you as well.
Hope all is well with everyone.
And a small bit of advice in closing; Do a random act of kindness. There really is no telling where it might lead.
Take care,
Brett
Isn't that what we all want to hear?
During a recent three-week vacation in the United States, I was told exactly that. By a cougar dressed in a jean jacket, no less.
What began with me losing my wallet in New York City quickly turned into a solo mission to do as much good as I could for those around me.
Our three-act tale begins with Michael Buchwald of New York City at some point losing his wallet. A kind stranger found his wallet and returned it to him. I don't know Michael and I never met him in person.
I only know of Michael because, on the second night of my trip to the states, I dropped my wallet in the middle Christopher Street in Greenwich Village. This was immensely bad timing since over the next 20 days I was going to be traveling on planes and trains up and down the East Coast before flying over to Kentucky.
All my tickets were accessible using my credit card. Getting the tickets would be possible without my credit card, of course, but it would be a headache each time I had to make a move. And then there was the more serious matter of getting money from my bank account. I tried not to think about that financial issue on that first Saturday night of the trip. I had a feeling that everything was going to be fine.
So after brunch on Sunday morning, I checked my email in a nearby coffee shop and was overjoyed to see a message from a stranger with the subject line, "Your wallet."
The email was from Micheal and explained that he had found my wallet lying in the street. I had mistakenly thought that I had left it in the taxi that I had taken to Christopher Street. And in case you didn't know, all the New York taxis might look alike, but they have different owners. So calling to report something lost is impossible without knowing who owned the taxi. I learned this after a few phone calls.
Anyway, Michael said that he had left the wallet with his doorman and that I could pick it up there.
My friend Travis and I quickly made our way to Michael's building only to find that the doorman was on break. So we used the break time to go over to a wine shop to buy Michael a bottle of Champagne. When we returned, the doorman and my wallet were both there. The $30 that I had was also in the wallet.
Travis and I spent the rest of the Sunday afternoon celebrating by watching sports and drinking beer at Blondie's bar. It was a great day spent commenting over and over about how kindness and civility still exist in the world. We left a few hours later, forgetting behind at the bar a photo print that Travis had made and wanted me to give to my parents. Before we could get too far away, a nice man chased us down and gave it back to us. Karma, baby!
A few days later, I sent an email to Michael thanking him once again and making sure that the doorman gave him the Champagne. He replied that he lost his wallet once and someone returned it to him. "Saved me a lot of trouble," he wrote. I have no doubt about that. He also said that he appreciated the Champagne.
After my time in New York with a side trip to Ocean City, New Jersey, I traveled down to Washington, D.C. to see old friends. On my second day there, while walking to get drinks, I found a wallet lying in the middle of a busy sidewalk. It was my turn, the Karma gods had decided.
The wallet belonged to Robert Louis Harrington. I know this because inside were his driver's license from Arizona, $30, two Social Security cards and various documents and vouchers that led me to suspect that Mr. Harrington was homeless. I have no idea what he was doing in Washington.
Once at the bar, I called the first phone number I found in the wallet. I dialed the number. They picked up. "Good evening, F.B.I." End call. What the...?
After a few minutes, I dialed back and tried to explain to the very serious lady on the other end of the line why I was calling. She had never heard of Mr. Harrington. He wasn't in their "system." And she also seemed a little suspicious of me and my story. I thanked her for her time and hung up.
A short time later, I did a more thorough search of the wallet, spreading out all the documents on the floor and looking through them for some clue as to how to get this wallet back to the owner.
The only other phone number was for a Mrs. Salazar who worked at a post office in Manhattan. I called her and explained the situation. She had no idea what I was talking about. Then I mentioned how a number for the F.B.I. was the only other number in the wallet.
"Oh," she said, "I remember that guy. He was in here complaining about how his Social Security checks weren't getting to him. I told him that he could call the Post Master General. He was mad and said that he was going to call the F.B.I. instead."
Things were starting to make a bit more sense, although I was also getting the feeling that Mr. Harrington was a bit off kilter.
But he had lost his wallet and I was on a mission. Judgments on mental stability would play no role.
Mrs. Salazar told me that if I sent her the wallet to the post office where she worked, she would walk it over the homeless shelter where Mr. Harrington apparently lives. So I planned on sending the wallet to her once I was in Louisville, my next stop on the Karma Tour.
But then misfortune struck. During my last night in D.C., I was out at a bar playing pool. To get the pool table, I had to leave my credit card. I forgot that my credit card was there and I left the bar that night without picking it back up.
It wasn't until I was on my way to the airport in a shuttle the next morning that I realized that my credit card was not in my wallet. I had already paid for the shuttle, so I was fine on that point. But I only had $30 on me for the rest of the trip.
This became a problem when the lady at the airport ticket counter told me that I would have to pay $50 since my bag was overweight. Being $20 short and without a credit card, I had no choice to but to use the $30 in Mr. Harrington's wallet to pay the baggage fee. Thanks, Rob! (And yes, I replaced the $30 before I sent it back to him.)
The next good deed happened a short time later. I was waiting to get on the plane to Chicago, where I would catch the flight to Louisville. A woman I can only describe as The Cougar was talking loudly on her phone to a friend about how she was trying to get to San Francisco before nightfall. The Cougar, about 43, quite skinny, far too tan, with a frosted hairdo and wearing tight jeans and a jean jacket, told her friend on the other end about her problem. She was upset and it was hard for me not to over hear.
It was also not hard for me to hear her next conversation with the Southwest Airlines lady at the boarding gate who told The Cougar that our plane was landing in Chicago at Gate B10. At Gate B18 just ten minutes later, she told The Cougar, there was a flight to San Francisco. If she made that flight she would on the West Coast at 2 p.m. instead of 9 p.m. But, she explained to The Cougar, you need to be one of the first people off the plane in Chicago if you want to make the flight. The Cougar seemed to understand this.
But the problem was that, judging by her place in line to get on the plane, she was going to be one of the last people on the plane.
I saw all of this transpiring and realized I that I could save the day. San Francisco, after all, needs all the cougars it can get.
So when I got on the plane I took a seat in the front row, in a middle seat in between two huge Americans that was uncomfortable but also right by the door.
I put my backpack down in front of me. The stewardess welcoming us all on the plane saw me sit down and said that my bag would have to go in an overhead bin.
"I'm saving this seat for a lady who has a quick connection," I told her, leaving out that it was for The Cougar. "I won't be sitting here during the flight."
She seemed a little confused, but she left me alone and went back to her welcoming duties.
Finally, as the last person to get on the plane, The Cougar arrived.
She began to explain to the stewardess that she had a quick connection but before she could say much more, the stewardess stopped her, pointed at me and said, "This gentleman is saving you a seat."
"What? Are you kidding me?" The Cougar exclaimed.
"Yes," I replied, "I overheard your conversation and so I saved you a seat."
"Oh my God," was the response.
As I slung my backpack over my shoulder and turned to walk to the back of the plane, a woman in a black pantsuit sitting in the next row back pointed up at me and said with authority, "That was awesome!"
Once we were in the air, The Cougar came down the aisle to the back of the plane.
"You're the one," she said. I nodded. "I just want to tell you that if there were more people like you, the world would be a better place."
I didn't know what to say. Thinking back, I'm not sure if I said anything.
The Cougar then went into the bathroom.
When she came out, she handed me a napkin. On it she had written, "If you're ever in the Bethesda/D.C. area I owe you a drink (at least)! -- Sally"
Under her name was her phone number.
Later that night, once in Louisville, I told the story of Sally The Cougar at dinner and the obvious question from the table was whether she made the flight to the West Coast.
I sent her a text message asking her that very question. Her reply came quick. (I still have it in my phone.)
"U r a doll! i did! ran like a crazy woman. unfortunately my luggage was on a later flight so i had to go back to the airport but i got it. thank u SO much for that terrific act of kindness. my drink offer is sincere so let me know if u r game. will be back in bethesda mon. pm. where do u live? sal"
I replied that live in Paris and was just in the states on vacation.
"Bon soir! looking forward to hearing back from u. have a safe trip home."
And so, Michael Buchwald, if you're reading this, The Cougar thanks you as well.
Hope all is well with everyone.
And a small bit of advice in closing; Do a random act of kindness. There really is no telling where it might lead.
Take care,
Brett
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Chatroullete Dispatch
Paris (Feb. 25, 2010) -- It was a quiet Tuesday night and my eccentric French neighbor Thomas was in the mood to drink some wine.
Wanting to avoid any boozy, existential conversations about God knows what with Thomas, I decided to fire up the computer and try out this Chatroullete Web site.
The premise behind this site, in case you haven't seen the recent wave of press about it, goes like this: you have a Web cam staring at you and you hit the "Play" button and up pops some random person also playing along.
You can either sit there and try to have some kind of interaction with the person, either by typing in a text box on the screen or you can talk to them through the microphone on the computer. Using a Web cam, you see two screens, one on top of the other. One shows an image of you, labeled "You" and the other screen is of the random stranger. That's labeled "Partner."
If you don't like the look of them, you can hit "Next" and the Chatroulette wheel spins and soon you are staring at another stranger. They can be any where in the world. It's completely random, and, as we would find out, very, very bizarre.
So, after Thomas arrived with his bottle of five-euro Bordeaux, we settled in to see what this was all about.
The first connection we made was apparently with some guy who was very proud of his chest and was showing it off to the camera. Ok, we said, that was a little weird.
The next couple of people to pop up on the screen were guys about our own age, some sitting up in chairs, while others were apparently lying in bed.
It wasn't long before we were connected with a guy who wanted to share his genitalia with random strangers. This would happen about five times over the course of the next few hours.
At one point, we got to talking with a young lady in Chicago and when I asked her if she had seen anything interesting on the site, she used a verbal term to express that pride in male genitalia is running rampant on Chatroulette. We did see, for a few brief seconds, a young lady dancing naked. But there certainly wasn't much of that going on otherwise.
A few times we talked for maybe a minute at the most with couples who were spinning the wheel together. One couple was from Portugal and another was from Germany.
One time we got to talking with some person who Thomas thought was a woman -- his name was Arthur.
Some people were just putting signs in front of the camera, saying things like "Please don't be boring" or "Do something interesting." One guy was sitting there with a sign next to his head that read "Show me your teeth." Me and Thomas both gave toothy grins and quickly hit the "Next" button.
One guy had a white turtle neck pulled up to just below his eyes and, as soon as he appeared, he typed, "The Doc is in. Need any advice?" Um, nope. We're good. See ya.
After about two hours and several glasses of wine, Thomas and I decided that the white wall behind us, which people were seeing when we appeared, was too boring and so we hung the "Hope" poster of Obama behind us and we also decided that costumes were in order.
Thomas put on a top hat and some big sunglasses and I put on my old school Atlanta Braves hat with some red sunglasses. The first person we connected to after donning our disguises was a guy who looked truly shocked by our attire before he disconnected.
By the end of the night, Thomas, who isn't very familiar with the Internet, had grown frustrated by the lack of the connectivity and by how most people were simply taking a look at us before spinning the wheel again, off in search of something truly shocking.
I did my best to explain this world to Thomas. This is what a lot of people want to do, I told him, in this new, voyeuristic world of ours. They want to be detached, yet they also want to watch. They want to feel some kind of connection, but not one that risks any real emotional expense. Those are the goals of this site.
I don't expect that this site will grow beyond anything more than a place to go to laugh at how weird other people are. I found it creepy and was surprised, really, when I woke up this morning without having had any nightmares about the strangeness that I had witnessed.
It's strange new world, alright. And it's on display on Chatroulette.
Take care,
Brett
Wanting to avoid any boozy, existential conversations about God knows what with Thomas, I decided to fire up the computer and try out this Chatroullete Web site.
The premise behind this site, in case you haven't seen the recent wave of press about it, goes like this: you have a Web cam staring at you and you hit the "Play" button and up pops some random person also playing along.
You can either sit there and try to have some kind of interaction with the person, either by typing in a text box on the screen or you can talk to them through the microphone on the computer. Using a Web cam, you see two screens, one on top of the other. One shows an image of you, labeled "You" and the other screen is of the random stranger. That's labeled "Partner."
If you don't like the look of them, you can hit "Next" and the Chatroulette wheel spins and soon you are staring at another stranger. They can be any where in the world. It's completely random, and, as we would find out, very, very bizarre.
So, after Thomas arrived with his bottle of five-euro Bordeaux, we settled in to see what this was all about.
The first connection we made was apparently with some guy who was very proud of his chest and was showing it off to the camera. Ok, we said, that was a little weird.
The next couple of people to pop up on the screen were guys about our own age, some sitting up in chairs, while others were apparently lying in bed.
It wasn't long before we were connected with a guy who wanted to share his genitalia with random strangers. This would happen about five times over the course of the next few hours.
At one point, we got to talking with a young lady in Chicago and when I asked her if she had seen anything interesting on the site, she used a verbal term to express that pride in male genitalia is running rampant on Chatroulette. We did see, for a few brief seconds, a young lady dancing naked. But there certainly wasn't much of that going on otherwise.
A few times we talked for maybe a minute at the most with couples who were spinning the wheel together. One couple was from Portugal and another was from Germany.
One time we got to talking with some person who Thomas thought was a woman -- his name was Arthur.
Some people were just putting signs in front of the camera, saying things like "Please don't be boring" or "Do something interesting." One guy was sitting there with a sign next to his head that read "Show me your teeth." Me and Thomas both gave toothy grins and quickly hit the "Next" button.
One guy had a white turtle neck pulled up to just below his eyes and, as soon as he appeared, he typed, "The Doc is in. Need any advice?" Um, nope. We're good. See ya.
After about two hours and several glasses of wine, Thomas and I decided that the white wall behind us, which people were seeing when we appeared, was too boring and so we hung the "Hope" poster of Obama behind us and we also decided that costumes were in order.
Thomas put on a top hat and some big sunglasses and I put on my old school Atlanta Braves hat with some red sunglasses. The first person we connected to after donning our disguises was a guy who looked truly shocked by our attire before he disconnected.
By the end of the night, Thomas, who isn't very familiar with the Internet, had grown frustrated by the lack of the connectivity and by how most people were simply taking a look at us before spinning the wheel again, off in search of something truly shocking.
I did my best to explain this world to Thomas. This is what a lot of people want to do, I told him, in this new, voyeuristic world of ours. They want to be detached, yet they also want to watch. They want to feel some kind of connection, but not one that risks any real emotional expense. Those are the goals of this site.
I don't expect that this site will grow beyond anything more than a place to go to laugh at how weird other people are. I found it creepy and was surprised, really, when I woke up this morning without having had any nightmares about the strangeness that I had witnessed.
It's strange new world, alright. And it's on display on Chatroulette.
Take care,
Brett
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