Monday, November 2, 2009

One year in ...

And what have I learned?

1. This will never let up. I mean, I knew that, but it still amazes me that it still amazes others that I have the SAME NAME AS THE PRESIDENT! Barak! Barack! It's been years now, and I am still having versions of the same conversation all the time. I guess I'll just have to meet every person on Earth and help them see how trivial a coincidence this is.

2. In the meantime, before I embark on the World Trivialization Tour (generously underwritten by Rosetta Stone), revealing my fatigue with this never-ending phenomenon is a mistake.

3. What a fantastic ice-breaker it is to share a freaky name with THE PRESIDENT! OMFG, I could not have PAID for a social advantage like this.

4. Running ads on this site was a waste of time and an aesthetic affront. So the ads are gone, replaced by the occasional contextually relevant branded-entertainment sponsor module.

WE NOW PAUSE FOR A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR.

"He was a delusional farm boy. She was an Italian supermodel. He knew he had just one chance to hogtie her and show her the poetry in his overalls. So he went online to order a length of sturdy rope and the Rosetta Stone 'Italiano! First Lesson Plan' CD set. "

AND NOW, BACK TO OUR BLOG POST.

So, how do we act on these new findings?

Well, I'm considering a high-energy, preemptive approach to the big reveal. Something like this:

Setting: cocktail party ...

NICE LADY: "Hi, I'm Jennifer."

ME: "Hi, I'm Barak. Yes, just like the president -- but with no "c". I can hear you just fine though! Ha ha ha!"

NICE LADY: "Oh. Um ... there's my ex-husband across the room, chatting with an Italian supermodel. He's struggling with his declensions, poor thing. I have to go help. Nice meeting you!"

Up in the lab, we're developing some more sophisticated tools.

And in closing, here's another interesting finding: Not one of these hundreds of name-driven conversations has turned political. That may be a function of the homogeneous company I keep, here in a city so blue it's barely considered America by dyed-in-the-wool red-staters. Or it may be ... well, what do you think?