I am Christan Slater

I was the first person I know to have internet access. Well, not exactly internet access, but access to AOL. Way back in 1995, we got AOL version 2.0 or something, which was hilariously primitive by today’s standards. It didn’t even have a buddy list, for crying out loud! Since this was in the dark ages, before MySpace existed, before interent porn was freaking everywhere and before Chris Hansen had that insufferable show, my parents just laid out some no-brainer guidelines for me and didn’t really think anything of letting me use AOL unsupervised. Of course, this meant I got all kinds of weird IMs and emails. Nothing sick or threatening, just weird.

The weirdest AOL exchange happened when I was in seventh grade. One time, I got an unsolicited message from some dude. The conversation went a little like this:

Him: hi

Me: uh, hi?

Him: I am Christian Slater

(I ignored this and didn’t type any kind of response. As it happened, I had just seen Heathers. If I hadn’t, I probably would have had no idea who Christian Slater was. A few minutes later, he was back)

Him: I am Christian Slater

(I still didn’t respond. This went on for quite a while– every few minutes, he’d remind me that he was Christian Slater. Finally, I checked his profile. This was, more or less, what it said:

Screen Name: [something totally generic]

Date Of Birth: 8/18/69

Location: I am Christian Slater

Favorite movies: [Christian Slater's entire filmography]

Favorite Bands: I am Christian Slater

Quote: I am Christian Slater

When I tell this story to people, most of them assume that I was talking to a pathetic loser who figured he Christian Slater was the biggest celebrity he could pretend to be and still have some people believe him. I’ve always imagined that I actually was talking to Christian Slater, and he was on the other end of the conversation, desperately wanting me to believe he was telling the truth. He probably wasn’t, but that’s much funnier to imagine that what probably actually happened.

I also remember talking to a guy from Germany once, and being totally baffled as to how a German got a copy of AMERICA Online. Heh.

Don’t drink and e-mail, kids.

Here’s three more weird emails from a different bogus address. Notice these were all sent on the same day, within in 6 minutes of each other. If memory serves, the Mister and I wrote these after we decided to get drunk and watch Pippi Longstocking. Saturday nights are seriously wild in the Vonderhaar house, let me tell you.

ACT I

From: [J.P.'s bogus name]
Date: Sat, Apr 14, 2007 at 11:04 PM
Subject: MOON PIE
To: linda@moonpie.com

HI

DIDNT YALL USED TO MAKE APPLE MOON PIE?  WHAT GIVES?!

[J.P.'s real name]

ACT II

From: [J.P.'s bogus name]
Date: Sat, Apr 14, 2007 at 11:10 PM
Subject: CHEESE FRIES – NATHAN
To: cs@nathansfamous.com

Man,

I love the cheese fries.  So good… so good.

-JARN (this was the actual bogus name I used… maybe that was the rum talking)

ACT III

From: [J.P.'s Bogus name]
Date: Sat, Apr 14, 2007 at 11:10 PM
Subject: CORN BREAD – KENNIE ROGERS!!!
To: cs@nathansfamous.com (I sent this to the same address as the last one. Whoops.)

God damn,

You’re corn bread is so good.  I wish they’re more than ONE location ever in USA!

Found bootleg recipe, but is not so good.

-[bogus name]

THE END.

Oh, and I didn’t get a response from any of these clowns.

Bogus!

I have several bogus email addresses that I use for entering contests, signing up for free samples and stuff, and sending emails that I don’t want my real name attached to. I was cleaning out the inbox for one that I hardly ever use any more, and I decided to check the sent items for it. I’ve sent a whole six emails from this account, including this one:

From: [J.P.'s bogus address]
Date: Mon, Oct 17, 2005 at 12:59 AM
Subject: Will you buy my farts?
To: [name@domain.co.jp]

Hello

I am a lady who farts frequently and so I am very interested in your offer to purchase farts like mine. How is the process done?

Thanks
[bogus name]

WTF? Why was I sending bogus emails to someone (possibly in Japan?) buying women’s farts two years ago? More disturbing, why don’t I remember doing it?

Attention everyone:

Can y’all stop referring to Romeo and Juliet at “the most romantic story ever told”?

‘Cause it’s not. It’s about two dippy teenagers who meet, get married and die in the space of a few days. Yeah, real romantic.

Music is my

Whenever anyone asks me about what kind of music I like, I kind of panic. That simple question somehow magically erases the “Music J.P. Likes” part of my brain for a few seconds, so I literally can’t think of anything. Once I recover, I never know what to say. See, I’m not the kind of person who listens to music all the damn time. I don’t have an MP3 player, I don’t have a huge collection of my music on my computer, I have various music players, but I never really use them… about the only sound system I use regularly is the CD player in my car. Most of the time when I drive, though, I’m just listening to the noise in my head. When I do listen to CDs, about 80% of what I listen to falls under the following categories:

-Audio books

-Stand-up comedy

-Cartoon Music

-Really cheesy shit I’m embarrassed to admit I like to just anyone

-Shit you probably haven’t heard of

The first two categories aren’t music, obviously, so they’re out. Saying something like, “Ever see Animaniacs? Yeah, they had three different soundtrack albums and they’re really funny!” makes me sound like I have some weird Peter Pan complex. I can’t freely admit that I love disco to someone I’ve just met because come on. If I mention, say, Sean Altman or Rappy McRapperson, I just get a blank stare.

You’d think it would be possible for me to say some moderately popular band that most people have heard of, but that’s a whole other kind of angst. Most of the time, I’m only familiar with a handful of songs or (gasp!) a greatest hits compilation, so if someone starts talking about random facts about Moderately Popular Band, I have nothing to add and feel like Knownothing McGooberton.

All this angst over superficial small talk. Sheesh.

The perfect place for jelly to lay

(First person to identify what the title of this post has to do with the post itself gets a gold star.)

I-275 is an interstate highway that runs a loop all around Cincinnati and the surrounding area, which is where I live. For those of you who don’t know or care (I’m guessing that’s most of you) Peter Frampton now lives in Cincinnati. Specifically, he lives in Indian Hill, a fancy-pants suburb of Cincinnati that’s right off I-275.

I tell you this so I can tell you a story: Earlier this year, The Mister traded in his truck for a new car. Two nights before he was supposed to go trade it in and sign all the papers and what have you, neither of us could sleep, so The Mister decided he’d burn up what was left in his truck’s tank by driving the entire 275 loop in one whack with no stops. We had both been on every mile of it at some point, but neither of us had ever made the entire circle. So, at about midnight on a random Wednesday in January, we set out on our mission.

As we got close to the Indian Hill exit, we could see a HUGE house just off the highway. “I bet that’s Peter Frampton’s house… he lives out here, you know,” I said.

The Mister didn’t say anything, just leaned on his horn for a solid 10 or 15 seconds. Several lights in the house went on.

“I think you just woke up Peter Frampton!” I said, then we spent the next five miles or so giggling like idiots.

I never did find out if that really was his house, but it doesn’t matter. Now, whenever Peter Frampton comes up, I think of That Time We Woke Up Peter Frampton and can’t help but smile.

Special Guest Letter-writer!

Remember that co-worker I mentioned a while back? When I told her about this website, I asked if she would write a J.P. Vonderhaar letter. She wrote this one to Frito-Lay about their GrandMa’s Iced Lemon Cookies:

She wrote “look inside” on the wrapper and put the letter in it, but that didn’t scan very well, so just use your damn imagination.

I’m such a bad influence.

Change is good

I got a whole bunch of rolled change from the bank recently, and several of the rolls had address labels on them. That’s all you really need to know for this letter (click to see full size):

Circle Slash Popcorn Button

This is just something I’ve always wondered about:

(click to enlarge)

I borrowed the word “popcornspiracy” from here.

Hokay

Hooking up the scanner is much more of a pain in the ass than I’d anticipated. That means I’ll probably save my crazy letters and scan them when I have a whole bunch. However, I’ll post with other stuff more regularly.

Since I have zero readers at the moment, none of this really matters anyway, right?