Everyone gets naked. You, me, Bea Arthur. Some people get naked and dance around. A few get paid for it. And a couple of people even get naked and pose for pictures.

Punky Brewster is not one of those people.

What was a completely harmless entry on my blog has turned into a bizarre world-wide phenomena. Due to a few simple words I wrote in an entry, people are searching my website in the hopes of finding pornography. In turn, this has taught me a lot about blogging and the internet.

I want to read 100 books this year, that's my goal. To help me keep track of them, and to make failure that much more embarrassing, I went public with my goal and started a blog called "Red, White and Esoteric." To begin with, a few of my friends and family subscribed to it, then word got around, and I noticed my entries were getting more hits. (More meaning eight, instead of three.) I was curious about this trend, so my friend Josh hooked me up with a site called Feedburner.com. It tells you all kinds of statistics on your blog, like how many hits your site gets in an hour, what pages get looked at the most, where in the world people are looking at them from and how people arrived at your blog. In the beginning, my site got a few dozen hits a day, things like people searching for "Gabriel Garcia Marquez" and then linking to a review I had done of "The General in His Labyrinth."

One day I wrote an entry mentioning that as a child I had written to Soleil Moon Frye, better known as television character Punky Brewster. A week later I noticed that someone in Michigan had stumbled upon my entry after typing in "naked punky brewster pictures." What?! Someone was trying to look at Punky naked! That's crazy! Who would want to do that? I imagined some greasy-haired guy with glasses and bad acne, wearing a "Save a Tree, Eat a Beaver" t-shirt, leaning over his keyboard and hoping his search paid off. Just some random freak.

Still, it amused me. I showed it to all my friends. I also wrote a new entry about it, entitled "Ok, who's the pervert?" I even added a link that said if you clicked on it, you would be taken to a page with naked pictures of Punky. When you do click on it, however, it just tells you you're a pervert.

This entry was magic. The next time I logged onto Feedburner, my blog traffic had spiked like crazy. The "pervert" entry alone was getting dozens of hits a day. All it took was the magic words "punky brewster naked." Apparently, seeing Punky naked is a worldwide quest. There was traffic from Bombay, London, Berlin, Dubai, Bejing, all over. Seeing Punky in the buff is a universal goal.

I understand that famous people without clothing are curiosities. Do they look like regular people? I remember peeking with my friend at her dad's Playboy once, the one with Denise Crosby on the cover, because Tasha Yar was our favorite on "Star Trek: The Next Generation." I just thought she looked tan. And silly. It made it appear as though famous people wear a party hat and streamers when they can't locate their clothes.

I also learned there are a million ways to ask to see Soleil naked. "Punky naked," "naked punky brewster," "naked punky pics," "naked soliel moon frye," "punky brewster nude," just to name a few. I hope they want to see her naked now, in her early 30s, as opposed to back on the Punky Brewster show, when she was eight. My blog is now the first site to appear if you google the words "naked punky brewster pictures." In the whole world. While it is strange, I just like to say it. Number one in the whole world!

With the help of my friend Josh, I have learned to capitalize on the world's need for smut. I now try to include several phrases on my blog that could accidentally be construed as pornography if taken out of context and used in a search. Things like "I suck at playing tennis," or "in the back of my mind, I've had this idea for an entry." My site now gets hundreds of hits a day from people searching for porn. I don't mind. Maybe they'll be inspired to pick up a book whenever they finish what it is they're doing.

Oh, and for the record, there are no photos of Punky Brewster completely naked. I checked. She did some for Maxim in her underwear, but that's about it. I imagine some day, if Soleil Moon Frye does pose naked, she'll be wearing pigtails and a bandana around one thigh. I'll be sure to link to it from my blog.

-The Wire, June 6, 2007

...but how many people do you know who have done this?

I have been woefully inattentive, I know. I have been having reader's block and haven't read a book in over a month. While you patiently await the return of my book lust, you can check out my new blog, Person, Place orThing to get your daily fix of the strange delightfulness. It's how I've been entertaining myself these days.

Last night I drove to the University of New Hampshire to see Edward P. Jones give a reading. This would not be a big deal for most people, but I am a serious baby, and was scared out of my wits about driving to an unfamiliar location, in someone else's car, and in the rain, no less. Especially considering I haven't driven in over a year. (No, not because I was incarcerated, sillies. Just have no wheels.) After several foiled plans and the inability to cajole anyone into driving me, I resolved myself to the fact that I couldn't do it, I was too nervous, even though the use of a vehicle had been offered. It was only after Significant Dave, busy man that he is, said he would drive me that I decided to just go ahead and do it. I can't let him have a big ninny for a girlfriend, I want him to think I'm tough. I am so tired of being such a loser!

Turns out, the MUB was not hard to find at all. It was right down the street from a boy I used to date some time ago. He lost all rights and privileges to the Book Kitten after he insisted loudly, in the middle of a cafe one Easter (hey, almost an anniversary, loser boy), that, no, it was in fact Blue Radley, he should know, he was an English professor and I hadn't even been to college. Left him sitting in the coffee shop with his chai and his bad attitude, never to set eyes upon my glorious orange fur again.

Anyway, I parked a million miles away from the MUB, and had to walk back. I was nervous, I didn't feel like I should be there. I worried at any minute someone would start yelling "Intruder! She doesn't belong here! She can barely manage using 'its' and 'it's' correctly!" I felt better in seeing that many of the people I came across were my age and older, but I was a little amazed that I was the only person using an umbrella in the freezing cold rain. Guess they don't teach you that in school.

As I got closer to the MUB, I saw a woman standing at the bottom of the driveway, holding a sign that read "PARKING FOR EDWARD." I thought, "It's nice that people are so enthusiastic for him, but how annoying, I wish she had been there earlier before I parked in Pittsburgh." Of course, as I got closer I saw she was bending the corners, it actually read "PARKING FOR EDWARDS." Turns out, John and Elizabeth Edwards were making an appearance at the same time, and the place was mobbed. I had to push through throngs of people crowding the halls. They were busy signing petitions, waving posters, handing out flyers. Some girl shoved her hand in my face.

"Free 'Stop Global Warning' button?" she said.

"No, thanks, I'm fine with it," I told her, and kept pressing on.

Edward P. Jones was amazing. He was a handsome older black man, wearing a suit jacket and oxford, jeans and brown tassel loafers with black socks. (!!! Is this kosher in the fashion world?) He read the beginning of two of his newer short stories, which were wonderful. He seemed awkward and shy, with his hands shoved deep in his jean pockets and not glancing up every time people opened and closed the door in search of the John Edwards assembly. He read wonderfully, not stumbling once. After, there was a quick question and answer (we had to relinquish the room to Delta Xi Phi for their talent show) and he came off as quite funny, but also quite crumudgeonly. All these fresh-faced kids asked him questions about his writing technique and inspiration and how to be a better writer, and he gave grumbling, curt answers. He had no inspiration, he felt research was crap, just make things up. He talked about how he disliked the glossary of characters they had added to the paperback version of The Known World, his novel that won him the Pulitzer. He said he would like to credit his readers with having more intelligence, and think they would not find a glossary necessary.

Jones also said some things that made me feel better about being an uneducated loser. He said that school is useless, that you don't need it to write. That the only thing you can do in life to make yourself a better writer is to read, read, read. Don't waste your time trying to figure out how to improve your writing, that's time you could have spent reading. It calmed me a bit, because after walking about the campus and sitting there with all those kids, I felt miserable at never having been to school. I want to be the girl walking with an armful of books, sitting in an English class, staring wide-eyed at her professor in all his elbow-patched glory, he who has lost his belief in his ability to get through to his students and has started to get a paunch beneath his tweed jacket...uh, something like that.

After, I asked Jones to sign my book. I now have a signed first edition hardcover copy of The Known World, and this baby is going to pay for Bella to go to college some day...I ran into a guy I know from town after the reading and he was super-jealous I got to sit behind Jones as he waited to go up on stage, and I think when I told him I too had taken the day off to be able to go, he fell a little bit in love with me. Good to know that uneducated, directionally inept, little old Book Kitten still holds some sway. I got back in my borrowed car and drove home, singing the new Modest Mouse song at the top of my lungs, racking the evening up as a small success.

Oh yeah, the whole book reading business? I'll be back to it soon, with a vengeance, like Die Hard...you'll see.

While Red's away, the cat will play...As I'm sure you know, Red's still sick. While she's in the shower, I thought I'd take this opportunity to tattle on her. She has read three books not on her list! In between her codeine-induced coma, she has read Heart-Shaped Box, by Joe Hill; Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett; and Christine Falls, by Benjamin Black. And let me tell you, the authors? Two of these things are not like the other. Because Joe Hill is the pen name of Joe King, as in son of Stephen. And Benjamin Black? Really John Banville, most recently known for The Sea, winner of the 2005 Man Booker Prize. Red enjoyed all of them, especially Christine Falls, but maybe she just enjoyed the thrill of cheating. And she's going to do it again! She thinks she may be dying, so she's reading another book she wants to get in before she dies. What a baby! This next one is called Special Topics in Calamity Physics. As you may recall, she read the first twenty pages before she started her goal, and loved them. Now, she's going to take on the rest of the book. Cheater cheater. Ooh, here she comes...

So, as you may or may not already know, Red's real sick. She has spent the last five days of her vacation laying around and moaning, holding ice to her face and not doing the important things one should do with their time off, like read and rub my belly. She's starting to get on my nerves. I nearly had to kill her to get her to give me a piece of hard-boiled egg the other day. She doesn't understand that yellow part is the closest thing we get to chicken around here.

Just thought I'd give you an update, seeing as how Red's been all whiny about how she can't read or post blogs or anything.I even included a picture of myself so you can see the "evil" she sometimes describes. You should appreciate it, it's not easy to take a picture with six fingers on your paw...I'm sure Red will be up and around in no time. Until then, I'm happy having her here, I like sleeping on her head.

I have to share a secret with you, kittens, that you're going to find hard to believe: I am not famous. I know, I know, with this gorgeous mane, colorful ink and killer rack, you're asking yourself, how could I not be? Well, it's a miss-tree. (Shakespeare in Love, people, watch it!) Would I like to be? Eh. Rich, yes. Not so much with the famous. Maybe just the friend of someone famous. (Psst: all you out there, get to it.) I could see myself lunching with Lucy Liu at Spago. Eddie Izzard and I could be bosom buddies because we could share clothes. I'd even let Britney shave my head if she'd share the wealth. But, most of all, I'd love to be friends with a famous writer. I'm fascinated by people who can get words out of their heads onto paper. I like to attend famous author readings because I want to physically see the vessel that housed such amazing ideas.

And that brings us to the start of my newest hobby: stalking. I've decided to stalk Kevin Brockmeier. He's the guy who wrote The Brief History of the Dead, which I recently read and loved. His writing is just gorgeous and original and I want to tell him I think so. Michele just recently forwarded a short story he did for Esquire magazine, and it's amazing. One of the reasons I love the internet is because you can contact famous people with the quickness of a face-to-face encounter, while allowing you time to think of perfecting what you're going to say and not have to worry about fainting or drooling on your shoe in front of them. (The sum total of words I said to Eddie Izzard after chasing him down in New York: four. "Uh," "uh," "uh," and "uh.") You can also send them naked pictures of yourself, free from the prying eyes of the employees at Photomats, thanks to digital technology. (Not that I would, I'm just saying...) So, I've decided to try and write and tell him I love his writing. Aside from Christopher Moore, I have very little experience contacting famous people. I wrote to "Weird" Al Yankovic once and received a form letter back, saying I could join his fan club for $15. Soleil Moon Frye sent me back a personalized autographed picture, and it wasn't until I was well into my twenties when it occurred to me she probably didn't write it herself. Those were both when I was eight and that's about the extent of my contact with the famous, aside from standing next to Dickie Barrett at a Joe Strummer concert. My first step: find out how to get in touch with him. I'm going to do some investigating on the web later on tonight. Second step: write an amazing letter that will make him want to fly me out to Little Rock, Arkansas and hire me on as personal adviser from then on out. Or I could just send him the cereal photo...P.S. For those of you who have been asking when the Froot Loops picture will be posted, still not feeling that brave. I'll work on it.

I'm not reading right now, but it's for a good cause. I'm in the middle of making cookies for tomorrow. They're for people handing in their cd's for the last day of the RPM Challenge. I'm making RPM&M cookies. (I'm an effing genius, why am I still barely making rent?) It's like a million degrees in my apartment and Bella tells me normal people don't bake in their underwear, but I'm melting. The whole reason I stopped to write is to share the idea I have for next year's goal. I'm only a fifth of the way done with this year's, and already I'm excited about the next one! I've decided for 2008 that for every new book I read, I'm going to re-read one that I loved. I realized I tell people I love certain books all the time, but some of them, I hardly remember anything about, except that I loved them. I can only think of a handful of books I've read more than once: The Secret History, Tailchaser's Song, We Have Always Lived In the Castle... It's just that there isn't even enough time for all the books I haven't read. But still, that's my idea for next year. Some books I'd like to revisit: Gone with the Wind, The Corrections, White Noise, As She Climbed Across the Table, and The Fountainhead. So, this wasn't an exciting entry, by any means, but I wanted to tell you about my idea. Martha Stewart I am not: I have to go because I just stuck a breast in cookie dough. (I may be able to sell these cookies on eBay now...) Goodnight!

Most of you have met, or know of my cat, Bella. Bella is my favorite thing in the whole world. She is gray, tailless and quite fat. She is also vicious, violent and unrepentant. It would take weeks of therapy to even begin to touch on why on Earth I worship her so. Aside from Bella, my very favorite things are books. Books, unlike Bella, let me pick them up, carry them around, pet them lovingly and, in some cases, break their spines, all without complaint. I pride myself on how much I read. I was a secretly thrilled the other night at dinner as I listened to Significant Dave tell someone I don't just read books, I consume them. And it got me to thinking: what if I did really consume one?

I didn't eat a whole book of course. I thought about it, got the mental image of me sitting down at the table, fork and knife in either hand, napkin tucked in to my shirt, book on a plate. Unless you eat a paperback, I can only imagine the cover is tough to chew. And books have no nutritional value. I didn't think eating a whole book could be good for my digestive system. The term 'book binding' would take on a whole other meaning, I'm guessing. But a page, where's the harm in that? I've eaten paper before. Not recently, but I've done it. Once, in high school, I guilted my mother into buying me an expensive Georgetown Hoyas sweatshirt. She told me she wasn't sure she was going to let me keep it, so to hold onto the receipt. Of course, as soon as she turned around to leave the store, I swallowed it. Then there were those little pieces of Trident gum they said you could chew with the wrapper on. So my friends and I did, because we were cool and tough. And weird, apparently. Who chooses the "eat paper" option?

So, a page. The question was, what page? Not one from a book I didn't like. I could imagine it making it taste worse. Not an important page, from the body. That would ruin the book. I settled on the title page from a copy of Light House by William Monahan. I own two copies, because its easily the funniest book I've read. I have one copy for myself and one I lend out to a very lucky few. Next, how to eat it? There's very little preparation necessary. You don't have to peel it, slice it or bake it. I thought cramming the whole thing in my mouth would be like eating a giant spit ball, so I ripped it up into little one-inch pieces. The good thing about my apartment is that while I have no actual sustenance, I do have lots of condiments. I ate a couple of pieces dry, wadding them up into little balls, then I tried a couple dipped in ketchup and a couple dipped in maple syrup. They didn't help with the eating, though, they just hid the cardboard flavor a bit. I finished the rest by slugging them down with Diet Coke. There. I ate a piece of a book, actually consumed it. I'm proud. And still...weird.

Just want to take a quick pause for station identification and give props to the guy who makes all my entries possible and answers my stupid questions with the patience of a saint. He's Genius Josh, and he has a cool website of his own, which you can visit here.