I was harsher in here toward the author of Allen than I had to be.  I really should have sent some frank email.  Sometimes a thing stews in me without my knowing it, and POP! out it comes.  Something I didn't think bothered me much turns out to bother me a great deal.
    Why is this such a troubling thing?  I've always known the risk on the net of meeting someone fictitious.  I know that though my own style is blatantly there, not everyone operates that way.  If I were conducting a similar experiment, I doubt I'd resist telling everyone who wrote to my fictitious character, "Psst, don't tell anyone, but this is an experiment.  Bertrand Goodschnapps doesn't really exist."  Heh, no better place to hide a fiction than in a forest of plain truth.
    Here I am whimpering about how insensitive this author is when I've done something likely insensitive myself.  What if he didn't want Allen outed?  From his long and detailed emails, I got the impression that it isn't really a secret anymore, but what if I got that wrong?
    
    I'm rediscovering Shirley Temple.  Well, actually discovering her in detail for the first time, as we've only met in clicking before.  I've watched chopped little bits of a few of her movies before, but never with that as the actual purpose, just casual tv absorption.  So, anyway I rented "Captain January" and "Little Miss Broadway" for the kiddos, as well as some Three Stooges (God forbid they get ideas) and Bill Nye the Science Guy (who is cordially invited to experiment on my nervous system at his earliest convenience...after he shows me the Bernoulli effect again).
  Oh.  Miss Temple.  The saccharine sweetness and couldn't you just kiss her chubby little neck all day.  And how the heck does such a half pint get so much talent?  Yeah, I know, people been pondering those questions for decades.
    I think Boober could be her twin brother.  All sunshine and dimples and precocious mischief.  As far as I know, he doesn't tap dance, though.  I should teach him.
    Moomie, however is the exotic dark ladykiller with the brooding eyes.  He will cause mass swoonfests at a single glance.
    I don't really tap.  You have to actually have worn tap shoes to tap, don't you?  I guess I stomp.  Clonk?  Clatter.  I clatter dance.  I'm a natural.
    Nyuk, nyuk.
 

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