Impress Me

March 21st 2013

Story originally written and experienced: June 30th 2012

 He didn’t like what I said.

I knew he didn’t.

I could tell.

I probably wouldn’t have liked it either.


Someone had to tell him.


I needed a break.

From the city.

Just for a second.

Just 1 second.

So I traveled northbound to visit my friend Ali in Boston for a brief getaway.

She picked me up from the bus station. And that was great. And then we ate dinner. And that was great too. And eventually we filled up these babies:

This kind of baby. Not the other kind of baby...

The jug full of alcohol kind of baby. Not like actual babies.


And began to illegally chug them everywhere and anywhere on the public streets of Boston, Massachusetts.

I don't have a problem.

Guilty. Very, very guilty.


1st at  a Panera

4 growlers with a side of creepy man please.

Uh yeah I’ll have a “You Pick 2”. 4 jugs of alcohol with a side of unidentified man, please.


Then at a McDonalds

Mc Jugs of alcohol

Mc Jugs of alcohol + Nuggs


Definitely behind one of these

It feels good to  be an adult.

Feels good to be an adult.


And then at the local Dunkin Donuts

A say?

Swiftly having second thoughts about the shape of this “chocolate…stick”


And eventually, later, much…much later. Ali and my compromised mindset kicked down the doors of Landsdowne pub

Glad google images remembered what it looked like.

Kudos to Google images for remembering what this place looked like.

<<< And skiPPed right in

We stayed for a while. A long while. And it was great. Really great. Free popcorn at an abandoned table and grinding with a man who wore a mickey mouse tee-great. And we met people. We met a lot of them.

And once we had our fill from jug babies and free shots from a rich lad named Greg,

We skiPPed right back out >>

Or at least I did.

2 feet out the door I looked <<< back and Ali was nowhere to be found.

And then I saw her.

She was talking to someone. Someone I didn’t know. And with       e a c h     s t e p     c l o s e r       I realized that this someone was a man.  A dark man. A dark, good-looking man. A dark, good-looking man who said this:

“Google me,bitches.”

“…I’m sorry…what?”

“You heard me. I said Google me!”

I looked at Ali and casually asked her what in the hell was going on. She claimed this very man grabbed her hand on her wait out the door. Told her she had nice soccer legs. And a nice soccer ass. And guess what! He plays soccer too. And that she should Google him. Google him right now.

She dispatched her state-of-the-art smart phone from her back right pocket and began to t-y-p-e.

I put my drunk hands on the screen and told her to stop.

And then I asked him “Why does it matter?”

And he looked at me with genuine eyes and said.

“Do you see my entourage? Do you see my body? You’re in the presence of a celebrity, did you know that? Look at my Wikipedia page. Look at it and you’ll know.”

Before I could say anything, Ali had  googled him despite my previous wishes.

R-y-a-n      B-a-b-e-l


And what we saw was this:

Screen Shot 2013-03-21 at 12.56.35 AM

And this

Screen Shot 2013-03-21 at 12.58.58 AM

And of course this

Why didn't you tell me you were so deep?

Who knew Ry guy was so deep.


And when I looked uP from the smart phone, he stood there with his arms snuggly crossed against his chest and an angelic grin on his face before he said

“See? See what I mean?”

And the thing is.

I did see. I saw his face. And his name. His spelled out accomplishments. I glanced at his hometown. I even saw that he liked to “free style rap”  in colloquial dutch on his off-time…But…that’s about it.

And then I remember standing there. Compromised mindset and all. First looking down at the phone. And then looking back uP and saying

“Impress me.”

“What do you mean? You just Googled me. Don’t you know who I am?”

I told him that I knew his name. I knew his accomplishments. I glanced at his hometown. I even noticed that he liked to “freestyle rap” in colloquial dutch on his off-time. But I didn’t know who he was. Not at all. And to please “impress me”

He looked at me. Shocked and confused. And asked what I meant. And so I said

“Well, that’s what you were trying to do, right? Impress us? So impress me.  Really impress me. Actually impress me.

Swoon me like my smart phone was flip phone

Like Wikipedia didn’t exist

And we were millions of miles away from any proof of your latest accomplishments.

Your google page is awesome. But, are you?”

He didn’t like what I said.

I knew it he didn’t.

I could tell.

I probably wouldn’t have liked it either.


Someone had to tell him.

Tell them that there was once a time that the only tools you needed to impress  anyone were your face, a hairbrush and your brain. That somewhere along the way we built  Facebook pages, twitters, blogs and texts messages that sometimes became our real life substitute. A digital resume to the social world, if you will.

And how cool that really was.


Realizing how many times I pulled up someone’s Facebook page to virtually introduce them to someone else, how many times I’ve electronically backspaced a sentence I would have otherwise said spontaneously, the amount of time we spend “editing” profile pics so the only witness to your imperfections are dark shadows, heavy glow and the crop tool.

And that night I remembered drunkenly telling him that

“This is what I looked like outside of Instagram.” And “These are things I would say if a back space button wasn’t around.” And how much of me existed outside of a 4X6 frame and 140 character limit. And then I remember wanting to judge him so badly for the things he said, and then realizing again that I couldn’t do that. Because I wasn’t so different. Not at all. How I very willingly contribute to my digital image, and have no problem highlighting my favorite pictures, quotes and friends for all the world to see.

But promising myself that I would never

1. Lie

2. Become reliant

3. Feel any less awesome than my digital self

Because sometimes I think we forget  that although we live in a world that demands impressing, there’s a perfect amount of acceptance outside of  “likes” “retweets” or “favorites”. That we look and sound just fine unedited. And how incredibly preferred that really is. And that anyone who can live in that world and


of it? Well, you’ve already impressed me.