Awhile ago, John and Kate and Sam and I went to Restaurant Insignia. I’d made reservations and tweeted Chef Jason Dady to ask him what we should get, because I knew he’d changed the menu up. I called and made a reservation. All pretty standard for me.
When we were eating, our waiter, who knew who we were, asked me if I was ohmypuddin. Indeed I am, I said. He told me he’d read my blog and heard about me, presumably from Jason Dady and his staff. I knew from our Arts & Eats experience that some of Dady’s chefs know who I am, because they ask Jason Dady “is that ohmypuddin?”
Last year, the sommelier at Il Sogno had read my blog post and remembered me.
While my particular bit of Internet fame is nowhere on par with major blogs and web personalities, it is still interesting. It’s kind of weird to be known by your username instead of your actual name. It’s weird when people know you by your handle and not your face. When they know things about you because they read your blog, or follow you on Twitter, and yet you’ve never met them and never spoken to them.
Internet writing is such a bizarre thing, in some ways. I feel like I’m not completely revealing myself on the Internet, but I am putting a lot of information out there. You could get to know me pretty well without meeting me. But I’m writing this here at home, by myself. Writing is such a solitary act that I forget I’m putting it out there for everyone to see. And I’m startled when I find out people are reading it, processing it, remembering it.
I’m not quite sure what my point here is. I guess I’m saying that enough people are reading this and then meeting me in real life for it to become clear to me.
You’re out there, reading me, judging me. Better start watching what I say.
Nah, fuck that noise.