I don't really like talking about my flair

I meant to give credit to the person who created that gorgeous girl up there, which I found by searching for "illustration" at Flickr. I don't mean to be coy by reminding you of A Hundred Dresses, a book Mom got me a hundred years ago and which is about imaginary dresses but not really, but because I like to think about Eleanor Estes and how many dresses were in your closet meant then something like how many MySpace friends you have. My confession is that I am one of those adults who started using the internet in my twenties and thinks MySpace is full of pedophiles, and I honestly don't even know what happens on Facebook, even though I laugh knowingly along with the whole room when someone who's only, like 5 years younger makes a joke about it. I am also one of those adults who thinks that living in a universe where so many things that you own, drive, and carry matter in actual life and in a life that is completely text-, email-, and Second Life-based is terrifying in a way that is hard to explain, and which is probably only going to become bigger. Something about that book calms me a bit, so I raise my sad little blog to Eleanor Estes.