I Am A Jim Wayland

Ever Google yourself?

Oh, get your mind out of that filthy gutter. You know exactly what I mean. You're not famous, you're not rich, you're not written about in publications obscure and obscene. But in this age of information gathering and limitless online data, it's almost a sure bet that typing your name into the Google search engine is going to bring up at least an entry or two about yourself, your activities, and your whereabouts on the night in question.

Or maybe not. How common is your name? I assumed mine was fairly common, except in its full form, James Yadon Wayland. (Yadon was my mother's maiden name, and James Yadon was my maternal grandfather. His two sons died as teenagers, and so I was given Yadon in the hope of carrying on the family name. Sorry, Grandpa.)

But take away the middle name, and the Google hits for mentions of James Wayland number about 15,800, and over 6,700 for Jim Wayland. Either there are quite a few of us around, or I need to lay off the Ambien.

A close inspection of the search engine hits for my name reveals a multiverse of identities, which I categorize as either Historical Jim Waylands, Contemporary Jim Waylands, or Fictional Jim Waylands.

Dr. and Mrs. James Wayland

Historically, we haven't done a lot. Probably the most prominent one was a Dr. James Wayland, founder of the 100-year-old Wayland Baptist University in Plainview, TX. This man donated 25 acres of prime real estate and $10,000 to start "a university to be based on Christian principles, believing that education within the Biblical worldview had the power to transform lives in an even greater way than education alone could do." Obviously, this man is no relation to me. (I do like the fact, however, that Wayland U. allowed a group of black teachers to enroll there in 1951 in order to take a class needed to retain their teaching certification. Quite progressive in pre-Civil Rights Era Texas.)

A few other contemporary Jim/James Waylands seem to have done pretty well for themselves. One James is an account manager for a large insurance firm in Hartford, CT, and another is an electrical engineer (specializing in Defense and Space) in Birmingham, AL. In the United Kingdom, James Wayland is in management counseling, and in Sydney, Australia, James Wayland is a civil engineer. I was especially interested to learn that a James Wayland is the author of a novel titled Trailer Park Trash and Vampires. But I also learned this James lives in Virginia with his wife and two daughters, ending my momentary jealousy. (I do like his name on MySpace: "Jimmy B. Damned." Wonder what he would think of "Paris Hilton's Pussy"?)


The other Jim Wayland I would most like to meet has a Ph.D. in counseling and mental health, and practices in Georgetown, TX. Imagine what it would be like to seek psychiatric counseling from someone who has your same name! Who would know you better than you? Whenever the question "What would Jim Wayland do?" came up, well, I'd simply call and ask me. "Dr. Jim Wayland, you have Jim Wayland holding on Line 3." And what would the receptionist think when I went for my first appointment? "Hello, I'm here to see Jim Wayland." "Yes, sir, and what is your name?" "Jim Wayland." Even better than "Who's On First"!


Fictional Jim/James Waylands, though . . . that's another story altogether. In the 1997 film "Deceiver" (MGM), Tim Roth plays "James Wayland, a brilliant pathological liar who's suspected of cutting a prostitute in half, and the actor revels in the chance to create a personality that's ghostly and layered, a dissipated, haughty, filthy-rich ne'er-do-well, a man who's inevitably faking you out at the moment you're most sure you're seeing into his heart." Oh yeah, I'm definitely related to that guy.

The biggest surprise for me, though, was to find a character named Jim Wayland in a sci-fi/fantasy novel, Freehold, by Michael Z. Williamson. The story takes place in some sort of futuristic military facility, has a female protagonist, and, for one brief chapter, an antagonist with my name.


"Her first impression of Sergeant Jim Wayland was a good one. He was outgoing, cheerful and imposingly big. He towered over her by a good ten centimeters. He shook hands and greeted everyone while cracking jokes. He was brawny, with a craggy face and a goofy grin." So far, an uncanny resemblance.


Then, over the course of the chapter, the resemblance to me ends, for the most part, when Sergeant Wayland turns out to be lazy, antagonistic, manipulative, and prone to sexually harassing both the female and male workers under his supervision. Hey, I said "for the most part"!

A few quotes from the charming and gregarious sergeant:

"You'll bark like a dog if I tell you to."

"It's all in who you blow. If they want someone, the rank doesn't matter."

"You look better in blue, Kendra. Maybe something lacy and tight?"

"You get me hotter than a two-peckered billy goat!"

He's eventually reported and transferred out, but not before a young man he's been hitting on (a very young man, I have to say) posts this about him on the company bulletin board:


Why Jim Wayland is like a fart:
He’s loud
He stinks
He rose above his point of origin
No one knows where he came from
He won’t go back there
We never wanted him in the first place
Any asshole could produce another one.

I hate to admit it, but that's probably the best bit of writing in the entire novel. *sigh*

OK, you need to stop laughing now. Stop it, you hear me?!?

Aw, why don't you go Google yourself!! 

For God's Sake! ( A Cautionary Tale of Facebook )

As much as I loveLoveLOVE Facebook, I'm nevertheless pretty bad about immediately accepting Friend Requests. I prefer to give them some thought, especially since I often don't have any idea who that person is who's sent me one. That's why I appreciate the fact that Facebook shows me when a "Requester" and I have mutual Friends. I piece together the connection, wonder if I've met them at some social event, try to remember if I said or did anything humiliating to them and whether they swore revenge at the time. It's a clue and, quite possibly, a warning.


There are also times when I know the person-- or once knew the person long ago. As for myself, I don't go looking for old friends and acquaintances on social networks. I'm not an overly sentimental guy, and I know better than to believe there was ever such a thing as The Good Old Days. Over the years, I've pretty much kept in contact with everyone I wanted to keep in contact with from my youth and early adulthood. And so when someone seeks me out, I have to wonder why they want to be my Friend again after all this time. I'm not being disingenuous about this. Maybe a little cautious. OK, yes, I'm paranoid. It comes with age.


This is especially true when you're old enough for someone you haven't seen in 41 years to send you a Friend Request on Facebook. Forty-one fucking years! A lifetime ago, even two lifetimes ago for some of my current Facebook friends. But I digress . . . .


A woman I'll call Lucy recently sent me a Friend Request out of the blue. I had not seen Lucy nor even heard from her since we graduated 8th grade in 1970. She and I went to different high schools, never met up again in college or ran into each other out in the world. Just took totally different paths, it would seem. I didn't even know if she still lived in Knoxville, or in Tennessee, for that matter. I didn't even know if she was alive! And then along with the Request, this:


"I have wondered a million times what ever happened to you, and here you show up on Facebook. How has life been for you?"


Now, how the hell do you answer a question like that? In a series of messages, like TV episodes? "Tonight on Biography-- Jim Wayland: The Pre-Baldness Years."  Do you break it down into decades? "High school sucked, but college was better, especially when I started being able to have sex indoors. I loved the 80s, except I don't remember them very well; people tell me I was a hoot. Worked really hard during the 90s and the 00s, and lost a lot of older relatives . . . all of them, actually. Traveled a little, but mostly stayed home. Had some great barbeque." Or do you merely sum it up in a couple of well-meaning phrases? "Oh, things have been just great every single day for the past 41 years, how about you?"


As it so happened, I was scheduled to have surgery for skin cancer not too long after Lucy contacted me. A large tumor on my abdomen, which had been extremely painful and had me very worried, was to be removed and sent off for a biopsy. I was profoundly depressed. I felt like my life was at a crossroads, and it was a difficult time for me to keep up with even my most basic routines. Knowing that any response I made to the question "How has life been for you?" would likely be a tad . . . how should I say this . . . dark, I opted not to reply to Lucy's message right then and promised myself I'd get back to her, write her a few nice sentences about back in the day, once I knew something definite about my prognosis.


Within 24 hours, I received another message from Lucy:


"I don't understand why you won't accept me as a Friend! For God's sake, I know you have to know me! You were a huge part of my childhood."


Whoa. I mean . . . just . . . Whoa.

Yes, Lucy and I had spent a great deal of time together for a few years in grade school. We shared a lot of the same friends, but mostly we were grouped together in classes and activities. I probably had a crush on her; I know for certain she did not have such an interest in me. Looking back, now realizing about myself what I didn't quite realize then, I very likely wanted to be Lucy's best friend, or to even be Lucy rather than to be her boyfriend. She was the smart, pretty, popular, cool girl in our class. I felt lucky she would even talk to me.


So, Yes, I do "have to" know Lucy. Never forgot her, but don't recall missing her all that much after Junior High, especially once I'd made new friends and, well, lived 41 more years. The four years Lucy and I were in school together make up about 7 per cent of my whole life thus far. I'll admit to dwelling on certain periods of time in my personal history, but that's not one of them.


I wondered, after my surgery and upon learning that the tumor was completely removed and posed no future threat to my health, if I should still reply to Lucy, explain why I hadn't done so up until then, apologize, even. My friend Kristi Carringer Weaver noted a favorite motto of her brother's, one that I took to heart: "He who cares the least wins." I appreciate that I might have been a huge part of Lucy's childhood, but that was an awfully long time ago. I had to decide if the person who sent me those messages-- especially that second one-- is someone I want to know in the here and now. The most profound observation came from my lifelong friend Bettye Bean (who also happened to go to school with Lucy): "Oooh, that sounds an awfully lot like I will NOT be IGNORED, Jimmy!"


I don't really think Lucy wants to boil my bunny. I have a feeling she's quite the animal lover, actually, the kind with 27 cats, and that's only counting the ones that live inside. But now I'm being mean, and that's just not like me, is it?


I waited to see if Lucy would send another message, and when she didn't, I turned down her Friend Request and blocked her from seeing my profile. (That's another thing I appreciate about Facebook. I appreciate that a lot.)


Well, for God's sake, what else was I supposed to do?

CHECKLIST

(homage to D.P.)


Whips leave bruises;
handcuffs are freezing.
Porno's abusive.
Poppers cause sneezing.


Slaves are too passive;
masters so bossy.
Dildos feel massive.
Hustlers get costly.


Bears are all scratchy
and Twinks very delicate.
Diseases are catching.
I think I'll stay celibate.




               












        -  Jim Wayland