Do I want to be like Mike?

     My new manager accidentally called me Mike, then corrected herself.

     No, I wasn't insulted.  For some reason, people have always called me Michael.  They always seem to say the same thing (as she did also):  "I'm sorry, but you look like a Michael."  I always laugh it off, since I am not a person who lives in urine (in other words, perpetually pissed.  It's ignorant).  Still, my misnaming reminds me of the true to life doppelganger who accounted for some of my "Mike-ification".

     Yes, his name is Mike.  I'll spare his last name, but my FB Friends can see him on my list. We were friends in high school.  I didn't see it, but some people thought we looked alike.  In fact, we once portrayed the shape-shifting, persona switching duo from Arrabal's play, THE ARCHITECT AND THE EMPEROR OF ASSYRIA.  After graduating in 1979, we didn't stay in touch;  however,  I was shocked to learn that we had been shadowing each other for years.
   
     During the mid 1980s I was in Binghamton, N.Y., supposedly writing.   At that time, he was he was working in broadcasting, nearby.  He also married a young lady from the next town over.  By the late 1980's I was married and living in Florida.  My wife and I bounced around the state for years, chasing jobs and manufacturing kids until we ended up in Tallahassee.   One day,  I saw his exact name on a list of local videographers. I shrugged, since the full name is common.  A short time later I saw the same name on a list of reporters with the local NPR affiliate.  Still just a coincidence.  But when I heard his distinctive voice during a local segment, I knew it had to be him.  One phone call to the station, and sure enough it was him.

     Over lunch, I told him just how cool and popular I thought he was, "back in the day".  This was borne out at our recent 30th year reunion, wherein he strode as if he had never left New York City, while I unsuccessfully tried to obscure just how much of a hick I had become.  This, despite the fact that we both live in the same town. 

     This was supposed to have been a polemic about life's coincidences.  Perhaps a homily about identity.  But sometimes the best commentary is a stifled yawn and a shrug.   As I read about the lives of the people who infest the news du jour (Kim K. vs the Pizza Maker!), I realize how much of a blessing it is to be content with one's identity.  I like myself, just the way I am. 

     Even if people can't remember my name.

     Always Be Positive!