WEbooker of the WEek Survives the New Millenium With a Name from the Fifties


Visit Bobby_Nelson’s profile and
you may suspect that this is no ordinary WEbooker. You’ll be right. With two projects underway – "Laugh
It Up, Mandy" Anecdotal Fame: Celebrities and Our Stories
and How to Survive in the
New Millenium With a Name from the Fifties
– and submissions with
titles like “Where’d
you get this afro pick?”
and “The
pug’s gift
,” the man clearly has a flair for words. Click a bit deeper and you’ll find insightful
reviews, intriguing poetry, and perhaps the world’s most original method for getting
out of a speeding ticket
. (No, I’m
not going to tell you what it is. You’ll
have to go over to 101
Things Every Man Should Know How to Do
and find
out for yourself

And so, ladies and gentlemen, it is my
privilege to present to you: Bobby_Nelson, WEbooker of the WEek.

When he’s not busy WEbooking, Bobby_Nelson is a
substitute high school teacher. Come
December, he will be an officially licensed saint/superhero – also known as a “high
school English teacher.” He’s 24 years
old and he lives in Fairfax, Virginia.  According to his own claims, Bobby_Nelson enjoys
abbreviating common words in everyday speech. An example? "Hey, can you hand me that
penc'? Sweet, much apprec'."

In answer to
the pressing question, “What the heck is that all about?”Bobby_Nelson answers, “I figure I'm saving air and syllables
for when I really need them, like if I sink to the bottom of the sea and I
encounter very speech rhythm-conscious fish.”

Hey, he’s WEbooker of the
WEek, he can abbreviate all he wants.

Finally, in
response to my entirely undignified begging and pleading, Bobby_Nelson
agreed to share a sneak preview from what he calls his “half-life memoir.”  (Whatever that means.) This is some very exclusive stuff, WEbookers – enjoy.

From How to
Survive in the New Millenium with a Name from the Fifties

"Triumphant Dan, my
co-pilot for this trip and friend for this life, turned the volume knob to the
right, blaring Vince Neil’s vocals just as he bellowed “Girls, Girls, Girls”
for the 786th time in the song. I forget why I gave Dan the “Triumphant”
moniker. In fact, I’m not sure that he, or I for that matter, had done anything
triumphant enough in the definitive sense of the word to truly earn the
distinction. But I had called him that for so long when we first became
friends, so changing the name seemed absurd to me just to fit the word’s
parochial dictionary definition. Maybe he would triumph in some way by the end
of this trip. Maybe I would triumph in some way by the end of this trip.


We arrived in Ann Arbor, a city I liken to an uncle with a
Ph.D., but who also has a house complete with an ice luge and a penchant for
Wendy’s late night drive-thru. The town had grown along with the University of
Michigan; stone-faced city buildings were situated between regal and historic
university landmarks and townhouses inhabited by undergrads living and dying
with every shot in their game of beer pong. Ann Arbor was the perfect middle
ground for a union between young and old, mature and otherwise, eloquence and
locker room talk. It only made sense that we had come to the city for our
friends’ wedding."


"I took I-94 East into a city that had been as damaged verbally as it has
been by history and crime: Detroit. I didn’t care about the maladies of this
once thriving metropolis, this was reality. D.C. sometimes seems too polished,
like it’s hiding something, be it a president getting to third base, a massive
monetary kickback financing a private vacation to the Bahamas, or a member of
congress getting hot via an instant message with a 16-year old boy. Detroit, on
the other hand, can’t hide that kind of filth; the people here know that fault
exists and refuse to pretend it can be covered up easily, their collective
conscience won’t let them. Their mayor is a philanderer and a thief, abandoned
houses rot into urban prairie while many struggle to find a decent home,
buildings gutted by fire serve as known drug dens. These visible scars that
draw the jeers of outsiders are more a sign of an acknowledged past that
strengthens the core of a city’s resolve to improve, rather than a symbol of
inability to prevent urban blight."

Read more
(and let Bobby_Nelson know what you
think) here.

Congrats, Bobby_Nelson!

-- Melissa


You Might Also Like


Popular Posts

The WEbook Store