about face

In the Fall of 2012, I was.... cajoled?.... persuaded?..... pressured?.... how about "asked" to join Facebook. A friend from my high school days suggested that I create a Facebook page and reconnect with other folks with whom I had lost touch since graduating from high school. My friend had a vivacious, out-going personality, so, for her,  something like Facebook was the natural progression. For me, however.... well, there was a reason that I did not remain in contact with most of my contemporaries from the Class of '79.

By 2012, I was a four-year veteran of the Twitter trenches. I was also five years in to maintaining my illustration blog (joshpincusiscrying.com..... go take a look!). I have been contributing to it regularly, with two or more illustrations per week, including a long run of participation in Illustration Friday, as well as my own brand of slightly off-kilter humor. Plus I was working undercover on Who Does He Play For and the now-defunct This Day in Real Life, a blog that eventually morphed into the blog you are reading right now. So, what did I need Facebook for? 

Alas, I conceded. I started a Facebook page. But not a regular Facebook page — a fan page. It was the most suitable page for Josh Pincus. I could post and post and post and post and never have to see what the kid who sat next to me in second grade had for lunch today or a zillion pictures of a zillion dogs. You see, with a Facebook fan page, there is very little interaction between the "page-or" and the "page-ee," except for the ability for people to "like" posts and leave comments. Otherwise, the only posts I see are my own — and that's just the way I like it.

Click to enlarge

So, on October 18, 2012, the official Josh Pincus Facebook Fan Page was born.... or unleashed, as it may be. I announced the page via my old reliable Twitter account and within a few hours, I had a handful of "likes" on my page. (I believe Mrs. Pincus was the first.) Slowly, I gained a few more "likes" here and there as I posted links to my illustrations and links to my weekly posts on It's Been a Slice. A friend of mine, who works in local radio and is the unofficial mayor of Philadelphia, tweeted about my page to his plethora of followers and I gained a few dozen "likes" almost immediately. Then, I began posting daily celebrity death anniversaries and became diligent to report celebrity deaths almost as they occur. I broke the 200 mark after a while, "Likes" popped up sporadically but then things stalled. And then I would lose a "like" every so often. Not to pat my self on the back, but I'm one guy and Facebook is not my main focus. All of the hype to gain "likes" was done by me and word-of-mouth. I am proud of the fluctuating 253 - 254 "likes" that are displayed on my page. and, yes, I am a little insulted when I lose a "like." (My online pal Dot even made a pointed observation regarding my tracking of "likes.")

Last week, six-plus years since the JPiC Facebook fan page debut, I lost another "like." This week, however, I gained three. And then another, And another. At the end of the weekend, I had gained 20 new "likes." The overwhelming majority of these "likes" were from folks in Indonesia and Egypt and India and a few countries that I didn't know were countries. I can't quite figure out which post was the one that opened the sluice gates for the flood of love for Josh Pincus. Was it the reminder that actress Debralee Scott had passed away 14 years ago or the report that Dan Robbins, the man who invented Paint-By-Numbers had gone to face that great gridded canvas in the sky? I'm not sure, but it was something. And it hasn't stopped! As a matter of fact, when I started writing this, I had 271 "likes." As of right now, I gained four more! 

If you are already a "fan" of my Facebook page, I thank you for your support. If you are not, what are you waiting for? There's fun and death and humor and, if you stick around long enough, I guarantee I will say something that'll offend you.

Unless, of course, you live in Jakarta.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

break on through to the other side

When I created the "Josh Pincus is Crying" character over a decade ago, I did my very best to maintain the illusion of the outspoken, opinionated, little red-headed stepchild that lives inside of all of us. I decided that rascally persona would remain online and online only, presenting my twisted illustrations, my somewhat dark sense of humor and my cranky demeanor as a goofy magnified version of the real me. I was able to keep the online "Josh" separate from the real-life "Josh" for quite some time.

Between Twitter and Instagram and, more recently, Facebook, I gained followers from all across the country and even across the world. Soon, I started to let small bits of my real life trickle into the online version of me, I infrequently posted photos of myself (previously a big no-no), although I tried to obscure my face, only allowing my "trademark" red hair to identify me. Sure, there are plenty of people who knew me in my pre-Josh Pincus days, but the more personal information I let slip out on my blogs (the one you're reading and my illustration blog), the more my two lives were brought together, making me more recognizable to those who only know me as that red-haired smart-ass who complains about everything and draws dead people.

April

Still only a handful of people who know the online Josh have met the real Josh. The first was voice actress April Winchell. Among her many talents, April briefly ran a website called Regretsy.com (now defunct), a hilarious dig at the artsy etsy.com. April relentlessly scanned the numerous entries on etsy.com, seeking out (and making fun of) the cream of the crap. I was a frequent commentor on Regretsy.com, regularly acknowledged by Miss Winchell. One year into the website's run, April published a book based on the Regretsy site, presenting the "best of the worst" that etsy.com had to offer. She went on a limited book tour that brought the transplanted Californian back to her native New York. My family and I attended the book-signing event and when I approached the table to get my book inscribed, I sheepishly (well, actually boisterously) revealed myself as "Josh Pincus." April lit up and afforded me a warm hug. We have remained in touch, albeit infrequently.

Indigene

Surviving my first real-life "Josh Pincus" encounter, I dove headfirst into my second one. Through my long-time association with Illustration Friday, an online weekly artistic challenge, I have interacted with fellow artists around the globe. One of those artists — Indigene — I discovered, lives near me in the Philadelphia suburbs. Indigene is a real artist (not like me and my silly little drawings), using all sorts of media to create unique pieces of striking beauty. I saw that she was participating in a small showing at a house/gallery not far from me, so I decided to surprise her. After a morning traipsing through a couple of cemeteries, I arrived at the location of Indigene's art exhibit. I entered the house. Towards the back of the cramped basement, I spotted Indigene's work displayed along a long wall. I surmised that the woman alongside the pieces was Indigene. She was speaking with some prospective buyers, so I waited patiently. When she turned her attention to me, I smiled and introduced myself, first by real name, then as Josh Pincus. She shrieked and threw her arms around me. I suppose this is the reaction I should have expected. From her perspective, it was like meeting an imaginary being — finding out they are, in fact, real. Suddenly, I'm like Santa Claus. Maybe a little closer to Freddy Krueger.

Amy

One evening at the end of last year, my son and I went to see local (but soon to bust out worldwide) rock and rollers Low Cut Connie at a hometown show at the grand old Trocadero, a one-time vaudeville theater - turned strip club - turned concert venue. Before the show began, my boy and I were standing in our usual "down in front of the stage" position chatting, when we were approached by a woman. She hesitantly spoke to me, asking the single syllable, "Josh?" I had never seen her before and, at first, I found it a little unnerving. My son E., a DJ on a Philadelphia radio station and a self-proclaimed "minor local celebrity," is used to getting recognized. But, me...? I'm just a regular guy... with bright red hair. She introduced herself as "Amy" and confessed to being a Twitter follower and a big fan of Josh Pincus. In the darkened lights of the venue, it must have been difficult to see that I was blushing. It was equally as difficult to see that E. was rolling his eyes. Amy jabbed her husband in the ribs and pointed in my direction. "This is Josh Pincus!," she excitedly explained. He appeared as disinterested as everyone else in the room. "Who's Josh Pincus?," he obligingly asked. "You know," she said sternly, "the artist from the internet!" He obviously didn't know, nor did he care. But, it was still pretty cool — and a little embarrassing — to get recognized. I have seen Amy at other concerts, as well as on Twitter. She says she proudly wears her official "Josh Pincus" buttons, but "proudly" is a relative word.

Mrs. Pincus and I just returned from our sixth cruise. That's right — sixth! I realize that I have become the person that I made fun of on our first cruise. We had a great time, but, to tell you the truth, all cruises are the same. Our experience has been nearly identical on each sailing. Sure, the faces change and the entertainment may be slightly different, but the overall experience is the same. That's not a bad thing. It's enjoyable, fun and relaxing, it's just the "cruise experience."

A few weeks prior to our departure date, Mrs. Pincus joined a Facebook group specifically for our cruise. She began interacting with various members of the group and soon, she was referring to "Marilyn this" and "Richard that" and "George said this." "Who are these people?," I asked. She explained that I would meet them all on our upcoming cruise. After a week or so, I felt like I was going on this cruise with my wife and a bunch of her friends. One evening, my wife was telling me about a member of the Facebook group who blogs about cruises and mentioned that she has a child with severe food allergies. I paused and, out of nowhere, I asked, "Does she live in Toronto?" Mrs. P shot me a look of confusion. "I don't know. I'll check.," she replied. A quick scan of Facebook yielded an affirmative answer. This woman did indeed reside in Toronto. It turns out that we have been following each other on Twitter for years! I write regularly about my past adventures in Disney theme parks. She contributes to a blog that asked to use one of my illustrations. Since our initial connection, I have been sending her links to my Disney-centric blog posts. Over the years, we discovered that, among other things, our children both saw their first baseball games at Toronto's SkyDome (now the Rogers Centre). And, of course, I have made playful fun of Canada at her expense... but I make fun of everything. I shot her a quick private Twitter message to let her know that — ta daa! — we would be on the same cruise. 

Hiromi

A meet and greet gathering was scheduled for the Facebook group for the first full day at sea. On that morning, Mrs. P and I headed to the ship's buffet, what would be the first of many, many visits during our week at sea. We called for an elevator and when the doors opened, there was already a passenger inside. The woman looked at Mrs. Pincus and exclaimed, "You're Susan!" By strange chance, it was Hiromi, my Twitter pal. We all laughed and embraced. An hour or so later, we formally met at the meet and greet, along with many other members of the Facebook group. I had to explain to Hiromi that "Josh Pincus" is a pseudonym, but she took to calling me by my real name almost instantly. Later in the week, we had a lovely dinner with her, her husband and son. (Hiromi has a teenage daughter that we met for a fleeting moment, as she spent the week off doing "teenager-y" things, sans parents.) Mrs. Pincus, the nicest person in the world, prepared little gift bags for Hiromi's children. We were sailing over Hallowe'en and she didn't want them to miss out.

On the evening of the day Mrs. P and I arrived home, I went to a concert with my son, my brother and a few friends. Before the show, I was telling my brother about the Twitter-Hiromi-Cruise internet triangle, and how my "online" life was slowly crossing paths with my "real" life. Our conversation was interrupted by a young woman who walked past me and cheerfully said, "Hi, Mr. Pincus!" I cocked my head and tried to place her. She said she follows me on Twitter and we had met earlier in the year at an outdoor music festival. My brother, surprisingly impressed, shook his head and laughed. "Boy," he observed, "you are quite the celebrity." 

After the show, singer Nicole Atkins was busily attending to her merchandise. Nicole, a stellar performer with a magnificent voice, is friends with my son. My pal Steve approached her merch table to purchase an album and he asked me if Nicole knew me. I said, while we have met, it was some time ago. I would probably have to explain who I am. As we drew nearer to the table, Nicole looked up, gave a little wave and, with a smile, said, "Hi, E.'s dad."

Okay, now, it's getting weird.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

walk this way

For the better part of the last year, I've been walking. To work, to concerts, to dinner, and so on. It began as a way to become more active without actually becoming more active. Truth be told, it takes the same amount of time for me to walk from my house to my office as it did to take any combination of public transportation options (although that's less a reflection of my physical prowess as it is an indication of just how badly fucked SEPTA, the Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority, is these days). What started as a half-assed way to work off my morning Franken-Berry has become more than just a regular part of my day, it's become an ever-unfolding adventure.

Though I mostly stick to the same 30 minute route to and from work each day, the very nature of living in a city as large and bustling as Philadelphia has meant that no two days' walks are ever the same. Or boring. I see sleekly designed houses spring up from long vacant lots. I see the sad, well-dressed masses of Philadelphia's businessfolk emerge silently from cramped subway staircases. I see whimsical set-pieces for a touring revival of The Wizard Of Oz unloaded from semi-trucks like common crates. I see women dressed head-to-toe in anachronistic glamor that even Norma Desmond would find tacky. I see a city hum faintly with activity in the after-hours. I see where a young man lost his life one bright morning.

In this most recent winter, I braved several snowstorms just to walk. Not out of pride or spite, but out of habit. When it came time to renew my SEPTA pass for the spring months, I opted out. The money I had previously put toward a guaranteed, slow, late, inconvenient ride found better use elsewhere. Like getting the soles of my boots replaced.