Vlog the Inhaler, or The Occasional Video Blog Musings of Jim Thornton

As some of you may know, and others are perhaps discovering for the first time, Vlog the Inhaler, like Sybill, is a person of multiple, and for the most part delightful and/or pathological, personalities.

We have, for instance, Jim Thornton, AKA, James Thornton, AKA, James S. Thornton, and various other anglosaxonate aliases of this sort. Born a white male Episcopalian country clubman jr., MasterJimmy (as he was known by servants and bank tellers alike) grew up understanding that he was made in God's likeness: indeed, he and his twin brother John were, in their own eyes and the eyes of the surrounding community, as close to the spitting image of God as could be found anywhere in the firmament.

Oh, I was also known widely as Golden Boy.

More recently, we have Jamesuardo, the Hispanic form of the above, a little further from God's image, to be sure, a bit tanner than the clubman jr., but one of the few completely original surnames in the Internet universe, and thus one of the few people who can get email addresses and the like at popular sites without having to add an endless string of random numerals and letters.

JimThornton@hotmail.com? Taken, in fact, so taken that the first available facsimile is JimThornton27753qzx44rtlfgn99@hotmail.com

But Jamesuardo@hotmail.com? To my knowledge, still robustly available!

In even more recent times, following the adoption of atheism as my personal saviour and the epiphany that a white male Episcopalian country clubman jr. is, in point of fact, not the spitting image of God, but, if anything, the very antithesis thereof (not, mind you, that either God or Antigod now exist in the world of this defrocked former clubman who would no longer even want to be admitted to the Allegheny Country Club even if he could afford it and could find a single living soul to put him up for membership)--following all this, and inspired by the Nietzchian concept of resentiment (learned not from a primary source, but rather as such was explained to me by my still God-Like identical twin brother after John had taken a class in philosophy at UNC-Chapel Hill in the early 1970s), wherein the Germanic philosopher argued that what we want, but cannot get, is devalued, and its opposite held up as a virtue, thus explaining the "turn the other cheek" and "the meek shall inherit the earth" passive aggressiveness of the early Christian devotees, who wanted the power of their Roman bastard overlords, but had no chance whatsoever of securing this...

Where was I?

Oh, thus was berthed Jimby the Scrivener, who made up in utterly mild mannered ineffectual good naturedness what the former Clubman Jr. had claimed for himself in his "highest being in biological and theological evolution" birthright mentality.

Jimby, nice, pleasant, not arrogant, not an in-your-face blackguard, but rather, at best, a gently teasing jokester whose most defiant of all positions was, as his famous scrivener inspirtation, Bartleby, taught him to say, "I prefer not to." And then make himself as deadweighty and immoveable as a stubborn toddler who does not want to be bodily removed from the toy store.

Jimby has been a pretty good persona, all told. He lets me stalk the CreamPuffs of the world without inviting restraining orders. He lets me complain about my illnesses and IRS audits and the like without provoking a barrage of rotten vegetables hailing down upon his harmless head. But Jimby, in his submissiveness to his fate and general vulnerability to misery and giving up easily, etc. is not without his downsides.

Jimby has his place, as does Jamesuardo and, to be honest about it, James S. Thornton, dethroned Clubman who, to be even more honest about it, would still like to play golf sometime before he dies, no matter how ugly and divot-marked the rough and fairways will inevitably become in his wake.

But as the assortment of me's face the prospect of financial ruin and death, James S. sneering, Jamesuardo swearing, and Jimby maintaining he would prefer not to, it occurs to us that perhaps it is time for a new morph to emerge: one with the wherewithal to confront the challenges of the New Era.

And on this note, I would like to introduce the latest neonatal form of me:

Spunky Po'Boy McPunkerton-Thornton.

I do not yet know that well my new aging lad who refuses to surrender but remains, cheerfully and indefatigably, a man's man and a lady's man, part rogue, part scoundrel, part rascal, part scamp, but 100 percent the kind of man that everyone, including himself, can't help but like. Beyond this, I am not sure what kind of guy Spunky Po'Boy is.

Thanks to my kindly vlogging commentators, whose sagacious counsel has provided the impetus for this new me's birth. If you know of any attributes that you think Spunky has, swimming related or non, please feel free to let me know.

Likable as he is, Spunky Po'Boy McPunkerton-Thornton is a work in progress. He needs guidance, perhaps more of this than Jimby, Jamesuardo, Master Jimmy, Golden Boy, and James S. Thornton, even working in concert, can provide.

Perhaps some of you have met Spunky at some point in your lives, and maybe even have stories to recall of his rough courage in the face of adversity and difficult swimming practice sets. Feel free to make up anecdotes to share about me.

I need to know how to be next.