Hello World!
MY NAME IS BRANDY
As far back as I can remember, when anyone asked my name, and I, of course, innocently answered, “Brandy,” my simple reply would nearly always elicit an almost Pavlovian reaction: lyrics from a Looking Glass song. This phenomenon still goes on today, and I must consciously curb my inclination to respond sarcastically or just shake my head in laughter. I mean, come on! Seriously, does anyone really think I’ve never heard that before?!
As a small child, I couldn’t understand why on earth anyone would name a girl Brandy when there were perfectly lovely names like Cindy out there! But honestly, I can’t imagine my name being anything else! Although not an exotic dancer (though I’ve been known to pretend at one time or another) nor bubble-headed ding dong, as the moniker generally suggests, the name does suit me flawlessly. My father chose it in 1962, and I’m always proud to claim that I was named after the lovely Brandy de la Court from the masculine soaked John Wayne film, Hatari! She too, like the eponymous character of the famed song from 1972, served men whiskey and wine.
The whole talking about oneself is such an odd phenomenon with which people today seem to have no problem. My generation was about fitting in, or even flying under the radar—being inconspicuous, as it were—rather than broadcasting our special-snowflake selves as unique, and flawed, individuals. We kept diaries, under lock and key, and if the precious tomes were invaded, we were mortified and genuinely heartbroken. Then again, perhaps that’s not indeed true of my generation but just of myself. I can’t say with any certainty.
Needless to say, this has been the most difficult section of my website to compose.
What I can say with certainty is that I am an only child, who had an extraordinarily fantastic childhood. My best friends were always either four legged with fur or invisible to others. My teenage years were unfortunately wretched and caused me to suffer arrested development. Therefore, my twenties were spent simultaneously learning what my peers learnt in their teens and navigating the waters of independence.
I am told there are people out there called “multipotentialites,” who are otherwise known as polymaths or Renaissance men. I do consider myself a multipotentialite but would never be so arrogant as to lump myself in with likes of Aeschylus and Davinci: brilliant geniuses who are masters of multiple prestigious and diverse fields—both science and art—and for whom I would reserve the second two terms. Multipotentialites, however, are just regular people who simply explore a vast array of boundless interests without narrowing their focus to one driving pursuit: a jack of all trades but master of none, if you will. Sadly, these curious dreamers often feel without purpose.
Purpose. I love the concept of it! Even when I’ve felt floundering, there’s a purpose in sight. Here I have a particular purpose, and it’s not to talk about myself (I’m not that interesting). My purpose is to tell stories: the stories of my experience. Otherwise, when I’m gone they are all lost.
I am compelled to tell all the fantastically sordid stories of my unbounded curiosities.
Now, wash your hands, perpetually improve, and please feel free to email me with comments, questions, suggestions, or whatever you please!
I wish you the best! Enjoy life!
