Dan Bolles: Superspy! | Solid State

Dan Bolles: Superspy!

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I knew it! I'm a fine piece of ass and now I have proof. And no, I don't mean the "homeless Trey" silhouette adorning the header of Sound Bites — I've really got to do something about that. Anywhoo . . .

Whether they choose to admit it or not, the first section of Seven Days that most people turn to on Wednesday is "I Spy" — and usually on the can. The latter fact actually helps me put my job into humbling perspective; It's hard to get too worked up about angry letters to the editor when you realize that most were likely formed in the author's most personal moment of the day. But I digress.

I'm not sure how long "I Spy" has been running in the paper. But I'll come clean that prior to my employment with the paper, I religiously scoured the section hoping upon hope that someone, anyone, had thought enough of me in one fleeting moment to to put pen to paper and call me out. Week after week, month after month and ultimately year after year, no dice. As Harvey Pekar might put it, it's been a reliable disappointment. Until now.

Let it be known that I've been happily involved with the same woman for over two years. That said, my inner narcissist has generally refused to go a week without at least checking to see if I'd been spied. However, since I began writing for the paper, I've focused less on personals and horoscopes and more on what my colleagues are producing on a weekly basis — who knew they had articles in this rag?

Anyway, I'd all but given up on ever being spied until a friend pointed this out to me last weekend. I was shocked.

REDHEADS UNITE
Red-bearded Red Sox fan walking your white dog at Battery Park, Oct. 3, morning. I rode by on my bike and we shared a smile. We also share a team and a hair color. What else?
When: Wednesday, October 3, 2007. Where: Battery Park, Burlington. You: Man. Me: Woman.

Sweet Jesus. I got spied.

Over the years, there have been a few close calls, but nothing that I could ever say for certain was me. I vaguely remember the incident with the red-haired girl — how delightfully Charlie Brown! My girlfriend, however, would really like to know just what the hell I was doing smiling at bicycling redheads in the park. Ummm . . . I'm just a happy guy? Hoo boy.

In closing, if you're out there red-haired girl, thank you. You made my week. I'm sorry it won't work out, but we'll always have Battery Park.


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