I like simple web pages. I like words. Flashy graphics annoy me. Live with (or without, as the case is) it.
More pictures are here.
Why not?
Well, there are a couple of stories, really. One or more of them might even be true. Here's the latest one, (which is really just a summary of one of the first ones, posted to soc.singles sometime in 1995):
Newsgroups: soc.singles,alt.romance.chat Subject: Chocoteaparty (was Re: Fat Amer. Women vs. Babushkas!) Message-ID: <370552f2.0@news.iglou.com> Date: 2 Apr 1999 18:29:54 -0500 [some bits snipped to get to the important part] [someone inquired:] >BTW, how did you come by the moniker Ogre? It's a long story, really. I'll post the full thing just as soon as I get through making up the latest version (and negotiating the movie rights). Essentially, it's the story of a tragic love affair between the spirited daughter of a wealthy Montana Christmas tree rancher and a, er, "man" from the wrong side of the mountain (not to mention the evolutionary tree). I was the unfortunate result (and primary reason for termination) of that affair. The name "Ogre" just seemed to fit me, huge, hulking, horrible monstrosity that I am. I'm afraid I can't reveal any names, since the principals aren't here to defend themselves, but the affair did gain some small measure of notoriety a few years back, when a certain Swedish rox group released a song loosely based on it all - "It Must Have Been Love, But It's Ogre Now"...
Another tale has to do with a W. H. Auden poem that a friend of mine was kind enough to point out to me, again in soc.singles. This one's a bit longer, so we'll give it its own link.
A note about this one: I wandered out to a bookstore to find this poem, wondering how Mr. Auden had learned so much about me and if he'd written anything else along those lines. Found a collection of his poems, and picked it up. Couldn't find anything in the table of contents that looked like "The Ogre", but did find a poem titled "August 1968". So, on my way back to the index of first lines, I dropped in to see what the poet had to say about the month that saw my birth.
And there it was. In a poem written about a month after I'd been born, twenty-odd years before I even started calling myself "Ogre", he'd pegged me. How did he do it?
Yep. He exists, and He does answer prayers. (And if you listen closely, you can sometimes hear the "Sheesh!" at the end of His answer.)
(Yet more to come, someday...)
Questions? Comments? Complaints? Let me know...