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  • The Examined Life
  • Andrew Gretes (bio)

The universe buckled. Enough was enough. The last straw was a "know thyself" tattoo—inked in Ancient Greek—on Adam's nape. An orphic barcode.

Previous straws:

  • • Adam's habit of prefacing sentences: "The truth is…"

  • • Adam's insistence on proper pronunciation: "The truth is that oxymoron is pronounced ox-simmer-on."

  • • Adam's live-tweeting Thoreau's Walden.

Soon, Adam's wish would be granted. He would know himself.

Adam uploaded a JPEG of his new tattoo—"γνῶθι σɛαυτόν"—and awaited likes, emojis, retweets, and Facebook exegesis. But there was none of that. Just a vacuum of acknowledgement. Adam wondered if he uploaded his picture to the wrong space—outer, not cyber.

The next morning, Adam's car was vandalized: "shitty parker" scribbled in white soap across the windshield. It was the first of many attempts at communication. Others included:

A text from Adam's younger brother, Julian.

  • I saw your tattoo. Deep. Things you should know about yourself: (1) Your breath smells like a tuna flopped on a bridge and got pulverized by a Waste Management 18-wheeler. Halitosis—look it up. (2) You're pretentious. You make the brain terribly unappetizing. Even a zombie would abstain from devouring your noggin.

An email from Adam's father.

  • Your mother and I have adopted a Bernese mountain dog. His name is "Chip." Ideally, parents should love their children equally. Your mother and I have discussed the matter over; we find our love wanting. In lieu of equality, we're now striving for transparency. Here's where your stock stands (open to monthly recalculation):

    1. 1 Julian+0.21

    2. 2 Chip+2.74

    3. 3 Adam-1.23

A voice message from Adam's fiancée.

  • You set low standards. Last week, when you surprised me with a bottle of Dijon mustard, I went to the bathroom, bit my lip, and cried. I said to myself: he loves me, he really loves me

A letter, overnighted, from Adam's priest.

  • When I baptized you, you peed on me. Were your parents feeding you asparagus at such a young age? Father Kasper used to measure sin using urine color. As usual with us Catholics, dark meant bad. Your pee was the color of a freshly-painted school bus. The stain never washed out. [End Page 164]

A link to a product review titled "Adam," authored by Adam's ex-girlfriends:

  • Libido not as advertised. More like my old Honda. Hard to start. Makes unpleasant sounds. ~Valerie

  • Highly sensitive. Breaks down often. Especially when you challenge or contradict it. ~Rita

  • Returned it. You should too. If nothing else, dignity is refundable. ~Colleen

________

Adam was distraught. Even devastated. He saw himself as a victim, wronged, persecuted, a potential martyr. That night, he dreamt of an enormous mouth with teeth made of mirrors. Whenever the mouth grinned, Adam saw himself—magnified, multiplied—his poor body broken, wrapped in fiberglass, family and friends all holding Sharpies and signing: Pretentious; Sinner; Not as advertised; Too sensitive; etc.

There was only one thing Adam could do. At least, that's how Adam gauged the situation. Change was necessary. That was obvious. So Adam changed his name. By law, Adam was required to publish his intentions in a local newspaper. By inclination, he also published his intentions on four social media outlets.

Adam's intentions:

  • I wish to assume a new name. My reasoning: jeans don't last thirty years. Nor should names. I find my old name—Adam Wood—to be ripped, discolored, shrunk, stained. Henceforth, I would like to be known as "Nemo Cousteau."

The response was overwhelming. Likes. Emojis. Shares. Editorials of glowing approval. All of this and more. Adam woke to find his car vandalized, but this time the white soap read: "fucking lumi-nary."

Family, friends, and complete strangers all followed Adam's lead, filing paperwork to change their names. Towns, states, and even nations followed suit. Delaware wished to unbutton its lackluster past and requested to be known, henceforth, as "Rome, Bitches." Japan wished to divest its martial history and requested to be known, henceforth, as "Zen-Land."

The world was desperate for a sea-change. Bones into coral...

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