Seeking Internet crush; dying to hear “Someone really does like you”

Hollan Holm

Sometimes an idea seems funny. I think if I follow through with this funny idea in a good-natured way, everyone will laugh it off. I want it to be a good time for everyone, but in the end it doesn’t work that way. People get used.

Those times, people get hurt, and it’s not my intention. This is why I’m apologizing in this column. I was wrong to do what I did last week, and I am sorry. I don’t have actual knowledge enough to name all those I hurt on Oct. 28, but here goes.

I’m sorry to the approximately 24 Western students I used with the last name Smith and first initial A.

I’m sorry to the approximately 12 students I took advantage of with the last name Jones and first initial A.

I submitted each of your e-mails to in a vain attempt to discover the e-mail address of my true love. sent me an e-mail on Oct. 28 informing me I had a secret admirer. In order to learn who this admirer was, and live happily ever after, I had to guess.

This meant feeding the Web site e-mail addresses that would in turn receive “Believe it! You have a secret admirer!” messages of their own.

Undoubtedly they would be convinced – like I was – by the rampant use of exclamation points that their would-be-wooer is real.

They too would vainly submit e-mails and a vicious nationwide cycle will begin. But should I match with anyone, I could call the police, have my admirer prosecuted and not have to submit more innocent addresses.

The Web site rewarded me with clues to the identity of my digital darling for every eight addresses. I ran out of legitimate names before I got my first clues, so I went to the WKU Student Directory online to get the rest of my clues. Thanks to the 36 strangers like “megbootleg,” “Mcnugget317” and “applepie375” I exploited, I know the following facts about by secret admirer:

She spends her free time going to something called “Theater/Movie/Concerts.”

Her idea of the perfect first date is a walk in the park.

She has a “goofball” sense of humor.

She has light brown hair.

She has hazel eyes.

She has cats.

If only the site would have included a Zodiac symbol I could have narrowed down the list of millions of Americans who fit that description.

The site pressed me further, promising more clues if I would obey tasks like registering with my middle school at a class reunion Web site and playing the Internet lottery. That yielded more specific fruits like my admirer’s first name has five letters and begins with a letter between F and J. Their last name has six letters and begins with a letter between P and S.

Those parameters fit names I could investigate, like Gerty Putter, Ivana Ratdog and Heidi Slinky.

But then I realized that was moronic because I’ve never heard of anyone with names like that, much less anyone who would lust after me.

But that all changed Nov. 4 when Cupid brought me a new message.

“Someone really does like you,” Cupid said.

In my lack of self esteem, I couldn’t help but notice a sarcastic tinge on “really.” But sarcasm aside, I had a name to go with my suitor-ess.

Turns out that the someone was not one of the many Smith or Jones e-mails I submitted but a friend of mine.

I had asked many friends – male and female – for their addresses in my flurry of searching, but I told each of them they should disregard the message from that would inevitably follow.

When her name came up as my crush, I was surprised and interrogated her on it, hoping maybe, just maybe, that even though she didn’t match a single hint about my secret admirer, it might still work out between us.

Apparently she guessed my e-mail in hopes that Cupid and its incessant e-mail would leave her alone.

As she shot me down, the flames left nice black burn marks on the carpet in my dorm. So nice that you would swear they were mud tracks.

Even though I found flames instead of love, Cupid left me hope.

“You’re so popular and good looking, however, you probably have a lot more people out there with mad crushes on you,” Cupid said.

Apparently, Cupid at has never seen my column mug shot.

Picks ‘O the Week

Bring your National Rifle Association membership card to REDZ. Don’t let a fancy name fool you, it’s still the Fourth Floor of Downing University Center. But your NRA card will come in handy at the 7 p.m. presentation of Spartacus. No discount included with an NRA membership, but you’ll fit in better with the other Charlton Heston fans. Oh wait, my bad. He’s in Ben Hur, not Spartacus.

Go to the Phoenix Theater tomorrow night at 8:30 and see Mark Melloan and his folk/bluegrass music styling. Bring $5 and they’ll probably let you in the door, too.

Should Hollan Holm or any member of his I.M. force be caught or killed, the secretary will disavow all knowledge of his actions. His e-mail at [email protected] will self-destruct in five seconds.