Secrets of the Post Secret Q&A

Last night, in a cramped corner of the Park Slope Barnes & Noble, artist/secret-monger/all-around nice guy Frank Warren gave a talk about his on-going art project, Post Secret. For those unfamiliar, Post Secret is one man's call to the people of the world to share their deepest (or not-so-deepest) secrets with him, so he can share them with everyone else. And we can all be healed. Or somesuch. It seems to be working; Frank's site gets millions upon millions of hits a week and people are chucking their secrets at him like 2(x)ist man-briefs at a Scissor Sisters show. He's got legions of fans (myself included) and those of us that reside in the 5 Boroughs turned up to see what he had to say for himself. While there, smushed among the masses, I uncovered a few secrets of my own. Herewith, the goods:

Secret - The Park Slope B&N absolutely needs to go fuck it's self for having an event such as this in it's tiny, submarine-esque space. Clearly there are inferiority issues at work here, because it's trying to do much more than it's capable of and it's only hurting, not helping.

Secret - I've got the makin's of a pretty serious boy-crush on Frank Warren. He's geeky in that "aw shucks," Mr. Wizard kind of way and I bet he's a riot to go drink a lot of beer with. And I bet he'd slow dance if I asked nic- um...

Secret - Someone in back of the crowd, near where I stood, was farting up a goddamn storm. Real hot, eggy ones. Not. Cool. There's this little thing called "we're in public" and you might want to have that tattooed on your forearm like a quarterback's play book so you can consult it before you decide to ass-bomb the good folks around you.

Secret - Not just the hipsters are into Post Secret. I was surprised by this and, don't get me wrong, there were a fair amount of ironic haircuts to be seen, but still... lots of Moms, teens and weirdly thuggish-looking guys asking Mr. Warren to sign one for "my boy Peanut."

Secret - Oh, and speaking of the teens, when did teenage girls stop being hot and start being so fucking annoying that you want to beat them with a leather-bound copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare until the shrill noises and Flickr references stop coming out of their faces? Or something less psychotic.

Secret - The odd mix of sorority girl/punk that sat in front of me had so much buttcrack emerging from her rolled-down sweat pants that I considered asking her to move so I could concentrate on the presentation. But I didn't. Because I am a pervert, apparently.

Secret - If I were privy to thousands of people's secrets every week, I would use them for evil. I'm pretty certain of this. Not sure how, not even sure why, but I would. The fact that Frank Warren doesn't says a lot about the guy. (sigh) He's soooo dreamy.