how to ruin a successful party
On Wednesday I had lunch with a friend who, just minutes before I arrived at the restaurant, was informed of some test results which reveal that she does not, in fact, have cancer. This news -- combined with the chicken curry in coconut milk, otherwise known as the number one -- made it a very cheerful lunch.
Yesteday I had lunch with another friend who told me that she's getting married in April to some posh professor she met on Twitter. Capital! She's had a rough go for awhile and this was some nice news. Plus we had more linguini on our plates than we could possibly ever eat.
Also yesterday I tried to make a comment on a friend's Facebook activity and was denied.
When I (sarcastically) asked her about it, she informed me that she had recently made two big changes to her 'social networking': deleting (and disallowing comments from) people she doesn't know in "real life". She said I had "actually made the cut", but when her husband asked (twice) about the "dude who was commenting on every post", she had to "axe" me.
And this was disappointing.
Because while she's right -- I do not know her "in real life" -- I *could* pick her out of a police lineup. And I have a pretty good take on her sense of humour (dark but hopeful with a twist of improv, which she does in her spare time). And we've had some meaningful email exchanges, and she's always been extremely thoughtful and generous. She even bought my book.
But no, I don't 'know' her "in real life".
And anyone who knows *me* understands that I am bleak and difficult and floundering, and that I use Facebook to spread The Bad Word, sell some work and have a bit of fun. I do not take it seriously. I make comments with all the aforethought of Godzilla wading into downtown Japanese traffic.
At the same time, I don't edit what people say on my own wall. Of course most of it is nice, because people want to say positive things, and be liked ("Hurray for everyone!"). Some of it is even interesting. But, because of who (or what) I am, I also get a great deal of smart-assery. In fact, I have one friend (she just gave me a lift halfway home from work the other day, in "real life") who regularly comments on how I make her ill to her stomach, when she's not saying things like, "I'm sorry your bum isn't working today."
It's pell-mell. It's a rumpus, a fracas. It's a brouhaha. I'll 'friend' just about anybody. Who cares? You're just making noise on an imaginary zeppelin ride. Anything that can disappear when you shut off the electricity isn't worth getting too worked up about. And I don't know what the point of it is if it's only a pale duplicate of your 'real world'.
O well. Now my 'friend' and I will have to go through an awkward waiting period, where nothing happens, before one quietly deletes the other.