Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Sheri Spitz is trying to understand the draw of Facebook

So... I'm not stupid. At least not technologically stupid. I'm pretty adept at figuring out what the heck is happening on my computer. In fact, I'm so not-stupid at computers that I started a company based entirely on downloadable internet video. (Feel free to peruse if you have never seen it... www.viewu.com)

But Facebook makes me feel stupid. Really stupid. Cause seriously... I don't get it! I really don't. I wish I did. Apparently people spend quite a bit of time on this site. My sister, I know, spends a great deal of time sending pieces of flare back and forth with her friend Lisa. Now, I know what "flare" is. In fact, I was watching Office Space just this morning. (See, even without Facebook I am able to efficiently waste time).

My cousin Robin, I know, very much enjoys changing her status line. Right now, as I write, Robin "is realizing how underrated fresh air is - being in the midst of wildfires."

I don't ever change my status line. Am I being remiss? Do those people who found me on this site that knew me in nursery school want to know that right now Sheri Spitz is "writing in my blog and will soon be exercising on my Wii fit and unpacking two giant boxes of new merchandise that arrived today"? Or is that too boring? Should I instead inform people that Sheri Spitz is "currently pondering the chicken or the egg issue as I decide which to have for dinner." Although really, I'm having tomato pie. But "which came first, the tomato or the onion" doesn't have that same pithy ring to it.

Another thing I don't get. I have so many invitations and they all make no sense to me. Below is a list of invitations I have recently received.

1. A Superpoke invitation
2. A scabble invitation
3. A Sea Garden invitation
4. A Pirates invitation
5. A Johnny Depp invitation. (I know Alli... I know...)
6. An ilikefriend invitation
7. A Biggest Brain invitation
8. A piece of sushi
9. A Good Karma invitation
and last but not least...
10. An I love the 80's invitation

I don't know what those things mean. I'm sure they would be fun if I attempted participation. After all, almost every person I love in my life seems to enjoy these activities. And I do like playing with the word scramble game, although I don't seem to do very well despite my obvious verbosity.

And please don't misunderstand me, FWLFs (that's Friends Who Love Facebook). I'm not making fun. Well, at least not of you. I am making fun of myself to some degree because I feel like some old lady leaning on my cane and sucking on my dentures while I wonder aloud "What do these crazy kids see in this faces contraption?"

I think my biggest problem with Facebook currently isn't so much a lack of understanding of its purpose, but rather the emotional landmines that lie within. Here I am, innocently reading fan fiction or surfing eonline, when suddenly I receive an email friend request. And there, in the title of that email, is a name I haven't heard in 5 years. Or 10. OR WORSE YET... 15! Cause those are the high school names.

It's not that I don't want to get back in touch with old friends. I love catching up with people who knew me when I was shy. (Shut up! I was... I really was!) But it's that whole two-worlds colliding thing. You know? It was like when I was in college and someone from Shaker would come visit. Or now, when someone from LA comes to Charlotte. It seems weird to me that I should be unpacking my latest box of bedroom accessories and preparing for a party when someone, all of a sudden, who knew me when I actually was willing to run around the playground and play kickball (although I was never really all THAT willing, let's be honest) reaches out with no warning from 20 years ago and touches me on the shoulder. Doesn't that give anyone else the heebee geebees? Sometimes it's a lovely pleasant memory and I revel in it as I accept their invitation. Sometimes, on the other hand, it's a fun little trigger that dislodges me from my current life situation and returns me to a time perhaps best left in the past.

The other weird part for me is that after you accept said ghost-from-high-school-past's invitation and become a friend, people seem to not have an interest in writing and catching up. And I'm as bad as anyone. I have accepted tons of invitations (aren't I popular?) and not even ever opened the profile of the invit-or. I often don't answer things that are posted to my wall. And I very rarely actually write emails. If I do, it's a quick catch-up and then silence again. Some of them have pictures and it's nice to see some faces again. But otherwise, it seems I spend most of my time accepting invitations and then closing my browser.

I can't be the only person who thinks like this, right? But then, I guess if the whole thing really bothered me, I would remove my Facebook profile. Or I would never have put my high school or college into my profile so no one from the past could find me.

So ultimately it must not bother me that much. Perhaps it is just the feeling of not getting the appeal that bugs me the most.

I never did like feeling left out. Except in kickball.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Words, Wonderful Words

So... I'm a talker. We all know this and I am comfortable enough with myself to admit that I talk quite a bit. It's my Grandmother Bea's fault. She talked quite a bit as well. (I just hope I don't exclude all others from participating in the conversation as she did. And grip their arms in the Vulcan Death Grip while I talk to them.) In fact, my Grandma talked so often that it wasn't until she passed away (alavah shalom) that I ever heard my Grandfather (alavah shalom again) finish a whole story on his own with no exasperated "Oh Paul..." interrupting him and taking over the story.

But it's not just that I love the talk. Or even that I love making the pretty talk. Cause I do enjoy a well constructed sentence. I also love anyone who can talk the pretty talk with me. People who know how to put words together in such a clever way that even though the sentence is totally banal in meaning, the words they choose make me laugh out loud for several minutes.

Take for example my good friend out there in LA, Vanessa. Today on instant message I was talking to her about something and declared myself full of shit. She responded, "I don't think you're full of shit. I think you're full of awesome!"

Which is FUNNY! And exactly what I expect from Vanessa. This girl answers her phone on any day of the week, "Happy (insert day of the week here) to you!" It makes such a nice change from the usual, "Hello?" that most people throw at you. In fact, just about everything Vanessa says includes a fun turn-of-phrase that makes you stop and think a few seconds before you respond while your brain processes her meaning. And yes, VI, I mean that as a HUGE compliment! Another example from today's conversation. I was lamenting my lack of post-it flags in the house and Vanessa offered a solution.

"I'm surrounded by them. Hold on, let me teleport them to you."

"Crap. I still lack the power of teleportation. Maybe tomorrow."

Vanessa isn't the only one in my life with a talent for wordplay. Two other good friends here in Charlotte, Kara and Lucas, are two champions of funny-ness in ordinary phrases. I can't really do them justice without the tone of voice that goes with them. But a good example is how they add, "It turns out" before any sort of statement that describes a situation. As in "It turns out this blog is rambling quite a bit without direction." Or "I was going to the post office today but it turns out that I am quite lazy."

I think this love of strangely constructed phrases comes from an early childhood love of Stephen King. This is my favorite passage from any of his books. It's from "The Shining." In this section, one of the characters has just been distracted in his driving by a premonition being sent to him by Danny Torrance at the hotel. (Yes, premonition! It's Stephen King!) And he cuts off a workman driving beside him in his distraction.

"The workman cut to the left, still laying on his horn and roared around the drunkenly weaving limousine. He invited the driver of the limo to perform an illegal sex act on himself. To engage in oral congress with various rodents and birds. He expressed his sincere belief in the position the limo driver's soul would occupy in the afterlife. He finished by saying that he believed he had met the limo driver's mother in a New Orleans house of prostitution."

I mean... COME ON! Does anyone out there who knows me think that the way I talk may have been influenced by this prolific writer? And if there is anyone out there who knows me who doesn't believe that I not only laughed out loud when I read that the first time, but that I also went back and read it over and over and sometimes would pull it off my bookshelf and look for just that passage to read again and just now when I pulled it out to type knew exactly where it was in the book even though I haven't picked this book up in probably 15 years... well then you probably don't know me very well!

What's the point? Dunno. Turns out I don't have one. I just enjoyed Vanessa's turn of phrase so much that I wanted to share it. And, of course, procrastinate. There's always that.

Check back another time for something more coherent.