I'm Sorry, But I Don't Remember Who You Are

I am new to the Facebook phenomenon, and need to share something with the many, many people for whom I’ve confirmed ‘friendship’ on my Facebook site:

For those of you I know through my high school connection, I probably don’t remember very much about you.

To be honest, the great majority of you (my high school ‘friends’) have not entered my thoughts in the 24+ years since we were in high school together. There’s also a really, really good chance you didn’t enter my thoughts while we were seniors together either – unless I had you in a class or you were a very, very pretty girl (and I think you know who you are, or were at the time -God knows what Father Time has done to that unblemished high school skin, taut high school bottom, or those blossoming high school breasts). So in that case, it’s been 25+ years since I even recognized your existence.

Here’s the other funny thing. When I joined Facebook, it wasn’t with the expressed purpose of finding all those chums from high school that I’d been missing for better than 2 decades. Not only was it not an expressed purpose, it was neither a secondary nor tertiary purpose. It was whimsical at best when I decided to look for old ALHS buddies. And with the exception of a very (very, very, very) small proportion of my confirmed ‘friends’, I wasn’t looking for you.

Wow, so now what? I’ve reacquainted myself with this group of people who I barely knew, if at all, in high school, and I’m struggling with some fundamental questions, like – if I didn’t hang out with you in high school, why would I want to hang out (virtually) with you now? Once we get past the re-introduction (which often includes a run through the yearbook looking for a face to match with the name), sharing of marital and reproductive status, and a sharing of educational and occupational histories, just how do we continue with an awkward electronic relationship? Or do we at all?

Please understand that I mean no malice by any of this. Had I written this in high school, from what I recall of myself, I likely would have intended much malice. Because one thing I’ve learned about myself is that my recollections from high school, and oddly, there are few, are mostly of all the truly crappy things I did to other people. Or of thought-crimes committed against other people. These actions, if perpetrated by my own offspring, would elicit scorn, scolding, ‘the eye’, demands for apologies and some sort of punishment. But I totally got away with all of these things in high school, though some might argue that I didn’t get away with anything, because I continue to burden myself with shame.

What have we established so far?
1. I wasn’t looking to find my high school classmates.
2. Now I’ve been re-connected with those classmates.
3. I am compelled to air quote our confirmed ‘friendship’, thus questioning its legitimacy.
4. I have a nonspecific, negative, almost aching recollection of my own behavior in high school.

Perhaps now would be the time to put forth a blanket apology for all the things I did in high school that offended you then or, in hindsight, offend you now. Please know that I apologize for:

• any actions, activities, or pranks that may have caused physical injury;
• any condescending remarks, sexist or lewd statements, unfiltered or insulting quips that may have caused you psychological suffering;
• though it really seems like a victimless crime, targeting you in my masterbatorial fantasies;
• adding you to my “if-I-were-Mr.-T-for-a-day,-I’d-kick-your-ass” list, though again, victimless crime;
• mocking you or humorously exposing any one of your physical limitations, including but not limited to your height, weight, speech impediments, inability to play team sports, etc.;
• any other offense I for which I have no specific recollection.

That said, one thing I’m unclear about is why all you people want to be my ‘friend’. For as much as I didn’t hang out with you in high school, you also did not hang out with me. I assume that was your choice. Perhaps you are playing the “collect-as-many-friends-as-possible-in-Facebook” game. I do not understand this game. I desire meaningful contact in my relationships, and the CAMFAPiF game does not achieve that end.

Perhaps you are just reaching out to be … I hate to use this word … friendly. Okay, I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that. But you should know, if that’s the case, I’m not going to be a very good friend. Chances are, unless you live fairly close to me, I’m going to perturb neither my schedule nor my expense budget and make a special, long-distance trip to see you. I probably (99% probability) won’t invite you to stay in my house when you’re travelling through my area. I probably (again, 99% probability) won’t send you anything more than a ‘wall-to-wall’ shout-out on your birthday, even though Facebook will give me ample notice of such events.

So what, then, are we achieving with this electronic relationship? Having written this much (me) and read this far (you), I believe we’re both feeling sort of hollow about the whole thing. I search for meaning in our electronic daliance and come up short. Here’s how my search always ends: I know what happened to you since high school and you me. Assuming our profiles are truthful, we’ve answered the long-standing question, “Whatever happened to XXX?”

“Wow,” I wonder, “is that it?”

I suggested on Facebook that now, because I’ve connected with all these high school classmates on Facebook, I won’t need to attend my 25th reunion this August. This was met with comments that I’ll be missing out on all the fun, etc. What fun? I ask. I submit that the primary reason for attending high school reunions is to find out “Whatever happened to XXX?” Secondarily, we all want to know who got fat? Who went bald? Who took care of themselves? Who succeeded wildly? Who failed miserably? Who married whom? And finally – who will scrape up the nerve to show up?

Disclaimer: I attended my 10 year HS reunion. I didn’t attend the 5 year, 15 year, or 20 year. I’m assuming similar behavior at the ones I didn’t attend and the ones I have yet to attend. At my 10 year I participated in many superficial ‘my-occupation-is-my-identity’ conversations followed closely by a resurrection of all the old HS cliques. Sure, it was nice chatting with the old clique again – what few of us there were in attendance. I’ve stayed connected with precisely 1 person from that reunion, and that only through the annual exchange of holiday cards.

Will my Facebook participation alter my HS reunion participation? Now that I’ve connected with you, read your profile, scanned your “25 random things about me” posting, will I make a more meaningful connection with you if we both attend our reunion? Hmm, let me envision the conversation…

Without Facebook
Me: So what do you do?
You: I sell Mary Kay products.
Me: [nodding] Cool.
You: And you?
Me: I’m in IT at Target.
You: [nodding] Cool.

With Facebook
Me: [having read your profile, I already know you sell Mary Kay products] So how’s that Mary Kay deal working out in the recession?
You: Really good. Beauty products sales traditionally spike during a recession. I think women find it an inexpensive way to improve themselves.
Me: [nodding thoughtfully] Cool.
You: [having read my profile, knowing already that I work for Target] Still hanging in there at Target?
Me: Yep. Times are tight, but we’re still profitable.
You: [nodding thoughtfully] Cool.

So you see how much less awkward and more meaningful this human interaction was, and all because of Facebook. Wow! Technology really does make life better.

One Last Thing
So far we know:
1. I wasn’t looking for you, and you weren’t looking for me, but we’ve connected anyway.
2. I’ve addressed my nonspecific negative feelings toward my behavior in high school by issuing a blanket apology.
3. I’ve figured out how to use Facebook to make our next face-to-face experience slightly less awkward.

I can’t believe it took me this long to figure out the last thing that needs to happen. You see, I frequently (usually) begin writing my posts not knowing how they’ll conclude. They usually begin as a nagging feeling that I’m only able to address through writing, and the act of writing helps me sort through the feeling toward some conclusion. I finally figured out the conclusion.

4. I need to issue blanket forgiveness to you for any slight you imparted on me.

That’s it. It’s that simple! We essentially agree to forgive each other our trespasses. We drop the petty, childish, sophomoric baggage from HS that we’ve dragged all through our adult years. You forgive mine; I forgive yours. If we can enter into this agreement, we can enjoy our company at the reunion this summer.

Now – who’s in?

Presenting the exciting year-end double issue of the 2008 Non-denominational, Holiday-type Newsletter of the Gonzalez Family

Lycra Shaped People

I started working out a bit more this summer, adding some biking trips (rule: get bike to a path, ride in a single direction as hard as possible into the wind for 1 hour, then return) to my regimen. And I also started running 1 to 2 times a week, no more than 1 hour at a time. And I lost some weight (15-20 pounds depending how you account for it).

I decided that, because of my propensity for profuse sweat, I needed to start layering my workout uniform. Thus began the search for those spandex/lycra/nylon-lyra-spandex-mix shirts that those runners/cyclists wear. Folks wearing those clothes never look like sweaty pigs. Sweaty pigs like me.

I found and purchased a particular shirt that appeared to be my size. I didn't try it on in the store for a number of uninteresting reasons, but when I got home I threw it on just before dinner (and a later workout that night).

It's a tight shirt. It's tight enough that it cannot be removed without reversing it. It's not ridiculously tight - it doesn't leave marks on my skin or anything.

My appearance at the dinner table drew double-takes from both my wife and teenaged daughter. "Wow," my daughter gasped, "it's kinda wrong when your dad is chiseled." My wife scanned me like a construction worker scans a pretty office blond and added, "Wow, you are looking good."

Bolstered by this unsolicited praise, I checked myself in the mirror after my workout that night. With the shirt on - yeah, I'm kinda chiseled. Not quite ready for the Body Armour ad, but there's definitely a muscular, manly shape there.

Then I removed the shirt. "Hey, where'd it go?" Suddenly all the flabby parts covering my six-pack abs re-appeared. My chiseled-ness had vanished.

"Oh my God, I'm an idiot. It's the shirt." The shirt shapes my body, tightening in the right spots, nudging the malleable flesh into areas that then appear muscular. It's like a push-up bra for men!

Then I began noticing just how common this phenomenon is. Because of my wife I know that there are about 72 kinds of underwear for women that "shape" their bodies. Now there are for men too. And when I began to really look for the lycra-shaped people, there they were, all around me. I'd never noticed before.

We have become a society of lycra-shaped people, well on our way to becoming the morbidly obese, amorphous blobs featured in the Pixar film Wall-E.

Giving Blood Part 2 - Natalya Returns

First, read this post from 2006. It describes a less than fulfilling attempted blood donation.

Guess who was there to take my blood today?

After filling out the forms and answering the not-so-discrete questions about my travel and sexual history, a lab-coated Memorial Blood Center technician led me to a table with a left-armed drawing position (I prefer the left arm, thank you very much). The technician manning this and an adjacent, right-arm drawing table, was Natalya - she of the "oops" incident from a year ago.

Yikes! Was I actually going to have to ask for a different phlebology technician? I debated mentally.

"Look," I'd say, "it's nothing professional, but I just can't have you 'oops-ing' me again."

Then I thought - if she was that bad, would she still be working for them? After all, she appeared to have properly handled the woman next to me. No oops-ing today. No blood on the floor and alarmed stares from other blood donors. So far.

Before I really had much more of a chance to think, a different, much more experienced looking phlebologist approached and took care of me.

A one word response to all of this - "Whew!"

All went well, and I'm currently running a pint low. And I'm happy that 3 people will receive parts of my blood and help them (hopefully) return to good health.

2007 Non-Demominational, Non-Personalized, Holiday-Type Newsletter

Presenting the 2007 Non-denominational, Non-Personalized, Holiday-type Newsletter of the Gonzalez Family

One Less Pristine Tooth

A quick note - I had a cavity filled today. I'm not a huge fan of Novocain, that's for sure. I gave blood last Saturday. It took 8 minutes and 5 seconds (they time you now, for some reason). I swear that the Novocain needle was in my gum longer than than the bloodletting needle. [Insert bone rattling shiver here.]

You know what else I hate? My plaque-infested tooth didn't hurt when I woke up this morning. However, now that it contains a white, plastic filling, it's actually kind of sore. Pretty hard to explain to the kids why they should have their cavities filled if it only creates pain for them in a place there wasn't pain before.