This year has certainly been the worst of my life, but I do feel grateful for so many things despite the trauma and tragedy we've endured.
I am grateful for my friend Bob Welch, a columnist for the Eugene, OR, newspaper and award winning author (http://bobwelch.net/) for inspiring me to also focus on giving.
Bob writes a column each year around the Christmas holidays about an anonymous donor who gives him $1000 to disburse to needy people in his community. Bob and the donor's example helped me this year after Kaiser Permanente adopted us and showered the kids with at least fifteen gifts each and a trove of gift cards.
So I bought twelve $10 gift cards at Starbucks, and Maya, Miguel, and I handed them out on Christmas Day and on the 26th.
My only instructions were to give a card to someone who seemed to be in need. To Miguel I said, "Maybe someone homeless."
"How can you tell?" he asked.
Maya gave one to a man seated a few tables away from us at Starbuck's. He came over a few moments later, smiling, and thanking us as he tried to surreptiously slide the card into my hand.
"I don't need this," he said. "Please save it for someone else."
"But my daughter gave it as a gift to you," I said.
"Well, thank you, sweetheart," he said to her.
Miguel gave one to a young man drawing caricatures on the sidewalk. I handed three to a trio of firefighters outside the station, and three more to some guys eating pizza at a local sports bar.
Pay it forward, I hope.
I am grateful to my father-in-law, Martin, for being one of the most generous people I know. He babysits for Maya most Tuesday afternoons, and he is always beneficent with his time and money.
I am grateful for my mother, Beverly, and her husband, Fred, for sending us bi-monthly checks and babysitting for Miguel and Maya in 2008 when Verna and I took our first (and last) vacation without children in 11 years. We had a glorious time in Cabo San Lucas.
I am grateful to my father, Marvin, and his wife, Joyce, for trekking out to California when Verna and I renewed our vows in late July, and seven weeks later for her funeral.
I am grateful to my brother, Scott, and his wife, Amy, for coming out to California many times just to help out.
I am grateful to my brother-in-law, Jim, and his wife, Liz, for being there with me when Verna took her last breaths.
I am grateful to my brother-in-law, Marty, and his wife, Donna, for taking our dog, Gigi, who was diagnosed with epilepsy in early August. After Verna's death, I really could not handle the extra responsibility of caring for her, so they opened up their loving home. Now the kids and I can still see her.
I am grateful to my friends Amanda and Mercedes for staying with me for several hours on the morning of Verna's death. Both came over almost immediately and sat with me on my kitchen floor, consoling me, listening to my stories, and helping to ease my pain with their presence.
I am grateful to our neighbors and friends who organized meals and cared for all of us, especially Miguel and Maya, which meant I earned some time to myself.
I am grateful to my co-workers at Drake Terrace Retirement Community for shouldering extra responsiblities all year, and for comforting me during my darkest days.
I am grateful to Hospice by the Bay of Marin, Jewish Family and Children's Services of Marin, and the Living and Dying Project for their compassionate and professional support and guidance for Verna, our family, and me during the last several weeks of her life.
I am grateful to so many member of BHS' Class of 1977 for their cards and FB wishes and contributions to Verna's Caregiver Fund. It's amazing to reconnect with people at such a difficult time and be supported so graciously and lovingly.
I am grateful to Miguel and Maya for entertaining me and frustrating me and challenging me to be the best father possible and for blessing me each and every day with their love and unique approaches to the world.
I am grateful to Verna, the best friend I've ever had, for giving me Miguel and Maya, and for setting the parental bar fairly high, but not too out of reach. Her examples will guide me as I strive continually to be the type of person and parent she asserted to Hospice that I was when she said goodbye to us a week before she died.
To 2011, upward and onward.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Friday, December 31, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
I Knew the Bride When She Used to Rock and Roll
The bride wore a non-traditional black and white floral print dress. The groom, sans jacket, wore black dress slacks, a blue shirt, and a multicolored silk tie bought by the bride in Italy. Almost 19 years after they were first married on a typically overcast San Francisco summer day in 1991, they renewed their vows before 60 family and friends this past Saturday.
There were already tears in my eyes when Verna’s father guided her, gripping her cane, along the sidewalk outside our home. “Now that you really know me,” I said to her father as they arrived in front of me, “are you sure you want to let her go?”
He sort of smiled, and I clasped Verna’s hand in mine as we walked closer to Marie, our dear friend who also officiated at our wedding ceremony in Golden Gate Park’s Rose Garden on July 28, 1991. Trailing just behind Verna and her dad were our daughter, Maya, clad in a green chiffon dress and holding a bouquet of roses, and our son, Miguel, who was one of my best men, the ring bearer, and the DJ, ‘DJ Miggy’.
The weekend had been a whirlwind for all of us, as family streamed in from Arizona, Central California, Florida, Massachusetts, and Connecticut. I was concerned that all the activity would adversely affect Verna, who tires easily because of all the medication she’s taking from hospice. So, prior to the ceremony, I spoke to the crowd before Verna and her father walked to the strains of “Here Comes the Bride”:
“First, I’d like to thank all of you for being here and sharing this special day with us. Also, since we want to preserve Verna’s health, I ask most of you to use the bathrooms in the park,” about 300 yards away, “or go like Gigi (our dog)”, who was at that point sniffing around the bushes.
As it turned out, Verna and our sister-in-law Donna (wife of Verna’s eldest brother, Marty) sequestered themselves upstairs during the day prior to the ceremony at 4:15 pm. Verna took two naps, got a pedicure and manicure from Donna, and more or less relaxed without anyone bothering her. Maya occasionally squeaked through to be with her mommy, but we’d ordered everyone else to stay away. And they listened.
Marie briefly introduced the ceremony and then shared a story that, she said, aptly demonstrated our strength as a couple. Several years ago, residents in Bernal Heights (a neighborhood in San Francisco) claimed that the stone relief of the Virgin Mary, outside a Church, was crying. Verna, Marie, and I went to investigate, and, sure enough, both Verna and Marie saw tears gently streaming down her eyes. I said, though, “No, it’s the light hitting the wall.”
Marie said that even though Verna and I often had two ways of seeing the world, we were of one mind and heart in terms of our love and commitment and willingness to accept our varying perspectives.
Then in a nod to something we included in our original wedding ceremony, Marie shared some humorous vows I’d written earlier in the week. “Steve, do you promise not to swill any more of Verna’s liquid morphine?” And, “Verna, do you promise to let Steve hop on the back of your wheelchair with you in it and coast downhill in the park?”
While both Verna and I acknowledged her cancer in our renewal vows, we also said almost defiantly that we wouldn’t let it define our relationship or family. Love and our bond are stronger than Verna’s life threatening illness. So the humor was our attempt to accept reality and also playfully attack the incurable enemy that is ravaging her body.
Next we jointly lit a candle our dear, dear friend Amanda recently sent us from Lourdes, a Catholic shrine in France, where many believe the waters are healing and Bernadette saw a vision of Mary, that Verna and her mother visited in 1993 as part of holiness tour sponsored by a local church. She and her mom also toured holy sites in Portugal and Italy, which is where she purchased my tie.
We shared our renewal vows next, with Verna going first, and, unlike 19 years ago when she was nervous and no one could hear her, confidently pronounced how I was still the one for her and how our love has grown stronger amid the past four often horrendous years.
With tears brimming in my eyes and, surprisingly, words catching in my throat, I said, “It took your cancer for me to be able to surpass you on a bike.” I also said, “I am forever yours through all eternity and beyond”, which was similar to Verna’s vows.
Miguel then handed me Verna’s wedding ring and I moved to place it on her finger. But suddenly Maya grabbed the ring and slipped it on Verna’s finger. People giggled at Maya’s gesture. I then gave my ring to Miguel and he imitated his younger sister and put it on my finger.
Marie said, “Then by the power vested in me by this community of love I pronounce you still married.” I leaned over and Verna and I kissed twice as our family and friends clapped. I felt a mixed wave of sadness and profound joy. There was nothing better than renewing vows with my soul partner and the mother of our children while our Miguel and Maya had such active roles in the ceremony. But I also wondered if Verna and I would celebrate together our 20th wedding anniversary next summer.
Verna and I admitted to each other in 1991, weeks before our ceremony, that there are no guarantees in life. We wholeheartedly pledged ourselves to each other, but knew that love ebbs and flows and only time would tell if we’d survive the journey of love and life. We acknowledged, though didn’t really expect, that our love might someday cease. Yes, we said over and over, there are no guarantees, but we’re going to try, try, try and work, work, work.
We just didn’t know then that cancer would prove us right in a way we never expected.
To love and life. And to eternity and beyond.
There were already tears in my eyes when Verna’s father guided her, gripping her cane, along the sidewalk outside our home. “Now that you really know me,” I said to her father as they arrived in front of me, “are you sure you want to let her go?”
He sort of smiled, and I clasped Verna’s hand in mine as we walked closer to Marie, our dear friend who also officiated at our wedding ceremony in Golden Gate Park’s Rose Garden on July 28, 1991. Trailing just behind Verna and her dad were our daughter, Maya, clad in a green chiffon dress and holding a bouquet of roses, and our son, Miguel, who was one of my best men, the ring bearer, and the DJ, ‘DJ Miggy’.
The weekend had been a whirlwind for all of us, as family streamed in from Arizona, Central California, Florida, Massachusetts, and Connecticut. I was concerned that all the activity would adversely affect Verna, who tires easily because of all the medication she’s taking from hospice. So, prior to the ceremony, I spoke to the crowd before Verna and her father walked to the strains of “Here Comes the Bride”:
“First, I’d like to thank all of you for being here and sharing this special day with us. Also, since we want to preserve Verna’s health, I ask most of you to use the bathrooms in the park,” about 300 yards away, “or go like Gigi (our dog)”, who was at that point sniffing around the bushes.
As it turned out, Verna and our sister-in-law Donna (wife of Verna’s eldest brother, Marty) sequestered themselves upstairs during the day prior to the ceremony at 4:15 pm. Verna took two naps, got a pedicure and manicure from Donna, and more or less relaxed without anyone bothering her. Maya occasionally squeaked through to be with her mommy, but we’d ordered everyone else to stay away. And they listened.
Marie briefly introduced the ceremony and then shared a story that, she said, aptly demonstrated our strength as a couple. Several years ago, residents in Bernal Heights (a neighborhood in San Francisco) claimed that the stone relief of the Virgin Mary, outside a Church, was crying. Verna, Marie, and I went to investigate, and, sure enough, both Verna and Marie saw tears gently streaming down her eyes. I said, though, “No, it’s the light hitting the wall.”
Marie said that even though Verna and I often had two ways of seeing the world, we were of one mind and heart in terms of our love and commitment and willingness to accept our varying perspectives.
Then in a nod to something we included in our original wedding ceremony, Marie shared some humorous vows I’d written earlier in the week. “Steve, do you promise not to swill any more of Verna’s liquid morphine?” And, “Verna, do you promise to let Steve hop on the back of your wheelchair with you in it and coast downhill in the park?”
While both Verna and I acknowledged her cancer in our renewal vows, we also said almost defiantly that we wouldn’t let it define our relationship or family. Love and our bond are stronger than Verna’s life threatening illness. So the humor was our attempt to accept reality and also playfully attack the incurable enemy that is ravaging her body.
Next we jointly lit a candle our dear, dear friend Amanda recently sent us from Lourdes, a Catholic shrine in France, where many believe the waters are healing and Bernadette saw a vision of Mary, that Verna and her mother visited in 1993 as part of holiness tour sponsored by a local church. She and her mom also toured holy sites in Portugal and Italy, which is where she purchased my tie.
We shared our renewal vows next, with Verna going first, and, unlike 19 years ago when she was nervous and no one could hear her, confidently pronounced how I was still the one for her and how our love has grown stronger amid the past four often horrendous years.
With tears brimming in my eyes and, surprisingly, words catching in my throat, I said, “It took your cancer for me to be able to surpass you on a bike.” I also said, “I am forever yours through all eternity and beyond”, which was similar to Verna’s vows.
Miguel then handed me Verna’s wedding ring and I moved to place it on her finger. But suddenly Maya grabbed the ring and slipped it on Verna’s finger. People giggled at Maya’s gesture. I then gave my ring to Miguel and he imitated his younger sister and put it on my finger.
Marie said, “Then by the power vested in me by this community of love I pronounce you still married.” I leaned over and Verna and I kissed twice as our family and friends clapped. I felt a mixed wave of sadness and profound joy. There was nothing better than renewing vows with my soul partner and the mother of our children while our Miguel and Maya had such active roles in the ceremony. But I also wondered if Verna and I would celebrate together our 20th wedding anniversary next summer.
Verna and I admitted to each other in 1991, weeks before our ceremony, that there are no guarantees in life. We wholeheartedly pledged ourselves to each other, but knew that love ebbs and flows and only time would tell if we’d survive the journey of love and life. We acknowledged, though didn’t really expect, that our love might someday cease. Yes, we said over and over, there are no guarantees, but we’re going to try, try, try and work, work, work.
We just didn’t know then that cancer would prove us right in a way we never expected.
To love and life. And to eternity and beyond.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Meatless in San Francisco?
I became a vegetarian in 1979. After I read my friend Ziva’s freshman composition about vegetarianism and how our food choices affect the world, I gave up meat and chicken within a week.
Four months later, while I was eating in a Jerusalem café with friends, I gave up fish as well. My entrée that night was whitefish, with the head attached, so the sight of it made me realize that not consuming animals included water creatures as well.
I maintained my commitment to vegetarianism for 30 years. It was an ethical decision: I simply didn’t want to eat anything that had been killed for me. Yes, I know, ripping off lettuce leaves may constitute murder to some of you, but I just didn’t want to be a carnivore.
So for three decades I never willingly ate meat, chicken, or fish. Being the slightly obsessive guy that I am, I still remember several of the times I accidentally ingested animal flesh.
One time, a family whose son I was tutoring invited me for a healthy dinner: spaghetti squash smothered in tomato sauce, which, they’d insisted, was vegetable based. As soon I as I started chomping on the stringy vegetable, I knew there were bits of meat in it. As politely as possible I just stopped eating. I can’t recall now 21 years later if they said anything to me or me to them.
Another time, at a party with friends, the host assured us the baked beans were vegetarian. We scooped out several spoonfuls and started eating. Soon we found a chunk of bacon in the sauce.
Then there was the infamous Appleby’s vegetarian burger episode. Shortly after Verna finished her chemotherapy in 2006, amid a sweltering heat wave when the temperatures soared to 106, we escaped to the air-conditioned confines of the local Appleby’s.
I ordered a vegetarian Mexican fiesta burger, which, when it came, tasted like a Boca burger, not my favorite veggie offering. But I asked Verna, who humors my paranoia that meat might actually touch my lips and tries everything that makes me suspicious. And she usually responds, “No, that is not meat, Steve.” It’s always mushrooms or chopped tomatoes.
But this time she hesitated before answering. “Yep,” she said. “That’s meat.”
Someone in the kitchen had goofed up and I was pissed. Before my anger grew too much, Verna halted me, “Excuse me. I’ve just had toxins running through my veins and body for four months, so you can handle a quarter of a hamburger.”
And she was right.
Since Verna’s cancer diagnosis, she has eaten more meat, chicken, and fish, after 15 years of catering to my vegetarianism and cooking from the pile of recipes and cookbooks we’ve collected. And she has suggested on several occasions that maybe I should jump ship as well.
Verna’s cancer was aggressive and carries a high likelihood of recurrence, so she wants me to be as healthy as possible for logical reasons. She worries that I might not be getting all the vitamins and nutrients I need as a vegetarian who is about to turn 50.
So last Sunday I decided, after much internal anguish and debate, to eat chicken. I’d always said if I were to renounce my vegetarian ways it would be with the rotisserie chicken and potatoes sold at the local Farmer’s Market. The blazing hot broilers drip fat and spices onto red potatoes and season them to mouth-watering perfection. (Only sustainable, free range animals for me)
Rain was pouring down, so we left the kids in the car. Verna went to get Maya a Belgian waffle; I went to buy oranges from Sonia and apples from the mountain grown girls.
“I’ll meet you at the chicken guys,” Verna said with a twinkle or particle of dust in her eye.
I was nervous, though Verna said she’d believe I was abandoning my vegetarianism once she saw it.
Well, I bought the chicken; then we dropped off the warm package at home before running some errands. When we returned Verna sliced chicken off the bone and heated it up with the potatoes.
I grabbed the plate from her once it was done, but she shouted, “No, wait.”
We had to document the moment. She had the digital video camera and Miguel held his digital camera, both poised to record what was for them a momentous occasion. I was still in a state of shock, not quite believing that I was voluntarily going to eat the roasted chicken.
But I did. And I felt weird. I faked having terrible stomach cramps, though everyone, even Maya, knew I was kidding. It tasted fine. I was never a chicken fan, but the potatoes were very sumptuous.
Right before I ate, Miguel said, “I know this is going to be better than quorn,” which is a tofu-like substance probably derived in some laboratory on a former commune tucked behind hills of marijuana plants and patches of organic fruits and vegetables.
Was it better? I don’t know. Was it healthier? I don’t know. How do I feel about this sudden and drastic change in my life, where I’ve dropped a label—vegetarian—that has been an intimate part of my life since I was 20? I don’t know.
Two days before I ate the chicken, I spoke with a friend whom I’ve known since the early 1980s. He’d been a vegetarian for many years, but ditched it after his wife, Laura, was diagnosed with cancer several years ago. She died in 2003.
I started explaining to Dan that some people have said people need certain nutrients from animal sources, especially as they age, and maybe it was a good time for me to switch. Then I said, “And Verna has been gently hounding me for years. Now that she has cancer she figures…”
He stopped me there and said, “Well, if your wife wants you to, that is reason enough.”
Meatless in San Francisco no more.
Four months later, while I was eating in a Jerusalem café with friends, I gave up fish as well. My entrée that night was whitefish, with the head attached, so the sight of it made me realize that not consuming animals included water creatures as well.
I maintained my commitment to vegetarianism for 30 years. It was an ethical decision: I simply didn’t want to eat anything that had been killed for me. Yes, I know, ripping off lettuce leaves may constitute murder to some of you, but I just didn’t want to be a carnivore.
So for three decades I never willingly ate meat, chicken, or fish. Being the slightly obsessive guy that I am, I still remember several of the times I accidentally ingested animal flesh.
One time, a family whose son I was tutoring invited me for a healthy dinner: spaghetti squash smothered in tomato sauce, which, they’d insisted, was vegetable based. As soon I as I started chomping on the stringy vegetable, I knew there were bits of meat in it. As politely as possible I just stopped eating. I can’t recall now 21 years later if they said anything to me or me to them.
Another time, at a party with friends, the host assured us the baked beans were vegetarian. We scooped out several spoonfuls and started eating. Soon we found a chunk of bacon in the sauce.
Then there was the infamous Appleby’s vegetarian burger episode. Shortly after Verna finished her chemotherapy in 2006, amid a sweltering heat wave when the temperatures soared to 106, we escaped to the air-conditioned confines of the local Appleby’s.
I ordered a vegetarian Mexican fiesta burger, which, when it came, tasted like a Boca burger, not my favorite veggie offering. But I asked Verna, who humors my paranoia that meat might actually touch my lips and tries everything that makes me suspicious. And she usually responds, “No, that is not meat, Steve.” It’s always mushrooms or chopped tomatoes.
But this time she hesitated before answering. “Yep,” she said. “That’s meat.”
Someone in the kitchen had goofed up and I was pissed. Before my anger grew too much, Verna halted me, “Excuse me. I’ve just had toxins running through my veins and body for four months, so you can handle a quarter of a hamburger.”
And she was right.
Since Verna’s cancer diagnosis, she has eaten more meat, chicken, and fish, after 15 years of catering to my vegetarianism and cooking from the pile of recipes and cookbooks we’ve collected. And she has suggested on several occasions that maybe I should jump ship as well.
Verna’s cancer was aggressive and carries a high likelihood of recurrence, so she wants me to be as healthy as possible for logical reasons. She worries that I might not be getting all the vitamins and nutrients I need as a vegetarian who is about to turn 50.
So last Sunday I decided, after much internal anguish and debate, to eat chicken. I’d always said if I were to renounce my vegetarian ways it would be with the rotisserie chicken and potatoes sold at the local Farmer’s Market. The blazing hot broilers drip fat and spices onto red potatoes and season them to mouth-watering perfection. (Only sustainable, free range animals for me)
Rain was pouring down, so we left the kids in the car. Verna went to get Maya a Belgian waffle; I went to buy oranges from Sonia and apples from the mountain grown girls.
“I’ll meet you at the chicken guys,” Verna said with a twinkle or particle of dust in her eye.
I was nervous, though Verna said she’d believe I was abandoning my vegetarianism once she saw it.
Well, I bought the chicken; then we dropped off the warm package at home before running some errands. When we returned Verna sliced chicken off the bone and heated it up with the potatoes.
I grabbed the plate from her once it was done, but she shouted, “No, wait.”
We had to document the moment. She had the digital video camera and Miguel held his digital camera, both poised to record what was for them a momentous occasion. I was still in a state of shock, not quite believing that I was voluntarily going to eat the roasted chicken.
But I did. And I felt weird. I faked having terrible stomach cramps, though everyone, even Maya, knew I was kidding. It tasted fine. I was never a chicken fan, but the potatoes were very sumptuous.
Right before I ate, Miguel said, “I know this is going to be better than quorn,” which is a tofu-like substance probably derived in some laboratory on a former commune tucked behind hills of marijuana plants and patches of organic fruits and vegetables.
Was it better? I don’t know. Was it healthier? I don’t know. How do I feel about this sudden and drastic change in my life, where I’ve dropped a label—vegetarian—that has been an intimate part of my life since I was 20? I don’t know.
Two days before I ate the chicken, I spoke with a friend whom I’ve known since the early 1980s. He’d been a vegetarian for many years, but ditched it after his wife, Laura, was diagnosed with cancer several years ago. She died in 2003.
I started explaining to Dan that some people have said people need certain nutrients from animal sources, especially as they age, and maybe it was a good time for me to switch. Then I said, “And Verna has been gently hounding me for years. Now that she has cancer she figures…”
He stopped me there and said, “Well, if your wife wants you to, that is reason enough.”
Meatless in San Francisco no more.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Two-Faced
A couple of weeks ago, I half-seriously responded on Facebook that I was trying to invite more friends so I could surpass my brother. We're not really competitive with each other, but our unofficial contest turned into a relatively fun and harmless battle.
Now that I have been friending people I know or people who know someone I know, I've had time (too much time) to reflect on the Facebook phenomenon.
Part of me feels as if I am at an AA meeting: "Hi, my name is Steve, and I have 378 friends." And then everyone would respond dutifully, "Hi, Steve, welcome. My name is_____, and I have______friends."
Do we measure our worth or social status now by the number of friends we acquire on Facebook? One of my former students has over 1600 friends. It would take me 30 minutes just to scan her list, and see who I might invite now in order to pad my own totals. What is the record for friends?
I even found out that I could become friends with one of the brew pubs we frequent. Yes, you can request to become a friend of Moylan's Brewery and Restaurant in Novato, CA. We've been there many times and enjoy it, so I figured why not? Then I noticed that one of my friends had Kelly's Irish Bar in San Francisco on his list. Well, I've driven past it several times. Boom. Now I am friends with a bar I've never been to.
Last night my brother and I were talking and I said, "This whole Facebook thing is kind of crazy. I feel as if I am often eaves-dropping in other people's living rooms."
He agreed.
Just scanning the Facebook home page, which contains comments from everyone on your list and responses from everyone--potentially--on their lists, ad infinitum and nauseum. I mean, do we see where this is going? It is exponentially mind boggling how many links and connections are being established over what is often slivers of minutiae from our lives.
My brother recently wrote how he was watching the Oscars and was baffled that Beyonce appeared to be lip-synching. He got several responses, one of which noted that he was not paying attention to Beyonce's lips.
A neighbor of ours wrote that her 2 1/2-year old son was no longer wearing diapers. She said, "Can you believe Luca is wearing Elmo underwear?" She got several responses for that. And why not? It was a momentous time for her, and so many of us could relate.
People upload videos, photographs, comment on what they are doing at that very moment, and then friends, Romans, countrymen respond with a flurry of their own comments, to which the original posters respond some more.
It's enough to make me dizzy. And I haven't even said anything about the dark side of Facebook. Facebook recently removed over 5000 sexual predators from their social networking site. I guess the opportunities to connect with friends, family, and associates in a living, breathing class reunion also invites slimebuckets of the earth to promote their nefarious urges.
I recently finished writing an article about community access TV, the public access stations you find on channel 26, etc. The director of one station said the power of community access TV is its democratic appeal. "Anyone," he said, "with an idea can stake a claim to the airwaves."
I think Facebook is just like that in many ways. We get a chance to grab the microphone and shout, "Hey, pay attention to me. I matter."
So, excuse me, I have some more "friends" to invite into my orbit and some wall writing to do. I'll be busy "dropping" in on someone I haven't seen in 30 years. Welcome to my neighborhood.
Now that I have been friending people I know or people who know someone I know, I've had time (too much time) to reflect on the Facebook phenomenon.
Part of me feels as if I am at an AA meeting: "Hi, my name is Steve, and I have 378 friends." And then everyone would respond dutifully, "Hi, Steve, welcome. My name is_____, and I have______friends."
Do we measure our worth or social status now by the number of friends we acquire on Facebook? One of my former students has over 1600 friends. It would take me 30 minutes just to scan her list, and see who I might invite now in order to pad my own totals. What is the record for friends?
I even found out that I could become friends with one of the brew pubs we frequent. Yes, you can request to become a friend of Moylan's Brewery and Restaurant in Novato, CA. We've been there many times and enjoy it, so I figured why not? Then I noticed that one of my friends had Kelly's Irish Bar in San Francisco on his list. Well, I've driven past it several times. Boom. Now I am friends with a bar I've never been to.
Last night my brother and I were talking and I said, "This whole Facebook thing is kind of crazy. I feel as if I am often eaves-dropping in other people's living rooms."
He agreed.
Just scanning the Facebook home page, which contains comments from everyone on your list and responses from everyone--potentially--on their lists, ad infinitum and nauseum. I mean, do we see where this is going? It is exponentially mind boggling how many links and connections are being established over what is often slivers of minutiae from our lives.
My brother recently wrote how he was watching the Oscars and was baffled that Beyonce appeared to be lip-synching. He got several responses, one of which noted that he was not paying attention to Beyonce's lips.
A neighbor of ours wrote that her 2 1/2-year old son was no longer wearing diapers. She said, "Can you believe Luca is wearing Elmo underwear?" She got several responses for that. And why not? It was a momentous time for her, and so many of us could relate.
People upload videos, photographs, comment on what they are doing at that very moment, and then friends, Romans, countrymen respond with a flurry of their own comments, to which the original posters respond some more.
It's enough to make me dizzy. And I haven't even said anything about the dark side of Facebook. Facebook recently removed over 5000 sexual predators from their social networking site. I guess the opportunities to connect with friends, family, and associates in a living, breathing class reunion also invites slimebuckets of the earth to promote their nefarious urges.
I recently finished writing an article about community access TV, the public access stations you find on channel 26, etc. The director of one station said the power of community access TV is its democratic appeal. "Anyone," he said, "with an idea can stake a claim to the airwaves."
I think Facebook is just like that in many ways. We get a chance to grab the microphone and shout, "Hey, pay attention to me. I matter."
So, excuse me, I have some more "friends" to invite into my orbit and some wall writing to do. I'll be busy "dropping" in on someone I haven't seen in 30 years. Welcome to my neighborhood.
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