Andy Warhol was almost right

In the future, everybody will be on Facebook.

My pastor's on Facebook. My coblogger's on Facebook. Half the Internet is on the Internet again - on Facebook. Now I'm on Facebook. Half of us know jack-all about what to do there, but there we are.

I fear it will be one more in a long line of things I wind up neglecting and then feeling guilt about.

Facebook!

(small update - it's stupid, but I seriously feel bad for my story characters who only kind of exist... if I shirk on posting, well, at least all my blogfriends have actual lives to fall back on. But my poor characters got nothin' but me, and I'm indifferent to their needs, and they lead unfulfilled lives dreaming of all the things they could be doing and seeing, if only I got off my lazy ass and put a pen in my hand. [Although, I never write standing up, so ironically I have to get ON my lazy ass after getting a pen. Yeah, I'm sure they're just cracking up about that one: "He's not lazy enough to save us from limbo! Our fate is a wry symbol of modern living, hurrah!" I'm sure THAT makes it ALL BETTER.] So yeah, now Facebook gets in the way of their hopes, purpose, and very existence, and I'm a terrible terrible person.)

Everybody flirts... everybody fails...

...sometimes.

Kate's story, linked above, took me right back to college. I was rolling along in a campus bus, minding my own business, and there was quite a lovely lass sitting across from me. Now, understand that this is Rutgers, 40,000 or so undergrads, so there are lovely lasses wandering about everywhere - but this was quite a lovely lass. So, ever the charming goofball, I smiled. She smiled back. It was as far beyond my smile as the summer sun is beyond a match in the wind. But hey, strike another match, right? Smiled back, sort of abashed, but still smiled.

So this goes on for a minute or two, until the bus reaches her stop. She gets up, crosses over to me before getting off - leans over to whisper in my ear (!!!!)...

"Lose the hat."

Then she was gone forever.

I'm not a very good person to ask

SarahK says that Cadet Happy (photoshopper to the stars) sent her an email asking for advice. I've got nothing - except to be careful what you say if you choose to say anything.

For example, I am the sort of annoying chap who greets folks, and companions, and occasionally dogs and horses, and lots of other stuff I drive past on the road, even if it isn't technically alive. Also, I am apparently still five years old, because I can't stop mooing at cows when I see them from my car. I even do this stuff in front of my wife, poor lady.

This can get you some odd looks, and if that were all, it would be enough for some; I blunder on even when the stakes get higher. A couple of months ago I pulled into a drive-through on the way home from working late, and gave my order, and pulled around to hand in my money. Through the window, I spied a young man and his pre-toddler child at the front counter, waiting for their own order. Reflexively I chirped, "Hello baby!" though they hadn't a prayer of hearing or responding.

And that's when the comely teenaged lass working the drive-through window rose up into view, looking at me with a cool bemusement.

I cannot emphasize enough, that window was completely empty when I spoke. I figured whomever it was had stepped away for a moment, and not once did I consider that the voice I heard might have come out of someone who would overhear the stupid things that tumble out of my mouth.

Helplessly I pointed at the counter behind her. Really I thought I was doomed. Would she toss a shake at me? Would the manager get involved? Would twelve cop cars roar into the lot? I guess I look far more like a doofus who talks to random infants than a middle-aged weirdo who propositions high schoolers at the drive-through. She looked back, looked down at me, and went about filling my beverage while I burned with shame.

"Thanks," I said as she handed over my order, trying hard to look chastened.

"Have a nice night, baby," she replied.

So watch what you say to the parrot!

UPDATE - regarding Joel's comment - don't worry, bro, we know your heart's in the right place.

Yeah, so now I think of it

...I should have been water-coolering "Fringe" from the get-go. There just seems to be no time lately.

Certitude

...or, "What's Right is Right."

Anyone reading here for anything north of ten minutes knows that I do enjoy staking out my ground. Funniest rebuke I ever got - while we were still just dating, Ladybug nearly bought me an antique wooden soap box: "You can keep stuff in it when you're not standing on it!"

(That may have been the first moment I thought to myself, Please marry me forever! Anyone who can dig you like that, lovingly, is a keeper.)

Well, I still try to be certain of things; and if I have any defense it's that I'm usually good about revising my certainties based on further evidence. One thing I'm still poor at, however, is holding forth when uninvited. Granted that people expect a little of that in a blog... now and then.

Just a couple of nights ago, I was trying to figure out what this blog was about, actually. There's such a forested tangle of categories. Should I be pruning them? I don't want to, particularly - I enjoy hockey, I like posting goofy pictures of cats sitting on chessboards, I enjoy debates about church and culture. Why narrow myself? I quickly ditched that idea, and instead decided to try to think of an overarching theme that tied it all together.

Eventually I decided that there wasn't one. It was just me and a buddy I've known half my life, talking about the things that grab our notice, be they momentous, trivial, exasperating, or fun. Heck, the sidebar is pretty much all about whatever strikes my fancy. There's no reason to change that.

BUT here's where the BUT comes in.

One thing I have noticed is that I get lots of lurkers but not a lot of talkers. In the past that would kind of bug me, because I love long conversations and big debates. It could be about the Anglican Communion or the DH rule or what-all. I would be upset if I upset someone, and would fret if people didn't hobnob in the combox. In short, the reason I began blogging was to connect to folks, sort of like hanging out in college until they shoveled us out of the Student Center and locked the doors. And that really doesn't happen that much around here.

It doesn't bug me now because of two reasons: first, that there's the downside of having to police the unruly, a job for which I'm not well-suited; second, because people DO read, and that's a great compliment. Still, there's the BUT. And thanks to Sheila's awesomeness I've found out what it is. The truth is that being certain about things is just fine, but having certitude sucks. Folks, I'm just full of certitude.

[At this point I wish to totally exonerate the Barking Spider from what follows. Please don't lump him in with me on this - I'm on my own shrink chair here.]

I'm certain about some stuff. In fact I give rather the impression that I'm certain about a lot of stuff because I tend to say how I'm feeling about things, unbidden - when in fact there's plenty on which I can change my mind. Also, I tend to post about stuff I'm certain about. Hence the soapbox. In fact, I nearly called the blog "Born on a Soap Box," so this is hardly a great mystery I'm sharing. Trouble is, I sound much too certain: in fact, so certain that nobody is free to disagree, and that's the certitude I'm talking about. It's enjoying my rightness as if it was inherent to me. But the first thing I should be certain of comes right on top of the list of Big Important Certainties - "Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me." Right is inherent to only one Being in creation, and anything that comes my way is a gift, to be shared with others, but not inflicted on them. To quote an old joke from college, when my friend likened the Bible to a pillow instead of a stone - "PILLOW FIGHT!" Well, no, not so much. Or at least, not without the knowledge and consent of the other people. It's fun at a campout; not so much fun in an office, or while walking about busy with the day, bereft of your own pillow.

So, yes, there I am, hoist on my own Blinding Flash of the Obvious. The reason I don't have many conversations is that I don't start them. I simply pronounce. People hear that and think, well, that's that - and you know, I can't blame them at all. They think they're being yelled at. And if one thinks that, then why disagree and invite further yelling? It wasn't fun before, it's not going to be more fun the more one gets.

So, while I still think I'm going to be sure, and I'm still going to stake out my ground, I don't want to keep everyone else out. I'm going to make an effort to hold more conversations, or even step back and let other people have them without my two cents. I'm broke, anyway.

Programming note

The Spider's been hauling a lot of the bricks around here, for which I am quite grateful. There are a number of reasons - one of which he noted in the comments - but since he's been getting a lot more hits on his posts than I have, it's rather helped more than hurt.

One thing that's slowing me down started here. It is a moving and well-done post from Nina, and it called up a lot in my own heart. I was going to link it two weeks ago, but decided that this was the sort of thing that deserved a little privacy. Now yes - I know, it's on a public blog and everything - but still, a public blog written anonymously by someone who has become a friend, and it felt wrong trumpeting the post from the rooftops.

So, why post it now and bring it all up? (Jerk.) First, to illustrate my difficulty; second, to quote something that took me quite off guard when I read it:

Here is the part of the post where Nightfly gasps audibly and says, 'Oh, Nina, no... you did not say that.' Sorry, 'fly. I cannot pretend to have responded well to all this material for spiritual growth.

Hm, thought I. That is quite a compliment. I was surprised and touched that a cyber-friend of short acquaintance would think so well of me - and know how to gibe me a little at the same time. I should comment and thank Nina, thought I.

Now, this is where things get kind of stupid. (By things, I mean ME.)

Immediately I thought of an objection. So it's all about you, right? She's pouring out her heart about her father and that's all you can say?

Well, no. Gosh, that would be terrible. But I can understand how she feels. I should be more supportive of her post.

Oh, well that's even better! Go right ahead and pontificate about someone else's personal life.

NO! That's not what I meant!
Sure. Like anyone will know that.
No, really.
Jerk.
Aaaargh! All right, just an email then.
That's not a bad idea.
OK, I'll get right on it.
Yes, I think Nina will really appreciate the personal intrusion.
Righ - uh. What?
Just barge in! Really, it's fine.

Well, everyone knows by now what happened. I didn't comment, didn't write, didn't link, just prayed and let it go. Or at least, I let it go - but The Internal Scold decided that causing the problem wasn't enough; it had to get bigger and bigger.

Hey.
Now what?
Nothing.
[pause]
You still ignoring Nina?
Oh, are you kidding me?
So you don't have an answer!
This is so middle school...
Yeah, you'd think you'd be more mature by now.
[unprintable response]

In the end, I was kicking myself. (Told you this got really stupid.) (By this, I mean ME.) Truth is, one of my worst habits is drawing abstract morals from particular problems. Then I start writing, and after I'm done and all stupidly proud of myself, one of two things happens.

1. I realize that I've been preaching at a real person with a real problem, who is now hurt.
2. I realize that I'm the real person and I just convicted myself in the dock with my alleged brilliance. (And I spelled something wrong.)

Well, I'm not going to do that this time! Ha!
Aren't you forgetting something?
Probably. Wish it was you.
Heh. No - in the post. She mentioned you specifically.
Well, DUH. That's how you got loose.
It was very kind of her.
Of course it was!
And now you're ignoring her.
[unprintable response]
No, seriously. She's going to think that you really WERE offended.

GAH. (Jerk.) So - two weeks later, long after all the intelligent and sensible people have moved on, wondering what in hell I'm going on about, I'm working on something. Hope to have it done soon, but this weekend is similarly busy.