There is one dubious theory that within six jumps, everyone
is related to everyone else on the planet. What brings this to mind is
Facebook, the genial virus we have each invited into our lives. Once embedded,
it continually exhorts us to expand our links to friends lost and forgotten and
friends yet to know.
It also (lovingly) takes time out of its busy day to gently
remind us when we haven't recently visited our profile to come have a good
look-see.
Well, this being a day when The VA's daily dosage of Polyethylene
Glycol finally kicked in (that's Metamucil to you civilians) keeping me close
to Nature's Calling Place and the outside being wet and somewhat chilly as
September goes out like a lion, I determined to check out my Facebook stuff
with the myopia my little OCD mind can convene.
I was astounded. There were literally hundreds of 'friends'
of mutual 'friends' all wanting to be my friend. I took the matter seriously
and took a close look at the names and accompanying depictions of potential
friends before laying down a few ground rules. As Edgar Cayce would be wont to
say, 'We have the patient here...'
I first eliminated people who had no photo attached. If they
haven't learned yet how to take a digital pic and post it, they have got to be
user-dumber than I am. Discarded.
Next, I scrutinized the posted photos and began eliminating
these folks thus:
No pictures of flags, breast shots (more on this in a
moment), shots taken with family, spouses, girlfriends, boyfriends, favorite
pets or the like. Whassamatter? Can't stand up there by yourself?
Further eliminations for grainy photos, too close up, one
eye showing or a nose or an ear; wearing masks, period costumes (any period)
underwater shots in scuba gear ( I can't afford a vacation to Aruba and I resent
those of you who can). Photos of persons hugging a fish or a stripper of either
sex regardless of their own sex; shots of your back (whether nice backs or no),
photos of celebrities (get a life for Chrissakes!), childhood photos, high
school yearbook photos, postage stamps (I don't care if you resemble Eleanor
Roosevelt). photos taken by the subject with the camera held at arms length
(What? Not another 'friend' in sight?), tattoo shots, head shots reflecting the
green glare of a PC monitor, you posed with a celebrity, you holding a
microphone with or without a suit, pics of Tinkerbell, baby photos, pictures of
you as Christ, Buddha or the Mahatma, you posed with a gun in any position,
photos of you after your sex change, you as Bridgette Bardot in her youth, you
in a rodeo parade with or without a flag. Photos of weapons (I don't want to
claim a MAC-10 as my friend).
I also resisted the urge to beg friendship with many of you
women. Some of you looked exceptionally hot; however, I'm rather old fashioned
on the matter of introductions. Besides, after four failed marriages, I accept
the Divine Dictum that I am unfit for intimate relationships. I'd love to try
charming you out of your thongs, dear things, but it is not to be.
So, after this exhaustive purge by the image above your
name, I proceeded to the next round: the names listed below:
Politicians or their spouses, anyone with the last name
ending in 'realtor', 'attorney' or 'judge'. You are looking for my brother the
famous academician. I suspect that your connection to me was through him
anyway.
Dead people. I wish there was a way to either take these
profiles down or evolve them into memorials.
Celebrities. Thank you Flaco Jimenez; I continue to admire
your artistry but we wouldn't make good friends. Besides, I don't know if you
are dead or not. Stevie Ray Vaughn is definitely absent from the living and I
am not ready to be his friend in the hereafter.
People in prison. Sorry, Enrique.
I did actually ask a few people to be friends, but I know them
and would love to stay connected; so the exercise wasn't a complete wash.
I did consider one person unknown to me: Clancy Imiscund has
a great photo of him at his desk, holding the phone about a foot from his mouth
while he is obviously cursing out someone on the other end. You're my kind of
guy, Clance: give me a shout if ever you read this and curse me out. God knows,
I need it.
And as for you, M.M. Carrasco, you are NOT Elizabeth Taylor.
Go get help.
Finally, I went to my Facebook profile and looked at the
profile photos of all my friends. Clearly half of them violated one of the
rules I had established. A recurrent daydream is that I could have been a
stand-up Jewish comedian working the Catskills--so that I would be free to
always end my musings with, 'Go figure!!'.
This is great.
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