Monday, July 18, 2011

Birthdays

I belong to Facebook.

Wait a minute. I don't like that sentence. I don't "belong" to anything or anybody. I am my own man. I make my own way down those mean streets ... and so on.

No, sometime back, I joined Facebook. I joined it in an act of surrender. All my friends belonged to it and were no longer taking the time and great effort to pick up a phone or compose an email. They told me it was the current state-of-the-art standard for networking.

I don't network.

I no longer work for a living, so I don't have to spend my morning hours arranging my face into a confident, sincere arrangement with which to confront other people I want to sell something to.

But still ...

I run a couple of blogs. I do theatre. Those things, by their nature, imply a desire for an audience; and, I confess, I do desire an audience. I wouldn't be maintaining these things if I didn't want people to stumble upon them every now and then and enjoy themselves for a moment or two.

Facebook turned out to be a pretty quick and easy way to advertise these projects, so I started to use it, and I use it still. And every now and then, Facebook pays me back for my participation.

Like on my birthday.

Facebook actually announces your birthday. It displays that information for all your Facebook friends to see when they log on. They no longer have the excuse of running into you and confessing, "Oh, it was your birthday last week? I'm so sorry I missed it. I hope you had a wonderful day."

Well, yesterday, thanks to Facebook, I did.

I must have spent three-quarters of the day and a good part of this morning responding to all the messages from my Facebook friends and acquaintances, thanking them for their extravagant well-wishes. The effect of this outpouring of regard had me beaming with a palpable glow which pulsates around me still.

It does one good to know people care.

I may start having birthdays every other month.

I'll be the world's oldest living man in no time that way. I'll be feted, flown around the world, get paid six-figure sums for interviews with Dianne Sawyer and Matt Lauer. News people will be shoving cameras and microphones in my face, exclaiming, "But you look so young!" and demanding to know, "How do you do it?"

And I'll say, "Clean living, kind thoughts, and maybe just a tiny glass of red wine every week or ten days or so. Oh, and God, of course."

That would be nice.

9 comments:

  1. Please let me be your highly exaggerated, mincing assistant once you land the interview.  Glad you had a good day--hope to see you soon!

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  2. I'll let you stand behind me quietly, slightly to the left. Once it's over, you can push my wheelchair to the nearest corner bar, where we'll get good and soused, laugh our asses off over the stupidity of the media, and take turns rolling ourselves to the john to pee and back.

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  3. A "tiny" glass of wine?  Tee hee hee!

     Happy Belated Birthday!

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  4. Happy birthday!!!! Hope it was great.

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  5. LOL, thank you! It could not have been better!

    ReplyDelete

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