Digital Intimacy

I signed up for a Facebook account in July. At the time, I had no idea that I was playing with fire…that I might be embarking upon some kind of transformative path in my life…that this was a journey that would provide me, in very short order, with great highs and ultimate lows.

But I was (doing all those things). And here’s a little bit of the story.

Although I have had for some years a very broad and active online presence (evidence: this blog, my old blog, a personal website, a LinkedIn page, a Match.com profile, and a Flickr photo-sharing site), I had, however naively, neglected an entire universe (millions and millions) of people out there active in social-networking sites (namely MySpace and Facebook). In fact, if I thought about such internet destinations at all, I asked myself: What’s the attraction? What’s the point?

But late last June I did another Google search that led me, yet again, to someone’s Facebook page…which, of course, was unavailable to me since I was, first: not a Facebook member, and second: not that person’s Facebook “friend.”

This was not the first time this had happened. I sighed. Dead end.

However, this time, for whatever reason, I thought about it some more and within a few days, I signed up for a Facebook account. That was the ridiculously easy part. Now what? I thought…am I really going to start a “page?” If I enter some information, what will this mean? Who will I share it with? Am I going to seek Facebook friends? Do I even know one single person here with whom to be friends? And: what, ultimately, does it mean to be a Facebook friend, anyway?

In essence, I was asking: Why am I here?

The eternal, existential, question.

Well, little did I know that I was entering, what Clive Thompson (in the September 7 New York Times Magazine) calls, the “Brave New World of Digital Intimacy.” In this thoroughly absorbing article, Thompson discusses the attraction of social networking and how the “omnipresent knowledge” of what others are doing is “intriguing and addictive.”

And, indeed, while he tries to explain all of this, Thompson and the individuals he interviews all seem to acknowledge that the phenomena of “ambient awareness” and “digital intimacy” are very difficult to communicate: that you have to actually participate to understand how this all works. His discussion starts out with a story about Facebook, but much of the article is devoted to a description of the so-called microblogging tool available at Twitter.com, which gives individuals the opportunity to broadcast to the world short updates about their lives (in answer to the question: “what are you doing”), in 140 characters or less. The bottom line, for many people (and certainly it’s turned out that way for me), is that the quality of ambient awareness of others created by Facebook and Twitter is a way for a person to “feel less alone.”

So, yes, I have come, slowly, during the last couple of months or so, to feel less alone in the world. This has been a very positive development in my life. And, perhaps, as I said in the first paragraph: transformative. For while my physical being continues to be on a healing path, my emotional self seems to be in a similar recovery…partly attributable, I believe, to more social connection.

The dominant relationship that has been enhanced is with one, dear-to-me person I used to work with in Portland. The emails, instant-messaging, and the “mobile” aspects of Facebook (when I’m away from my computer, I get a text message when she updates her page or sends me an email), have brought us much closer together. She visited me here in person last week.

Of course, nothing good goes unpunished. I had my first real Facebook dilemma last week as well.

Facebook had become the one place in the universe that seemed to be left for me to maintain my relationships with “C”’s (adult) kids. All three of them, two of their spouses, and one significant other, had all befriended me on Facebook. To the extent that any of them logged in and updated their page(s), I was able to keep up with their lives. C did not have a Facebook account.

Until last week, that is. Last Wednesday morning I opened up my page to discover, on my news feed, that “daughter-in-law and C” were now friends.

I was stunned. Aghast. Angry and upset. What is SHE doing here?, I asked. This is MY place!, I exclaimed. (To myself.)

Upon poking around, I found that I had access to C’s page and she to mine (because of the manner in which I had configured my privacy settings). This would not do! Neither would being in the same social online network with her. That very day, I wrote a painful (for me) note to all six kids, indicating that since C was now on Facebook, I was going to have to leave. I sent off the emails and then deleted them from my list of friends.

For me: great angst. Great. Angst.

But, really, the only way.

Facebook: it’s just like real life.

Only not.

(If you need help finding me on Facebook or Twitter, just ask…)

Soundtrack Suggestion

I feel the sorrow,
Oh I feel dreams,
Everything is clear in my heart,
Everything is clear in our world,
I feel the life,
Oh I feel love.

(“Oh My Love” – John Lennon)

Update on October 9, 2008:

An astute reader writes in to remind me to remind you that my latest postings to Twitter (my five most recent “tweets”) are always available here in the right-hand sidebar of this page…in the TechnoMonk’s Tweets section.

A Brief History of Jazzercise

I’m not really sure if you know what “Jazzercise” is. So, for the uninitiated: it’s a physical-fitness program started, back in 1969, by a woman named Judi Sheppard Missett. Who woulda thunk? … back in the Sixties while many of us were trying to find a way to extract this country from an illegal, immoral war, Judi was jazz-dancin’ away and founding a fitness movement. At the time, of course, I had no idea that that was going on. I was trying to stay in college, avoid the draft, protest the war, and basically stay alive.

My personal introduction to Jazzercise was in 1983 when my roommate at the time, Tom, was lured into class by his girlfriend. Then, one day in August, during a period when my life was not working on several levels, I decided to accept his invitation to join him in a class. (I had resisted the invitation for months.) And, once there, I was hooked.

These classes are what most folks know generically as “aerobics,” but Jazzercise is a unique, franchised and controlled entity. You can go almost anywhere, find a Jazzericse class, and know what you’re going to get. In a “regular” Jazzercise class, the entire hour set to music (from today’s pop to classic rock), you’ll experience a warmup portion, a heavier cardio segment, and then a cool-down period (which ends with the use of hand and/or leg weights and at least one or two routines done on a floor mat). The Jazzercise website describes itself as a “workout program, which offers a fusion of jazz dance, resistance training, Pilates, yoga, and kickboxing movements…[with such benefits as] increased cardiovascular endurance, strength, and flexibility, as well as an overall “feel good” factor. The international franchise business hosts a network of 7,300 instructors teaching more than 32,000 classes weekly in 32 countries.”

I was living in Corvallis, Oregon, at the time of my first class. Tom quickly drifted away about the time his relationship ended, but I continued on. Subsequently, I regularly attended classes in Bloomington, Indiana; Eugene, Oregon; and Portland, Oregon. (For most of the classes, most of the time, during all those years, I was typically the only male in the room.) Then finally, after almost 22 years of Jazzercising, in 2005, while living in Portland, I stopped attending class, mostly because of my increasing levels of chronic pain.

Honestly, I didn’t know if I’d ever be healthy enough again to pursue Jazzercise, or any fitness routine other than my daily walk.

Well, things have changed. During the last few months, I have gradually gotten healthier and stronger. I attribute much of this improvement to the work I’ve done with my Feldenkrais practitioner. In fact, at my last visit, given the progress I’ve made, she asked if I’d thought about joining a gym. I said, “no, but I have been seriously thinking about returning to Jazzercise classes again.”

I’m in a period right now of being pretty amazed with myself: I’ve attended Jazzercise class two Saturday mornings in a row. While I’ve been taking it very easy, wisely pacing myself, and enduring a recovery period each time: I seem to be making it OK. I can hardly believe the progress I’ve made.

The “feel-good factor” is real!

A Sobering Thought

It hasn’t exactly been the blink-of-an-eye, but, as of today, August 13, it has been a quarter of a century of sobriety for me. Read the full story here.

Snippets from a Life

I am here at the UCLA campus early on a Sunday morning. Conference registration starts at 9:00 a.m., but it’s just now 8:00 and I’ve already eaten breakfast and am ready to go. I dig my camera out of my backpack and decide to go for a walk. About three blocks from my residence hall, I discover an athletic field filled with young women attending a cheerleading camp. I keep a respectful distance yet take a couple of shots. I climb the bleachers to get a different angle. A person with the group comes up to the top to talk to me…to ask me what I’m doing. “Just taking pictures,” I reply. He indicates that that is not allowed here, and could I please leave? Which, of course, I do.

I’m sitting on a bench at a local park here in Marin. Reading. Getting a few minutes of sunshine. I’m wearing khaki-colored shorts and a grey t-shirt that says “Oregon State University” in big letters. A man and a woman slowly go by while walking their dog, giving me just a little glance. They finally get past me, but the gentlemen eventually turns around and asks, “are you an old Beaver?” I sigh and reply, “yes, I’m an old Beaver.” Then, stealing a Michael Douglas line from The American President, I add, “but I’m not all that comfortable with the old part.”

I’m sitting at a table outside a neighborhood Starbucks. Again: reading. The same novel (Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk) as before, as a matter of fact. I have on the table beside me: a cup of tea (hot tea), a partially-eaten toffee-almond cookie (a newly-discovered weakness), a couple of napkins, and my cell phone. A woman and her (big) dog walk by. (I think it’s a Golden Lab.) She’s blabbering away on her cell phone. The leash is very loose, and the dog wanders over to me. I start to pet him/her and it jumps up on my lap. Then, right away, it’s on the table (front legs only) and gobbles down my cookie. The cup of tea goes flying and I try to catch it. I do, and spill hot liquid all over my right arm and cell phone. The woman sees what’s happening and gives a firm tug on the leash. While I start to mop up, she and the dog walk away. She’s still talking on her phone.

Go Bruins

Royce Hall, University of California Los Angeles

I have opinions. Lots of them. And, as you are aware, I’m rather critical of some things now and then. You know, like the last entry where I complained about the utter senselessness of the workshop (seminar? training? conference? er…none of the above…) I attended last week. And, on these pages, I have shared negative views about such topics as our misguided U. S. foreign policy, rude cell phone users, loud neighbors, dysfunctional organizations, and inept health-care providers. Yes folks, with TechnoMonk, it’s whine, whine, whine. All the time. Or so it seems.

When will I have something positive to say?

Well, perhaps, today.

Because, other than the event I went to Los Angeles for, the actual campus experience wasn’t all that bad. Wonder of wonders, I have nothing but praises to sing for the UCLA staff and students I met.

The SuperShuttle van dropped me off right outside the residence hall main door, and when I approached the desk to announce that I was there to check in, I was greeted with a big smile by a delightful (and totally lovely) undergraduate female student who gave me every indication that I was the most important person in her world right then. She patiently checked me in, gave me a lot of the information I’d need to have to navigate the residence-hall world I was about to enter and, when I became confused with the (rather involved) directions to my room, offered to escort me through the maze this first time. And she did just that. When I expressed to her my reservations about how I would even endure a residence-hall stay, fearing that I would be the oldest in the building, even among those in my own group, she assured me that they try to keep everybody happy, and expressed genuine (it seemed) skepticism that I was the most senior. (Oh, she was sweet.)

The room, course, did not match the Hilton. But, as long as it stayed quiet, my first impression was that it just might be OK. (Also: there are private bathrooms in residence halls these days…thank god.) As I was settling in, I had difficulty connecting to their wireless network. And while there was an Ethernet connection in the room, guests were responsible for furnishing their own cable. I didn’t have one, and the office that sold them was closed (I arrived on a Saturday night). Sarah, the residence hall manager, loaned me the sole extra cable that she had.

Sarah. What a dedicated and talented one she is. She coach me through my initial wireless network issues, loaned me that cable (for my entire stay), took care of my room immediately when the air conditioner sprang a leak, and was just generally available anytime I asked for her. (I believe I was one of the more needy guests that week…maybe any week. She handled me superbly.)

Next up were the staff at the Covel Business Center (CBC) on campus. The technical issues I ended up having with my network connections (both wired and wireless) for my laptop were considerable. Within an hour of when the CBC folks helped me figure out the details of finally making my network connections “functional,” (not really), my computer started crashing. (This was during my second day on campus.) Some of you may be familiar with the ol’ Blue Screen of Death that can scare the bejesus out of Windows users. That’s what started happening to me whenever I was connected to the UCLA network. I had one long conversation over the phone with a CBC technician and then more personal help when I walked my machine over there for them to look at. We could not replicate the problem in the presence of a technician (of course!), but he was totally focused on my problem, and even offered to keep my machine for awhile to run a series of diagnostics on it to try and figure out the problem. I didn’t want to leave my machine there for an entire day, but the offer was very thoughtful (and unexpected). I ended up going to the Westwood Starbucks for a reliable internet connection, having determined that whenever my machine was not connected to the campus network, it was happy and well-behaved. CBC also helped me get my course materials shipped back home (as their sheer bulk made it impossible to pack them in my luggage or carry on board).

On Tuesday afternoon we had some time off. It was a warm and sunny afternoon in LA, and I took the opportunity to walk around campus with my camera. First off, I was soooo impressed with the beauty of this place. I had not visited here since 1981, and then only for a short part of one day (Bid Day group pictures for the Tri Delts, as I recall.) I had forgotten what a great-looking place this was. It made me wish I was back working on a university campus. Maybe even this one.

Although this was a “quiet” summer day, there was a lot of activity going on. There were several signs around announcing orientation activities, and I discovered several groups of new freshmen undergoing this formal introduction to their lives as college students. One group, in particular, was on the lawn down the hill from the library, and I eavesdropped for a few minutes. There were two group leaders (upperclassmen, I’m assuming) who were both incredible. They were great speakers and displayed considerable expertise and knowledge about the UCLA general-education requirements – patiently fielding questions from group members. I was in particular awe of the depth of one of the group-leader’s abilities in this area.

Finally, there were several, maybe dozens, of campus tour groups. Undergraduate guides were leading prospective students (and parents) all over the place. Again, I was totally impressed with their professionalism, the depth of their knowledge of the campus, and their ability to focus their remarks in order to start the initial indoctrination process about what it is to “be a Bruin.” One young-lady tour guide I stopped to listen in on was explaining to the group the fierce nature of the UCLA – USC (“University of Second Choice,” “University of Spoiled Children”) rivalry, and the practice of freshmen students being “baptized” (my term) at the Inverted Fountain (where we were at the time). She told the story much as it is related on the website of the UCLA History Project. She indicated that, “during orientation, freshmen are commonly ‘initiated’ by being told to wade in or touch the water, and then forewarned that doing so again before graduation will tack on an extra quarter to their academic career.”

She was an engaging speaker, enthusiastic, and a true Bruin-believer. She made sure that the group knew: “once a Bruin, always a Bruin.”

I was ready to enroll. Where do I sign up?!

At any rate, the UCLA campus experience was a delightful one. I was well-treated, totally taken care of, and very impressed by the professionalism, enthusiasm, and customer-service orientation of both students and staff.

Thanks, UCLA!