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.
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.
Teller was born Jacob Adam Teller, named after his two grandfathers. Most everyone, though, calls him, simply, “Teller”…with the notable exceptions being a few students, faculty, and professional colleagues who address him, respectfully, as “Dr. Teller.”
Now, given that he was awarded his Ph.D from a Big Ten school in the mid-90s, the moniker “Dr. Teller” is completely accurate and appropriate. It does, however, have a tendency to make Teller cringe just a little bit. After all, when he thinks of Dr. Teller, it’s the Dr. Teller. Edward Teller. That Dr. Teller wrote his dissertation in physics under the direction of Werner Heisenberg, developer of the Uncertainty Principle. That Dr. Teller is often referred to as the “Father of the Hydrogen Bomb” for his work on the Manhattan Project during World War II. That Dr. Teller was, during his time, commonly referred to as “the scientific voice of the military establishment.” And that Dr. Teller was supposedly the real-life person who inspired the Dr. Strangelove character.
What a contrast. As scientists, and as human beings, Teller and Dr. Teller were, and are, quite different.
When he was young, many of Teller’s schoolmates called him Jacob, Jake, or sometimes just “Tell.” But about the time he entered college it seemed there had developed a consensus, for whatever reason, to call him Teller. So, “Teller” it was. It stuck.
But this is not just a story about Teller’s name. Rather, it’s about Teller’s loves. Or, more specifically, one of his loves and how she said his name.
And, so it happened recently, Teller was talking to a new friend, giving her a short history of his significant relationships. When he was speaking about his ten years with Katrina, even he noticed that the tone of his voice changed. So, it was not at all difficult for his perceptive listener to catch on to this person’s place in Teller’s heart. When asked for a bit more detail about his time with Katrina, Teller outlined the on-again off-again nature of that relationship; his frequent feelings of heartbreak and rejection; yet his attachment to, and sense of inclusion and family he felt with, Katrina and her three children.
He found himself saying, “someday I’ll figure how and why it was I let that go on so long.”
For some reason, during that conversation, Teller could not admit, out loud, to the simplicity of the explanations he’d come up with so far. He acknowledges that he frequently ponders the question of how it was that a decade of his life slipped away on him, believing that that relationship would work out when it was so apparent, now in hindsight, that it wouldn’t.
It was some very small things, really…that made Teller’s life oh-so-complicated for oh-so-long. For example, there was that sunny summer day when Teller drove from his apartment over to Katrina’s house to pick her up to go for a hike. He parked in the driveway and was walking to the front door when he saw her face smiling at him from the kitchen window. Teller, simply, will never forget his greeting that day. A smile so open. So genuine. So loving. So unbelievably warm and radiant. So obviously and completely for him.
For Teller, truly, it was the smile of a lifetime. And he wanted that smile, and the quickened-hearbeat he had in response, to last forever. So Teller tried to make it last, to get it back. But somewhere, along the way, the source of the display that day…went away.
And, then there was the way she often said his name: the way it rolled from her lips when they were alone. (Or, occasionally used it in email greetings.) Not using the name that everyone else used, but calling him, whispering to him, “Jacob Adam.” Or, more accurately: jacobadam, all one word, said oh so softly and gently. No one had ever called him by both names before, and surely not in the manner in which her voice delivered it. Soft, deliberate, seductive, intentional. Wholly, totally, overwhelmingly intimate.
So, Teller had stayed. For ten years. Searching for a repeat of that smile. Longing for one more whisper of his name.
Though, at some point, he now admitted, it had all disappeared. The smile, the warmth, the voice, the love.
Gone.
Soundtrack Suggestion
You know my name, look up the number You know my name, look up the number You, you know, you know my name You, you know, you know my name…
I guess I’ve been watching girls since…well, how long now? I imagine since sixth grade. At least that’s when I had my first girlfriend…so I must have been noticing them some by then.
And, all these years later, wouldn’t you know, I’m still doing it. Watching them, that is.
I took the Larkspur Ferry into the city this past Saturday for an afternoon of wandering-around photography. I hadn’t really pre-planned this activity for the day. I did something entirely rare for me: I made the decision to do this spontaneously after my haircut appointment that morning. I quickly packed up a camera body and lens into one of my most compact bags, and drove over to Larkspur Landing to catch the 11:40.
The weather was absolutely perfect here in Marin, with a similarly favorable forecast for the city, so I took a chance and dressed only in shorts and a t-shirt. (For those of you who know San Fran, you realize visiting the waterfront attired thusly is a risk.) Specifically, I had on khaki-colored shorts from REI, a faded-red souvenir t-shirt from Taos, N.M., and a Nikon-logo baseball cap. (This information is relevant later.)
When I boarded the ferry, I didn’t have much of a clue where I wanted to sit. Perching myself inside on such a magnificent day seemed a little weird, so I scoped out the entire selection of seats and finally settled on a spot on the upper deck, outside, in the rear of the boat. (I guess that’s called the stern?)
Shortly after I settled in, I noticed three women (I guessed them to be about my age) sit down on the bench directly to my left. We were in the same row, all facing the water, so I didn’t have a great view of them; but I knew they were there all the same. One of them, especially, caught my eye…as she was dressed in (what I’d call) an elegant black dress. It was a very hot day already (in the 80s, headed for the 90s), so I was asking her, in my head: what possessed you to wear that today? Another of them was wearing a large dressy hat, which also drew my attention.
For about half the trip, we all sat that way, facing aft. But then I realized that, by sitting in direct sunlight on this very hot day, I was perspiring rather profusely and sitting in a small puddle of my own sweat. (More than you wanted to know, I’m sure.) So, I stood up to air myself out. In doing so, I turned myself around, facing the other direction (fore), and was able to both brace myself on the bench and observe where the boat was headed. Of course, this allowed me to watch these lovely ladies, out of the corner of my eye, as well.
Well, watch was all I did. I couldn’t help but notice the rings (or lack thereof): Hat Lady had ringless fingers; Black-Dress Lady had rings, but they presented an ambiguous situation; the third had, what appeared to be, a wedding band. Ms. Hat Lady had a small digital camera and she spent some time taking pictures through a side window that protected us from the wind and spray. The three of them talked and were generally enjoying themselves, it appeared. Although it would have been nice to engage them in conversation…well, that never happened. Frankly, I didn’t have an opening line: for what was I, dressed the way I was, going to say to Ms. Elegant-Black-Dress Lady? I couldn’t come up with a thing.
But, there they were: attractive women, my age. And surreptitiously watching them was a good way to pass the time for the final part of the voyage. (NO, I didn’t ogle them…I did not make myself obvious.)
We reached the city, everyone went ashore, and I figured that was the last I’d ever see of these three.
Once inside the Ferry Building, I took my camera out of the bag, strapped the bag around my middle (it’s a fanny-pack type), and walked north on The Embarcadero. I took the entire four hours (before the return ferry ride) to wander up to the Hyde Street Pier and back. Not that I didn’t rest at times along the way. I had a muffin at a Peet’s Coffee shop. I also stopped at The Cannery to have ice cream and listen to music.
The solo musician in the courtyard when I was at The Cannery played a wonderful acoustic version of Death Cab for Cutie’s “I’ll Follow You Into the Dark.” Although the lyrics speak of an entirely different kind of lady in black, I was reminded of my traveling companions on the ferry…
In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black And I held my tongue as she told me “Son fear is the heart of love So I never went back…
By the time it came to take the 4:40 ferry back home, I was tuckered out. I got to the Ferry Building early, of course, and watched my fellow travelers arrive at the loading area.
Ultimately, though (lo and behold!), I saw that the ladies were taking the same ferry back.
I boarded the boat and sat in almost the same place as I had earlier, only closer to the rear…where I could get some shots of the city as we departed (see photo above). As I was still in photographer mode, the view of the cityscape was what I was most interested in; I didn’t see my attractive “lady friends” (well, you know what I mean) anywhere around.
Oh, well…
As we slowly departed the dock, I took pictures for about the first five or ten minutes. I totally ended my photo activity, though, when the wind and water spray got to be just too much. I decided I needed to have another seat (even if inside) to escape the elements and keep my camera dry…so I headed away from the extreme rear of the boat and proceeded inward (foreward). I got a just a little ways, past about four rows of seats, when, all of a sudden, the boat experienced a minor lurch, tilted a bit, and I literally stumbled and tumbled into the nearest seat.
I checked quickly to see that my camera and bag had survived the fall, then looked up at my new surroundings. Seated directly across from me: guess who?
I’m not a stalker. Honest! It actually happened this way!
As I noticed these three women, I’m sure my eyes widened a tad. Partly because I was initially asking myself: did anyone notice my clumsy landing? Though I was also quickly thinking, upon recognition: oh, it’s you!
I’m sure I also offered up an embarrassed smile. I had performed a totally inelegant landing, directly across from Ms. Elegant-Black-Dress Lady.
They couldn’t help but notice my arrival, of course. It was as subtle as a fart in an elevator. However, they all returned my smile. And, I don’t remember exactly how it started, but, after a little bit, we began a conversation. I believe one of them asked me if I did photography for a living…and that got us rolling.
They learned that I was a college dean and did this for fun. Elegant-Black-Dress Lady told me that she and Hat Lady had been friends since they were eighteen. I told her that I’d had lunch with a friend last weekend with someone I’d known since I was twelve…and that, since I was 60, that was a while ago now. Whereupon she immediately disclosed that she was 63. I said, “I thought we were just about the same age.” She asked, “what gave it away?”, and I replied, simply, “the familiarity.”
She smiled and said, “how diplomatic.”
I learned that Ms. Elegant had just moved to Sacramento last year from Philadelphia, for a new job. And that shortly after the move she had lost her longtime canine companion: a Labrador retriever. She learned that I had just moved from Oregon and lost a relationship shortly thereafter. She made sure I understood the profound nature of her loss, and that she was still grieving. I listened empathetically.
I admitted to Ms. Elegant that I’d noticed her on the trip into the city…that her black dress had caught my eye right away. I told her I wasn’t sure about wearing black on this hot day, but that, certainly, I thought it was a very classy look. (It seems I’ve reached a point in my life when I can look at a woman over 60 and think: hot!)
We all talked about being college students in the Sixties. They know that I was in the Air Force for three weeks in 1969 and took nine semesters to complete my undergraduate degree. We all agreed that, despite the tumultuousness of the times, there was no better time in history to be a college student in the U.S.
I didn’t ask their names, and they didn’t offer. I don’t know where they work, although Ms. Elegant, I learned, has an employer-supplied vehicle. Black, of course. When one inquired what I do with my photos, I gave Ms. Elegant a business card that has my Flickr web address on it. So, she has (they have) my name and contact information; I don’t have any clue about them.
Because I was having such a great time, I missed the photo opportunity of San Quentin from the water…and the arrival at the pier in Larkspur. And, even though I had camera in hand, I didn’t even think to ask if I could take their picture. A considerable oversight on my part. Sigh…
Still…it was a thoroughly delightful afternoon: primarily because of my unexpected tumble that led to the conversation with three new lady friends, anonymous though they may be.
Girl watching certainly has it payoffs. Even though the entire experience is, often, all too fleeting.
Soundtrack Suggestion
My life is brilliant My love is pure. I saw an angel. Of that I’m sure. She smiled at me on the subway… You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, it’s true. I saw your face in a crowded place, And I don’t know what to do…
When I purchased my new Subaru last summer, the availability of this add-on was just too enticing to pass up. So, now, I almost always have my radio tuned to satellite rather than listening to FM, AM, CD or my iPod. Sirius Channel 6, devoted to tunes of the 60s, is where my dial is typically set.
Well, anyway, I was intrigued. Neil Diamond has always pretty much been a favorite of mine. I still remember quite vividly seeing him in concert on February 27, 1971, at Gill Coliseum in Corvallis, Oregon. At the time, I was a long-haired, bearded lad of 23, in my first year of grad school at Oregon State University. (And Neil Diamond had just turned 30 the month before…it’s amazing what you can find out on the internet if you just poke around a little.) Margaret and I had great seats, somewhere in the first ten rows, if I recall correctly. Toward the end of the concert he introduced and sang a new song that he said was going to be released soon: I Am … I Said.
I am, I said To no one there And no one heard at all Not even the chair I am, I cried I am, said I And I am lost, and I can’t even say why Leavin’ me lonely still…
It was released exactly a month later, on March 27, and of course, was a huge hit. I swear: I have always loved that song from the moment I first heard it.
But, I digress.
I immediately tuned into Channel 3, and yes, there he was, Neil himself, talking about the writing of one of his songs. I caught the narrative mid-stream, so I wasn’t sure which song. He was rambling on about this particular piece, and he claimed he didn’t know what it was really about during the time period he was writing it. It was a rather long intro, and then the song played. I had never heard it before, and I remember thinking: how can I not be familiar with this (a Neil Diamond) song?!
Well, as it turns out, he has a new album out called Home Before Dark. Amazon.com informs me that it was just released on April 29, and his website lets us know that this is his 46th album and the only one to debut at Number 1.
The song that I first listened to in the car that noon hour is entitled “If I Don’t See You Again.” It so moved me that it’s the inspiration for this little essay here today.
I don’t know what your experience will be when you hear this song (or what your experience might already have been), but my reaction was (and still is) highly emotional. Quite literally, from the simple opening chords, right until the end, this song seemed to touch me to the core. I can barely remember my drive that lunch hour as I was transported to some other dimension for those seven and a quarter minutes. And, after it played, I could barely remember any of the words…I just had this feeling…
What is the song about? Well, for me, the kicked-in-the-gut reaction it produced suggested it was entirely about loss. While listening I was awash in a huge, familiar physical-emotional response: familiar because of its association with times in my life when things have changed dramatically…when I’ve had to leave people or places behind. Of course, the last four years of my life have been almost entirely about change and loss, so I’ve come to view myself as somewhat of an expert in these areas.
I guess there might be other interpretations, but I’d say this song is about losing a love. And what life brings on when that happens. A tear came to my eye as I listened…the words and the melody poking through an emotional wall I seem to have built up in myself in recent months: a barrier that has apparently prevented me from completely dealing with the depths of the sadness brought on by the loss of a love, and a familiar life, in Oregon.
I can’t seem to get enough of this tune. While it caught me unawares last week, I was immediately hooked. I downloaded it from iTunes that same night, and have been playing it ever since. Exactly what’s going on here, I’m not sure. I just know that my attraction to this song is a powerful one.
And how coincidental that it comes along at this particular time. It was also last week that I was talking to some former colleagues in Oregon, mentioning both my blessings of a new life now made in California, as well as still carrying an overarching belief that Oregon is where I belong.
I suppose this is not very complicated at all. This tune is one that, for whatever reason, touches my soul, and speaks to me about the people and places I no longer have around.
And reminds me of the question that all-too-frequently pops into my mind during unguarded moments: what if I don’t see you again?
Soundtrack Suggestion
Who am I kidding I’m going nowhere I can’t even get through an hour without you Should be ashamed Just want to hear you calling my name Two of us missed connections Guess we must have somehow missed something more ’Cause we’re here alone I know we’re together But too far apart to know how to get back home…
If I don’t see you again Somehow we both made it through I woulda gave up on life Before I gave up on you You went and turned me around Could be was something you said I couldn’t make out the sound I didn’t care what it meant If I don’t see you again If I don’t see you again If I don’t see you again
I’m trying to do anything I can these days, whenever I’m away from work, to get my mind off work. The intensity of each workday right now makes that rather difficult.
So, it was with some sense of delight, recently, when I discovered a “wink” in my home email, from an East Bay woman who found my profile on match.com.
Yes, in case you didn’t know…I have a personal-ad profile listed online. And I’ve been involved, off and on, in the virtual dating world for quite some time now.
Years, actually. (Ah, the stories I could tell!)
Now, usually, I don’t respond to mere “winks” – much preferring someone who is drawn to my profile enough to write me a full (even if brief) message. But this time, for whatever reason, I wrote a short little note back – and after a couple of emails, we decided to meet for tea at an East Bay Starbucks last Sunday.
In short: it was wonderful. We talked for little over an hour and things went very smoothly, I thought. As we parted, she invited me to call or email her.
Which I did, a few hours later. I sent her an email indicating that I was “interested” and: could we get together again?
The answer: no thanks. “The chemistry just wasn’t there. So sorry about that.”
Isn’t it strange how rejection from someone I don’t even really know can still have such yucky feelings associated with it?
I hadn’t put myself out there like that for anyone in a long time. I guess I need to get more practiced, and thicker-skinned.
Maybe I’ll wink at somebody myself tonight. I really do need to get out more.
Soundtrack Suggestion
Another aeroplane Another sunny place I’m lucky, I know But I wanna go home Mmmm, I’ve got to go home
