787. Muse Calls

“Oh, MOV, you aren’t going to believe this, but—”

“You were fired.” 

“Yes!  How did you know?” 

“I suspected.  But what’s the reason?  Lack of pilot’s license?  Criminal record?  Grand Theft Auto?  DUI?” 

“No, no, none of those things.  And I do have my pilot’s license.  I used to fly for Independence Air, didn’t I tell you that?” 

Muse was full of surprises.  “No, no, I never knew that, actually.”  I was impressed, but I didn’t want her to know I was.  Her ego was big enough to fit in a small plane, or a big plane. 

“I think I’m going to take them to court.  It was unconstitutional of them to fire me.” 


“Delta is allowed to fire you for a having a jail record.” 

“That’s not it, MOV.  I lost my job because of Facebook.” 

“What?  Are you kidding me?  What happened?” 

“They called me into the office after a flight and asked me to take some things off my Facebook page.  I refused.” 


“Like what?  What things?” 

“Well, just a few pictures of me partying, and maybe the chandelier photo where I may or may not be wearing undergarments.” 

“You were swinging from a chandelier naked?  What are you, Britney Spears?”   

“No, no, nothing like that.  It’s just, well, the photographer told me we were going to do a few artistic shots, so I wanted to be accommodating …”


“Artistic?  Artistic?  Oh, Muse, that’s the oldest line in the book!  But, okay, who cares about that, what did the Delta people say when you told them you’d take the questionable photos off your page?” 

“No, you don’t understand—I didn’t say that.  I said I was leaving them up, and if it mattered that much, they could fire me.” 

“They called your bluff.” 

“I wasn’t bluffing.” 

“So you would rather not have a job, a good job with good benefits, so you can have your Facebook page?” 

“No, it was the principle of it.  But anyway, I got rid of my Facebook.  Too time consuming.” 

“Muse, back up.  You stood by your principles that you deserved to keep your Facebook page, and then you got fired, and then you quit Facebook anyway?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“I told you, it’s a time suck.  I had too many friends to keep track of.  And everyone was all, Hey Muse, hey, be my friend! And I’m all, Hey I don’t even know who you are! And then it turns out I met them at some party or they’re friends with some of my friends, or whatever.  Ugh.  I’d had enough.”

“Wait—how many friends exactly did you have?”

“Oh, I dunno, like 17, 368?  Something like that.  Oh, no, did I say 17,000?  Gah, I’m so dyslexic.  I mean 71,000.  That’s kind of average, though, right?” 

(I wasn’t on Facebook, but most people I knew did not have friends into the four or five figures.) 

“Muse, I think most normal people might have between 100 and 300 friends.  700 would be really high.” 

“Oh, well, good, they can have some of mine!  I don’t need them anymore!” 


I couldn’t think of anything to say.  I just waited for her to fill in the silence, it would happen soon enough. 

“So guess what, my phone is ringing like crazy!  I had to change my number!” 

“What now?” 


“Were you not listening?  Everyone is freaking out that I am off Facebook.  They’re all, Hey Muse, are you dead?  What happened?  Did I make you quit Facebook?  Everyone takes things so personally.” 


“Is it liberating, not being on it?” 

“It is.  I don’t miss it.  Except …”

“What?  What do you miss?” 

She sighed.  “Well, every once in a while, Prince William would post on my wall.  That was nice.” 

“But, Muse, he’s married!” 

“This is before they were engaged.  Remember, he and Kate were broken up for a while?  Broken up, back together, on a break, blah blah.  He kept changing his status.  We hooked up a couple of times.” 

The thought of Muse almost becoming Princess Muse was too much to bear. 

“You?  William?” 

“Mmmmm.  Yes.  And polo is not his only skill set, if you know what I mean.”  Muse giggled, then stopped abruptly. 

“I gotta go, MOV.  It was great talking to you.” 

“Wait—where are you going?” 

“I have a lunch date with my lawyer in half an hour.  He’s going to try to get my job back for me.  And right after that, I have a meeting with a movie producer.  I’m going to pitch my story.” 

“Oh, Muse.  Good luck with that.” 

“I don’t need luck, MOV.  I am luck.” 

MOV

279. What Is Facebook?

I’ll admit it: I’m Amish. Well, not Amish Amish, more like Amish-Lite. For ten years, I did not own a television (by choice!). Cell phones make me nervous, and I only broke down and bought one last year. Email is a relatively new phenomenon for me. So why should it surprise you that I don’t do Facebook?

For the longest time, I didn’t know what Facebook was. I thought it was some sort of special computer notebook for college students to keep track of their coursework (sort of a cross between a laptop and an I-Pad).

Obviously, my friends mock me for my lack of awareness. They say things like, “MOV, you need to get on Facebook so you can find out what everyone is up to!” I don’t particularly want to know what everyone is up to. I’m still trying to keep track of what I am up to.

Then, as if they are Facebook Ambassadors or Facebook Sales Reps (working on commission, natch), they say, “MOV, you can re-connect with friends from high school and college!” to which I think, if I haven’t stayed in touch with someone, there is probably a good reason, like maybe they turned out to be a serial killer (did I forget to mention that I went to high school with Andrew Cunanan, murderer of Versace, and that Andrew and I ran on the cross-country team together?).

Facebook. My cynical friends say, “You know, you’re probably better off without FB,” (they abbreviate it to ‘FB’ to sound more hip), “because I literally can spend two hours a day on it! It’s crazy!”

Two hours. Where do they get that two hours? Did the Universe bestow them with 26-hour days, because I’m still trying to cram everything into my meager allotment of 24 hours and failing miserably. Maybe they skip lunch? Maybe they don’t bother to shower and dry their hair? Maybe they just get six hours of sleep instead of eight? Where do those extra two hours come from?

The other thing I don’t get is the whole Facebook Friending Thing. Yes, “friend” as a verb. Apparently, you can friend someone and then you can leave messages on their “wall” and they can look at your Facebook Portfolio as well. I have heard of great drama stemming from someone rejecting or ignoring a “friend” request. Parents tell me their kids won’t respond to their “friend” inquiries. (Heck, my kids won’t be friends with me in the real world, you think I want to risk that kind of rejection in cyberspace too?) 

It hurts people's feelings to delete their friend requests--it's like not inviting someone to a party, but even more blatant:  you do not qualify as my friend;  I can do better than you, I can be friends with some random person I just met on the airplane and never ever have to talk to them or hear their voice or see them.  Sounds distancing to me.    

Excuse me, I have to run:  I'm meeting a girlfriend for lunch in person.  We're going to gossip and eat chocolate cake (last I checked, their is no "eat chocolate cake" option on Facebook; ah, well, something to strive for). 

MOV

(P.S. Yes, I saw the movie "Social Network".  Loved it.)