He tells me he isn’t worried about Facebook knowing his particulars and preferences because the real information is inside his head.
“Brother, 17 of the women on my friend’s list are ex-wives, girlfriends and or chicks I got biblical with. That gives me the sort of information that people don’t want shared on Facebook. ‘Cuz I know them in ways that most don’t want to be shared with others.”
He lets loose a long laugh and tells me I probably have similar stories.
“I see you have 735 friends, how many can you talk about?”
“Probably 729, but it might be 698, it is getting hard to remember.”
He lets a loose another long laugh and tells me not to be shy.
“I shared my number, you can share yours with me.”
I wave my hand at him to come closer and he laughs again, “ok, you can whisper it in my ear.”
“I said 698, but I was exaggerating. It is only 113. I have a thing for prime numbers so every time I added some notches I had to make sure I ended with a prime. Blame it on the math girls of my life.”
“Dude, I don’t know what to say to that. 113 is the kind of ridiculous number that no one is going to believe. You’re not that good looking and you don’t have that kind of game.”
This time I smile and tell him he is right, “I am not as big an asshole as you are.”
“No, but you are an asshole because no one gets to say they had 113 partners without being one.
Especially when everyone knows the real number is about 34% of whatever number men say they have been with. If you were a woman I’d say add 34% cuz they lie about how many too.”
And just like that I was called an asshole and given credit for sleeping with 38.42 women, assuming my math is correct.
It might not be but it wouldn’t matter because I didn’t share real information with him.
Posts I Could Write
I read a post about writing posts for comments and listened to a podcast about digital communication and heard the echoes of the writing I used to do.
Thought a bit about the days when I spent more time presenting myself as an authority on digital communication and social media.
Remembered how the focus here was different because I wanted it to be more professional so that people would take me seriously.
I was pretty good at what I did and though I have a different focus now I could still be pretty good at it.
Sometimes I miss focusing on content and developing communication plans and scoping out ways to build engagement.
Sometimes I miss talking about what metrics are significant and what isn’t.
Yet I don’t do that because I prefer to just write with reckless abandon and dump the contents of my mind upon the page.
Some of it is because writing is like breathing for me and some of it is because it is the only way I can communicate with some people.
It is the one place where I know I can speak and be heard–can’t say I am understood but I can live with that.
If I really want to change that I can do so but I figure it is more interesting to let things unfold as they will. Provides more fodder for the stories I want to write or something like that.
Mostly I just like to write and see where the words take me, I never know for certain what will show up until I place it upon the page.
A Life Without Stories
Just a few days away from celebrating 22 years I have a lunch that serves as another reminder that we aren’t in Kansas anymore.
The guys are talking about hunting and fishing and I am silently chuckling to myself.
I have been fishing enough times to be a part of the conversation and to talk a bit about what I like/dislike and what I dream of as a fisherman.
They don’t get to hear stories about going out after the mighty gefilte, King of all Fish today because I am too busy listening to them talk about hunting pigs and deer.
That is outside of my experience but I do have a bit of interest in it. I like camping and being outdoors and part of me appreciates the idea of tracking an animal.
But I wouldn’t want to do it unless I planned on eating whatever I caught and I am not particularly interested in wild pig or deer.
So when the conversation comes around and they ask me for my biggest hunting nightmare I tell them I don’t have one, but a life without stories, well that would be a nightmare to me.
Popped a few Ibuprofen today ‘cuz that 22 year-old trainer’s workout kicked my ass and I ache.
Body justifiably feels like I asked it do a little bit more than it wanted to and now it is trying to punish me.
Given recent developments part of me doesn’t care because I am doing what others can’t. I am pushing myself to get to a different place, hoping it helps to avoid potential pitfalls that I’d rather not encounter.
Intermixed with the aches and repeated stretching I click on these links to see if I wrote about cancer or if I focused upon other fancies.
Some might say there are moments when the emphasis of my attention is upon a single topic. There is some truth to it now which is why I am actively pushing upon other areas.
I had planned on writing far more than this, but I find the ache is making it hard to sit so I need to stretch a bit and do some walking.
Maybe include some more sets of that Superman exercise to see if that helps work out the kinks. Got to say that one has to feel like they got beat up, this isn’t a bad way to go.
And with that I leave you to enjoy Mr. Cocker’s birthday greeting and a promise to try and write more entertaining posts.