Anti Social Networks

Let's be honest for a minute:  Social networks were created by the anti-social for the anti-social.

Just the term social network itself is an oxymoron.  If most of us were social, we wouldn't spend so much time on a social network. 

In fact, most of our behaviors online do not even mimic our behaviors offline.  Back in the days of Myspace, it was not uncommon for people to beg others to comment their pictures.  But in real life, no one would dare walk up to strangers and ask them to comment their face or tell them they are pretty,

Here on Facebook or even on Twitter, we share the most mundane aspects of our lives.  Who hasn't posted a picture of their dinner?  Who hasn't stopped what they are doing to let everyone know, via a status, that they have a headache? 

These are all things we don't do away from our computers.  I certainly have never called a friend and asked him to come over and look at my bowl of spaghetti I made for dinner.   And when I have a headache, the last thing I want to do, is talk about it. 

But here online, our lives are dictated by self-imposed narratives, photo ops and soundbites.

I am sure most women who have been online long enough have been subjected to the random penis picture from some unknown man.  Offline, if a man opens up his trench coat and flashes a woman, he is committing a crime.  Online, it's simply shrugged off as an expected occurrence.

Social networks are anything but social.

It's an oxymoron.

Social networks have just about replaced conversation with memes.   Rather than debate someone using intelligence on political matters, we use memes.  Often times, we don't even fact check the image we use to do our debating.

Now, we have a whole generation of self-described inspirational gurus who post incessant cliches, quotes and glitter infested adages.  It's as if kindness or acts of compassion have been reduced to the posting of other people's words on these anti-social networks.

People have found a lazy method of finding self-satisfaction without leaving their self-imposed bubbles. 

Imagine if Mother Theresa abandoned her good works and simply spent her time posting memes on Facebook.  She'd be as ordinary as the rest of us.

It seems to me that anti-social networks have caused us to lose the ability to rely on original thought.  They have bred a whole network of people who lack self-awareness and even delve into some shallow existence where an oxymoron is mistaken for wisdom.

A land where tiny women believe they are fierce and tough while large men believe they are soft with hearts of gold.

A place where insomnia is mistaken as an attribute of intelligence while bloggers believe they inherently deserve to be heard.

Anti social networks have caused the quiet reserved types to feel emboldened where voicing an opinion is incorrectly believed to be courageous. 

A place where being a humanitarian is as simple as posting an anti child abuse picture on your page which in reality is about as meaningful as drinking from a milk carton with a missing child on it.

Anti social networks have caused us to be calculated in our compassion all for the sake of a false perception by an audience filled with strangers.

These places manifest the self-serving needs of well intentioned people because ordinary people are given an opportunity to feel extraordinary in a virtual world not defined by cities, streets and pavement.


It seems to me that anti social networks are better suited for cynics like myself because in the real world, it is us who keep things real.

Trying too hard

If I was a car salesman with my own office, my desk would be cluttered with things you'd expect to find: a calculator, car brochures, pens and notepads.  I wouldn't stop there.  I'd have pictures of my girlfriend, maybe my mom and most importantly a coffee mug that read, "World's Greatest Dad."

I do have a beautiful girlfriend and a mom but the kids... well, they don't exist, yet.

I suppose creating this perception that I have kids and that I am the world's greatest dad could be considered a lie but, in sales, perception can be the difference between a mediocre paycheck and a large commission.

I am fascinated with the perceptions we create, the perceptions people have of us and the realities behind who each of us are.

Probably the most common thought that goes through my head when I judgmentally observe people around here is, "you're trying too hard".

When I first joined Facebook, admittedly, I felt out of place.  I felt unaccomplished, a disappointment and maybe,a little sorry for myself.  Everyone I knew from my past was happily married or had kids.  Each and every person I had ever considered close seemed to all be living the perfect life.

I suppose on a social network, painting a picture of our reality via sound bites and photo ops is going to lean more towards the positive aspects of our lives.   And if the positives are few, I suppose we may exaggerate those that do exist.

It's creating a perception.

In my head, I pretty much have everyone categorized around here.  One side of the spectrum are the freaks with their genital pictures and lame pick up lines.  Then, with the other extreme, we have the inspirational crowd; those who do nothing but regurgitate positivity and post unicorn pictures.  In between, we have the cat crowd, the always sick crowd, the TMI people, the angry political types, and then those I actually feel a sense of loyalty with.

Regardless of my opinion on individuals, I think most of us try too hard; including myself.

I do not believe the creepy people on here are necessarily creepy offline.  I, also, do not believe the angelic, saintly types with their sparkly unicorn pics and worn out Maya Angelou quotes are necessarily good people offline.


It's not to say that some aren't consistent in character in both existences.

I do believe that there is very little difference between the positivity people and the freaks.   Overkill is overkill.  Constantly talking about your fetishes and how horny you are is really no different than the endless postings of cats jumping on rainbows with some cliche about smiling more and loving everyone.

It's just a perception,  For some, it's living vicariously through the persona we have invented for ourselves online; to be who we wish we really were.  For others, it's a chance to be noticed and feel important or extraordinary..

I don't really know 90% of my friends list but I can give an adjective about each person on it.  Odds are, I will be wrong in my perception of each of them.

The internet has bred a whole generation of narcissists.  We saw it on myspace.   When our blogs ranked, we felt a sense of celebrity.  The positivity people and the poets believed they were healing the world with one cliche after another. Original thought was now defined by rephrasing someone else's original thought and then feeling proud of ourselves for being so clever and deep.

I don't really know if I have a point other than, I don't think any of us really know each other.  I think, most of us are so self-absorbed and worried about being perceived a certain way, we lose sight on the reality of who we are.  I think we lose a piece of our self every time we log in here.

One day, I will start every morning; drinking coffee from a mug that reads "worlds greatest dad" but the best part is it won't be sitting on my desk at work.

It will be left at home on my kitchen counter next to my kid's lunches.

Trickle Down

We were friends for 15 straight years. Then, there was seven years of nothing.  Complete silence.

I was certain he was fine.  In the back of my mind, I wondered if he was finally happy.  He has an infectious laugh.  A laugh I had truly missed.

One day.
Out of the blue.
He called.  He reentered my life.

Just like that, that conversation seemed like we were finishing a conversation we had minutes earlier.  But the truth is, it was a new conversation seven years later.

It's hard to explain.

Unless you've lost a friend that you truly never lost, you can't understand.

Some people are meant to be a part of your life for a moment.  Others, they remain with you forever.

He was that forever friend; regardless how often we spoke or speak.

I am glad I answered the phone that day.

He called because he was drunk.  The truth is, he was lonely.  He missed me.  He missed the good old days.  Actually, he missed his friends.  All of us.

We spoke for 6 hours that night.  Then, everyday from that day forward until he met his soon to be wife.  It was to be a relationship I helped form.  When he asked for her hand in marriage, my fingerprints were all over their vows. 

I take a lot of pride in that.

I know he was glad he picked up the phone that day.

The miracle of that one simple phone call was written in the Book of Life centuries ago.  I believe that.

Because of him and that phone call, it led me to the woman I now refer to as the love of my life.

It was a trickle down effect.  He knew someone who knew someone and that someone introduced me to someone.  Then that someone and I fell in love.

I could talk about all the hurdles we have jumped, the mountains we have climbed or I could talk about the sweet taste of her lips.  I could mention my moments of despair and the new gray that sprouted in between my dark Elvis like hair.  I could write how I learned the true meaning of anxiety and the real definition of being heartbroken.  I could toss out cliches that seem to never bring comfort when you are believing you are destined to always be alone. 

I could talk about how the last four years have been the best years of my life despite everything we have gone through.

I could talk for days about how that one simple phone call from a lost friend led me to the only woman I have ever loved.

I am glad I chose to be his friend in 1985.

He was a large kid for his age.  Hell, he was a large kid for any age.  But that laugh... it was so infectious.  How could I not make friends with a fat, awkward kid with a laugh like that?

I didn't know at the time that 25 years later he was going to be responsible for introducing me to her. 

Maybe, if I had, I would have been a better friend.  And maybe, we would still be talking today.

I miss him.

I am thankful to him for her.

I am glad I answered my phone that day....

Four years ago.

Larger than Life

"My donuts!  My donuts!"

Picture this:  A nearly 300 pound, 15 year old kid riding his bike with no hands while carrying a box filled with donuts.  Suddenly, he loses balance and crashes into a pile of rocks.  Bloodied and bruised, he emerges from the sea of boulders; limps to the twisted heap of metal once known as his bicycle and exclaims, "my donuts, my donuts!"

That is how I was introduced to the best friend I have ever known.  He was the fat kid more concerned with his donuts than the blood running down his arms and legs or his broken bicycle.

1985 was a great year.  It's the year, I met him.


I think about him all the time. 

We don't talk anymore.  I will take the blame.  I suppose, I say too much, express too many opinions, judge too often and sabotage too many good things.

Last night, his sister in law posted his picture online.  There he was; a little gray, overweight but still larger than life.

Larger than life.  That's him.

I suppose we all have that friend.  The indescribable, quirky friend whom we credit with so many of our own accomplishments and attributes. 

The last time we spoke was two years ago.  We spoke for hours.  Nothing changed.  Our bond is/was unbreakable.

He is the man responsible indirectly for me meeting the love of the life.  I am the man indirectly responsible for his marriage. 

In the annals of my life, it will be written that he was my best friend. 

I think sometimes we throw that term around carelessly.  We crown certain people our best friend when, in reality, they are merely our favorite friend.  In this case, he is/was the BEST friend I have ever had.

I could speak about him for days.  His laugh.  His kindness.  His compassion. 

His love.

We don't talk anymore.  It's a long and complicated story.

I saw him last night.  If pictures accurately tell a story, then he looks well.  Happy. Still in love.

I suppose that's all I really need to know.

20 Seconds

Sometimes, when we are talking, I don't hear a damn thing she says.  It's her voice.  It's the sweetest sound in the world. 

We've had some close calls.  A long break up.  Ridiculous fights.  Insane insecurities.  Health scares.

Her, coming to her senses.


I knew within 20 seconds of meeting her that she was the one.  I also knew that she was going to have to choose me.  Women like her, men like me, don't choose.  They choose us.

I'd like to say I deserve her.  I don't.

Things like this aren't stated in a moment of weakness or during some self-pitied epiphany.  It isn't said so others will bury me in praise or complimentary toasts. 

It's stated because it is a fact.  I don't deserve her.  I doubt anyone does.

My twenty seconds of making an eternal impression were clumsy. 

I don't remember one damn thing I said to her.  I hoped to avoid eye contact because I knew I would start feeling self-conscious like she was staring at some wayward nose hair or blemish on my skin.  I had hoped that she could overlook any imperfections and see something in me that I've never seen myself.

A woman like her shouldn't be talking to a man like me.

But she did.  She clung to every word.  She nodded.  She smiled.  She even touched my arm.

I remember those things.

I swear I am the luckiest man alive.  I don't deserve to be.

I suppose you'd have to know her to get it.


My whole life I've had a blue print of the perfect woman in my mind.  Sundresses, flip flops, pony tails, green eyes, a smile like no other...

If I am an architect, then her creator far exceeded my plans.  He took my vague dream and built a monument.

I suppose you'd have to see her to get it.


She had a root canal done today.  In the midst of her drug induced haze, she told me she loved me.  For some reason, I couldn't swallow.  It caught me off guard.  It's her voice.  It's the sweetest sound in the world.

I suppose you'd have to talk with her to get it.

In my alone time, I watch a lot of movies.  Last night, the movie I watched, made this declaration, "You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it."

It really resonated with me.  Unbeknownst to me at the time I met her, I had my twenty seconds of courage. 

These connections we make in life are miracles.  They aren't handed to us.  We don't even earn them, either.  They just happen.

God knows I don't deserve her.

In the final scene of the specific movie I watched last night, the main character meets her.

In his twenty seconds of courage, he asks, "Why would an amazing woman like you even talk to someone like me?"

Her response, "Why not?"

I suppose you'd have to be in love to get this. 

A Long Day

It's been a long day. 

Birds singing in the morning.  Coffee brewing in the kitchen. 

The lap top warming up as I did the same in the shower; ready to embark on an ordinary day.

Dried myself off, sat in my chair, preparing myself for my regular routine. 

And the long day began.

Heard some troubling news about someone I barely knew.  A stranger in my computer, hours before, had lost his life.  A friend of a friend of another friend is quite upset.  Humanity sinks in as I drink from my coffee cup.  Ho hum, it happens every day, I tell myself as I find myself a little despondent.

Something about those connections we make here online with people we've never met.  It's funny.  It's sad.  It's another long day.

It's been a long year.

New Years resolutions get longer each year.  Broken a lot sooner as I grow older.

I love you, my love, can't wait until we're married.  Maybe, we won't have babies but if you want another cat, I will not debate you.

Summer rolls in, I need a vacation from me.  I pack my bags and send them on a trip.  I never go anywhere without my ego.

She says she's not feeling too well, even worse than usual.  Worry sets it in, even more so than before.  Doctor says she'll be fine... God willing.

Christmas is coming.  She's everything I want.  It's funny.  It's sad.  It's another long year.

It's been a long decade.

Sat across from a friend in an ordinary booth at a rather tame restaurant.  His hands were shaking as his speech was slurred.  Three hours that night, doing what we do best.  Talking. 

The last three hours, I would ever see him again. 

I've seen a ghost, a shell of a man, walk away in the distance as my heart told me, I wouldn't see him again.   And my heart was right.

Ten years of yearning; wishing I had those hours back.  It's funny.  It's sad.  It's been a long decade.

It's been a long life.

So many friends.  So many faces.  So many memories. 

If I had grandparents, this would be the time, I'd ask for old war stories, to see their old wounds.  This would be the time, Id' drink lemonade on the porch, rock in a chair and marvel as they spoke.

But I'll settle for my neighbor who no longer remembers his name.  His face, specifically, his eyes; tell me everything I need to know.

It's embarrassing, my generation, as I think of his.  It's funny.  It's sad. 

And the long day comes to an end.  A day filled with reflection, some regrets and reminiscence.  Alone with some thoughts, my telephone rang.  An unfamiliar phone number from a familiar area code.

So, I answer my phone, curiosity at bay. 

It's an old friend from a decade ago.

As soon as I recognized his voice, I, immediately, with joy, said, "It's been a long time."

It's funny.  It's sad.

How time flies.

Nice guys finish last... my ass

I want to put to rest this misnomer that "nice guys finish last".  Once and for all.

So, a friend of mine breaks up with this dude.  Step by step, he follows the exact same trends all dudes do when broken up with:  He tells her he will change.  Then, he claims he read some self-help books and now understands what he did wrong.  Then, he starts texting her with some really ridiculous lyrics to lame love songs.  Then, he buys her flowers.  But like the douche he is, he hand delvers them to her work; giving off the impression that he is so sweet.  But we all know hand delivered flowers are a man's way to give off the perception he is sweet.  It's a man's way to put the spotlight on himself instead of the woman that he is "apologizing" to or trying to win over.  Hand delivered flowers are a transparent way to get a woman's co-workers pity and praise.  It's manipulation.

After the flowers, he began the non-stop emails and texts with WORDS of desperation.

"The pain is unbearable."
"I will die without you."

The emotional blackmailing begins.

I know this well because I've done it before.

So, this dude keeps texting, calling and emailing constantly.  He keeps begging for another chance.  He becomes even more clingy than when they were together.  He has become a borderline stalker.

So, this friend, starts to worry.  I decide to message him and explain to him why she broke up.  I explained that she broke up because she simply is not romantically interested in him.  After two months of dating, she realized he is not for her.  It was that simple.

I explained that no words or lame poetry or hand delivered flowers have the power to make her be in love with him.

Then, I warned him to back off and that he was in danger of losing her friendship.  I told him that he had become creepy and that she was beginning to resent him.

He then replied to me with the same things most guys say when they are dumped:  "I am tired of being a nice guy.  Women just hate nice guys.  We always finish last."

It's a myth.  Nice guys do not finish last.  Women do want nice guys.

The problem men who use this phrase have is they either do not know the definition of nice or they are giving themselves way too much credit.

Nice guys do not call themselves nice guys.  If you have to tell others you are a nice guy,  you are not a nice guy.  Note to single women:  If you are ever on a dating site or are talking to a man and he tells you that he is the guy next door type and is just a regular nice guy, RUN.

Run as fast as you can.

Genuine nice guys will be nice with their actions; they will not be trying to convince you through words they are nice.

Men who claim to be misunderstood are arrogantly belittling those who deemed them as "not their type" or decided they were not "datable".

"The woman doesn't want to be with me anymore?  Well, she obviously is retarded or she just doesn't get me", says the man with the highly misguided opinion of himself.

Women do want nice regular next door type guys.  They want genuine nice guys.  Just because a woman dumps us, it doesn't automatically mean we were too nice.  Clingy does not mean nice.  Needy does not mean nice.  Writing her ridiculous poetry does not equate to being nice.  Because you part your hair to the side or have pictures of yourself with your dog does not mean you are the guy next door type, either.  Just because you can recite a Michael Buble song does not mean you are a regular nice guy.

Being a nice guy, the type women want, means we listen to her.  We put their needs above our own.  It means we keep our egos in check.

Women are a lot simpler than we think.  Make them laugh.  Through action, show them you love them.  And listen to them... really listen to them.

Nice guys never finish last.

Douches do.