Saturday, April 28, 2012

Dear Facebook, you have my Aunt Marge to thank.

Meet Aunt Marge, via the 'Face
Thing' on the computer.
I tried. I tried and I failed because clearly I am no match for Aunt Marge and Catholic guilt. No one, is a match for Aunt Marge and Catholic guilt. Those 2 are basically the same person/thing, barely distinguishable.

After 4 years of ups and downs but mostly ups, I deactivated by Facebook account. I did it quietly, no fan fare, no big announcement of a countdown for my 'friends' to say their last goodbyes. I just... did it. And after 18 minutes of insane hoops and Are you sure? Please enter the totally unrecognizable characters in this field for the tenth time, and Are you sure you're sure because so and so (a montage of my friends' profile pics came streaming across the page, no joke) will miss you...  I was more ready than ever to deactivate that shit.

I felt liberated and Special K was like Duh, I did that years ago. My reasons for taking this bold move?

  1. Despite my best efforts at keeping my account private, I was constantly logged in to 5 different computers in 5 different states. Creepy.
  2.  I felt overexposed - not shocking. I am a social media junkie which is quickly becoming the norm. Like me, more friends than not these days are on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest (which is surprisingly awesome and not too personal), at some point I joined Tumblr but have no idea how to use it, LinkedIn, and I keep forgetting about GoodReads but I'm on that too. Oh, and I'm here in my own Schovillova-verse which I love but neglect most of all. All of them for the most part, serve different purposes. Facebook for me had the heaviest weight so I decided to cut it.
  3. Again, despite best efforts, I tried to limit how people could find me. I tried to prevent humans that I don't really know that well, don't know at all, or that I don't want to know me at all, from requesting to be my friend because eventually it gets awkward when you ignore a request and then run into said human on a daily bases. In the words of Special K, It's hard to be so popular.
But who am I kidding. All of these excuses were null and void after a late night conversation with my Great Aunt Marge in New Jersey, who I apparently need to call more often. I will just include her part of the conversation below but when you read it, you must read it in your best 80-year-old-New-Jersey-great-aunt-voice.

  • Have you talked to your Cousin Jane? Oh, that's right, uhwl you kids are on the 'Face thing' on the compuduh.
  • Well, (sigh) at least you keep in touch that way. See the pictures and have your conversaytions through the compuduh. I guess that's uhwlright.
  • You kids don't write  your letters anymore, I know. But now no one even knows phone numbuhs! But I'm glad you're on the compuduh. I get my news from your cousins about how you arrre and how the Texas family is. (sigh)
  • I just don't know what anyone looks like anymore, but at least they have the pictures on the compuduh... 
  • You of course know that Mary took a turn but fought her way back, more radiation and rehab therapy. I'm glad you can keep track of her on the compuduh, Jane says she talks about it there a lot so everyone can know...
  • What? You're not on the compuduh with them anymore? Well, that's too bad. I'm going to miss hearing about you and Kev. How am I going to hear about you and Kev? I pray for you uhwl the time you know...
  • Keep Mary in your prayers and keep letting everyone know how you are with phone calls then. Do you need everyone's phone numbuhs and addresses? I' liked that you kids kept in touch on the compuduh....
 And like that I was back on the compuduh, on the 'Face thing'. 
Well played Aunt Marge, well played.

S

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Some people go to church. Some people watch others go to church.

Spring is back ya'll. The scent of lilacs, the sounds of birds and oh the view of the Sunday morning church-goers, all from my porch. I'd forgotten how much I'd missed this.

Here are some almighty scenes that I witnessed from my perch porch this Easter morning...

Easter Mass at St. Joan of Arc begins promptly at 10:30 a.m.

10:10 a.m. Tan minivan creeps slowly down the street and finds parking comfortably across from my porch. Mom, Dad, and 3 little ones jump out in their Easter Sunday best and make their way up the street in one unified group.

10:16 a.m. Blue SUV finally decides its too big for the tight spot behind the minivan, avoids the large tempting space by the fire hydrant (in front of the minivan), and so makes its way further down the street. Exit Dad, 2 young boys in half-tucked shirts, Mom, and Grandma, walking at a quick, but unified, pace.

10:19 a.m. White 4-door coup slides easily into spot behind van. Older man with silver hair emerges. Hands in pockets, he strolls towards the church whistling.

10: 21 a.m. Gray minivan proceeds quickly down the street and jerks to an abrupt stop in front of the hydrant space. Red car waits patiently in the street and then creeps around the Gray van. Heated debate takes place inside the Gray van between Mom and Dad as gestures are made towards the tan minivan. Dad's shoulders shrug as if to say 'So what if we get a ticket'. Mom's arms flag forward and thus, Ol' Gray rushes further down the street. 2 girls in hats jump out first, one of them is crying, and they walk/run towards the church, Mom follows close behind. Dad strolls behind, shaking his head.

10:24 a.m. Red car reappears and zips into the giant space in front of the hydrant as if to say 'Fug it'. Dad emerges with young son. He looks around guiltily, takes his son by the hand and barrels towards the church, head down. The son jogs to keep up.

10:26 a.m. Black SUV freaking flies down the street. They find parking 6 houses down from Chez Schovillova and a million doors fly open and bodies pour out from all sides. A gaggle of hats, bows, ties and patent leather haul ass up the street. Thinking back I can't confirm the existence of grown ups in that gaggle but I'm assuming there was at least one to drive the car.

10:28 a.m. Another vehicle flies down the street because you know, the risk of taking out a small pedestrian or 2 on Easter Sunday is a lesser evil than the risk of being late for the Mass itself. Man and woman emerge and walk briskly, heads held high, towards the church. White sporty SUV thing flies past and continues down the street.

10:34 a.m. White sporty SUV thing returns from the opposite direction, despite the one-way nature of our street. He assess the approximate distance between bumpers on either side of the hydrant. Howls and shouts of protest are coming from within. 10:35-10:37 a.m., the SUV makes a 20-point turn in the middle of the street, jumping the curb from time to time, and finally aligning itself with the last space in the 205. Dad seems to be weighing the risks of possible ticketing (little do any of these saps know that hydrant never gets ticketed. Ever. It's a well-kept secret in these parts and we prefer to keep it that way.) or possible bumper on bumper action. Mom shakes her head from the front seat, adamantly opposed to the idea. Howling continues. 10:38-10:40 a.m. and this time it's a 20-point parallel parking job - OH THE HORROR! Growing up this was usually around the time that my mom would say 'Fug it' and take us to IHOP instead. It would seem that this Dad was cut from the same mold because after unsuccessfully  squeezing into the very last spot, I'm pretty sure that I could read the words fug it on his lips as he pulled back onto the street and so help me I heard cheering from within the vehicle. And so they went. I like to think it was in pursuit of a happier place like IHOP or 'Waffles and Chicken' just down the way.

And so goes my Sunday morning ritual. I'm glad to have you back. 
Happy Easter.

S