Will You Be My Friend?

“Popularity is the one insult I have never suffered.”
Oscar Wilde

Jesus, talk about a flashback to kindergarten. I finally set up a MySpace page. Yes I know, true to form I am late to the party. Blame it on my old fuddy duddy roots.

And as with many ordinary social interactions, I don't really get the gist of MySpace (did I mention that I am an anti-social fuddy duddy?). It is like going to a foreign country and not knowing how to find the bathroom. I don't get the subtle language shifts or nods of the head. Did you just order me a crossant or tell me to go to hell?

From what I can tell, people leave these weird little messages for each other attached to huge tacky pictures without really saying anything. I guess it's like a text message, it is enough room to skim the surface but not much else. A handy tool for the gal on the go. I suppose it is a nice way to check in quickly with a lot of people, some of whom you know and some of whom you want to know. I dunno. Beats me.

When I was a girl, we had to memorize each others phone numbers, all 7 digits of them, if we wanted to talk to each other. Damn, life was different back then in the dark ages. The touch tone phone was a big deal, I even got one for Christmas.

During my brief moment of 8th grade popularity, I spent every evening talking to my friends in a strictly regimented order. I began with an hour on the phone with my best girlfriend Jen, then a toss up between less desirable friends such as Bernardo and Dan, then some brief calls with an assortment of people, then 2 hours with my boyfriend Colin and then a hunk of chat time with my bestest pal Zachary.

My ear ached by the end of the night. We were too young to drive to each other's houses and living in rural VT, we had no way to hang out with each other unless our parent's obliged us (rare). There was no internet, no cell phones, no nothing. The touch tone phone was my life line.

Now that I have exposed what a sorry old sack I am, wanna be my pal? Come on, please? With sugar on top? Jesus, aren't I too old for another popularity contest? Nope, turns out that life is chock full o'them! 'Till the day you die sucker!

“Popularity comes from allowing yourself to be bored by people while pretending to enjoy it.”

Karol Newlin

At rehearsal Sunday, we did an improv game involving status and hierarchy (which plays a big part in The Trojan Women). We were each secretly assigned a number and then we had to greet each other at a cocktail party and guess each other's numbers. We weren't allowed to say anything beyond our names but with body language alone, we were able to easily suss out who was who.

As a 7 (9 being the highest), I turned my nose up at people, shook their hands briefly and with authority, and then quickly moved on. The 1s and the 2s wouldn't even look you in the eye, so down and out were they.

In the play, I am a 3. My city is burnt to the ground, my husband and baby are dead and I am waiting for the Greeks to take me away to a new land to be a concubine. It is humbling to say the least.

“Seek not the favor of the multitude; it is seldom got by honest and lawful means. But seek the testimony of few; and number not voices, but weigh them.” Immanuel Kant

Anyway, please be my friend on MySpace. It is a scary new world but I already found some old friends I haven't talked to in forever. It is a cool way to catch up and network and blah blah blah.

"Oh my, I'm sorry #2, I wasn't listening to you, I was too busy checking my MySpace, YouTube and Blogspot messages..."