Pleased to Meet the Facebook Version of You
While the real you is petty and vaguely racist, the Facebook version of you endorses multicultural organizations and believes in life as a shared path.
The wit in your status updates is delightful. The real-life version of you always seemed intent on cornering me into a night of drinking wine after work so I could listen to you go on rather humorlessly.
Photo By Andrew Walsh
Hats off to your laissez–faire attitude about the beautiful dinner you guys cooked up at the beach this summer. I was cracking up at the joke you made in the caption (“Looks like we’re eating outside AGAIN. Oh, well…”) under the snapshot of the gorgeous lobsters. The potatoes looked amazing fading off into the blur of a shallow focal range that ends at the saturated greens and yellows of herbs, and cornbread, and lemon garnish on the left just below where the sunset creates the lens flare that bounces off your icy bottle of beer.
The wit in your status updates is delightful. The real-life version of you always seemed intent on cornering me into a night of drinking wine after work so I could listen to you go on rather humorlessly about money problems and the usual rash of petty resentments against family and colleagues. But the Facebook version of you is one languid little paragraph of blurted bon mots after another. Like last week when you typed:
Sitting at the car dealer trying to figure out why I need $15,000 worth of optional accessories. But I won’t drive anything less than the new Infiniti… guess I was royalty in a past life :)
This Facebook status update was a zinger compared to the previous week when your real life status update consisted of drinking a gallon and a half of Rosé at Loco Gordo’s to the refrain of:
I have to find a cheaper gym, I can’t keep spending this much on my hair, Kevin is a dick, I have to find some ways of cutting back, I hate Jan, I’m screwed, I … am … screwed! Face it, we’re all doomed.
Then you said you were too stressed out to eat your half of the cheese and shrimp stuffed roasted poblano appetizer we ordered. You just kept drinking wine. You said you don’t like Mexicans. Two or three times, I think. You kind of yelled it, actually. At the waiter. Well, and then at the table next to us. And then to nobody in particular; kind of to the ceiling of the restaurant. But I think it was the Rosé talking because the Facebook version of you likes three different multicultural organizations that endorse fair trade and celebrate Hispanic arts and cuisine.
Judging from your wall photos, it looks like you never quite know what’s going to cross your path on any given day: longing for the five lazy days of summer you spent in Wyoming; a gorgeous sunset that seems to have appeared from an amber-greenish-orange era past; a fancy meal in a restaurant that you’re, for some reason, taking immense pride in; impromptu shopping trips that overshadow the layoffs and cutbacks where we work; you name it…