BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

There’s this old saying that goes something like, “You can never have too many friends.”

I think that’s right. I didn’t go look it up. Maybe I should… Oh, what the hell. Let’s just call it good and say that’s what the saying says. Know what I’m saying? ‘Nuff said.

So, anyway, here are my thoughts on that subject. In this age of Social Networking and such, maybe it actually is possible to have too many friends. I mean, if you put yourself out there and the six degrees of Bacon Bits kicks in, the next thing you know you have friends of friends of friends being your friends. It can be a little overwhelming. If you also add to the mix silly stuff like being an author who has to publicize his (or her) books, well then you end up with readers (sometimes called fans) who become your friends (online), most of whom you’ve never met.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not complaining… No siree, not at all. I am merely making an observation. And, with that observation comes a convoluted analysis – because, if you happen to be my friend, on Facebook or otherwise, you are well aware that my mind works in a bizarre fashion. Much like a combination drunk and acid induced haze that makes everything a little weird.

But then, rumor has it that’s what makes me so interesting. (BTW – no acid involved, save for the acetylsalicylic acid from the aspirin necessary to treat the hangover from the alcohol.)

But, back to this convoluted analysis… I’ve come to the conclusion that having too many friends is the reason the PTB, God, Goddess, Gawd, Dog,  Evolution, or what have you, endowed us with anal sphincters.

Scratchin’ your head yet?

Let me see if I can explain… As it happens, there’s this whole other saying that goes something like, “Opinions are like assholes. Everybody has one.” I didn’t look that up either, but I’m pretty sure I’m close to accurate in my rendition.

Now, while this built-in defense system has been operational for a little bit of forever, it has really come into its own in the age of online social networking. “How?” you ask. Well, it’s simple, really.

Whenever I look at my Facebook page and decide that I have way too many friends, I enable the system by… no, NOT posting a picture of my ass… but, close… I express an opinion. Yeah, easy as that. Go figure. And believe me, it works. I’ve sat and watched my friend “counter” almost literally decrement right before my eyes. It’s downright amazing.

You see, a huge segment of the population apparently operates on the “assumption principle.” If you’ve never heard of that, I’m not surprised, because I just made it up. If you have heard of it and someone else is laying claim to having created it, well, what can I say? News to me, and no infringement intended or claimed on my part. At any rate, the “assumption principle” works like this – Assume that everyone believes the way you do and shares your exact same opinion.

The dangerous thing about the “assumption principle” is that in cases where the infection has really taken hold, the afflicted individual finds it impossible to accept the fact that s/he could possibly maintain a friendship with someone whose opinions or beliefs deviate in any way from his/her own. Even if said friendship is superficial via a social networking site. But, while dangerous in one sense, this is also what makes the “too many friends defense system” work so well.

So, next time you look at your social networks and think to yourself, “Wow… I have too many friends. What should I do?” the answer is right in front of you. Just run off at the mouth for a bit and express your own, personal opinion about something. It doesn’t even have to be earthshattering or the least bit important. It simply needs to be your opinion. Believe me, you’re sure to pare that list down just a bit in nothing flat.

Oh, and by the way. For those of you wondering, this blog entry, like the vast majority of my others, is satire.

But then, I guess that’s just my opinion. Guess I should go watch my friend counter, eh?

More to come…

Murv

Have you ever noticed that food modifies our social interaction in ways you don’t normally imagine?

I’m not talking about parties, or dinners with family and friends. Nothing fancy. No linen tablecloths, penguined up waitstaff, or $200 bottles of champagne that taste like crap. I’m just talking about average, everyday noms. The basic sustenance one tosses down their neck in order to fuel the body.

Am I making sense here? Yeah, I figured not. Let me see if I can explain my thoughts on this. You see, contrary to what you might think, I’m not actually a very social individual. I know, I know – I blog twice each week, have pages on all of the popular social networking sites, and I do a lot of book signings. And, if you follow any of my silliness you also know that I  have friends. Yeah, big shocker, I know, but I really do. Some of them even like me. Others, like say Rhonda and Dave are really worshipers of The Evil Redhead, although they don’t mind if I cook for them while they prostrate themselves before E K. (Note that I said prostrate, not prostate.)

Now, I also want to make something clear so there aren’t any misconceptions – I’m not a total misanthrope. Just a partial. What I mean to say is, I enjoy social interaction with my friends (Yes, Rhonda and Dave too), and I have a blast meeting new folks at book signings. However, I also like my quiet time. If you look at my Meyers-Briggs it will tell you I’m an introvert. So, while I really enjoy myself when I am “on” – which is what we tend to call it when I am being that M. R. Sellars guy as opposed to just plain old Murv – I find it equally enjoyable to switch “off”. I’m one of those folks who can become overwhelmed and needs to hit the reset button – you can ask my friends. Even when we have gatherings with all of the folks I dearly love, you will sometimes find me sneaking out on the back deck, beer in hand, just to get away from it all for 5 minutes. I’m even known to bum a cigarette now and then –  and other than some brief topples off the wagon due to extreme stress in my life, I haven’t smoked for 15 years. (except cigars, but that’s a different story.)

So, I think you can see what I’m talking about here. Or, maybe I’ve just muddied the waters. I’m good for that at times. But, either way, let’s get back to the pizza…

The other night, after a marathon writing session during the day, I was not in a mood to shuffle pots and pans in the kitchen. Nor was I in any frame of mind to socialize. This isn’t unusual when I have an intense writing day. After spending a nail-biting, totally immersed span of time in my imaginary world, I need to decompress. And so, I submitted the necessary paperwork in triplicate, prostrated myself, turned on my obsequious lackey charm, and obtained approval from the Evil Redhead to run out and grab pizza for supper.

Down the street from our home we have a chain pizza joint. It’s named after a Roman emperor. Not sure if it’s Julius or Augustus, but either way I’m sure you know which one I am talking about. The dude with the toga adorns their box. Well, as I am sure you are probably aware, they have a special deal on pizzas ready to go. Just drop in and if you are satisfied with plain old sausage, pepperoni, or cheese you are all good. 5 bucks and you are out the door in under 60 seconds – unless they are really busy. And, on this particular occasion they were…

I jumped into line and a minute or two later I was asking the guy behind the counter, “What do you have ready to walk?”

He looked and replied, “Cheese.”

Well, that would cover the O-spring, but E K likes pepperoni and I am a sausage guy. So, I elected to pay for my trio of pies and wait. So had several other folks.

Now remember, at this point I was in no mood to socialize with anyone.  My fictional characters had used up every ounce of my energy earlier in the day. My brain matter was fried. However, this is where the “food modified social interaction” suddenly comes in. There I stood next to the “Group W Wall” with a whole gaggle of folks I had never met and was never likely to meet again.

Less than a minute into my wait the guy next to me looks over and says, “What’d’ja order?”

Instead of giving him a who the hell are you look, I smiled and said, “All three.”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “I’ve been waitin’ on sausage.”

“We ordered supremes,” a couple two windows down along the wall offered.

“Special order, eh?” I grunted.

“Yeah, we aren’t in a hurry,” the male half of the duo replied.

A lady who was two or three back from me in line plopped herself into a seat next to where I was standing and said, “You know what I hate? When someone who comes in after me gets their food first.”

“Uh huh,” I said. “Kinda makes you rethink your menu choices doesn’t it?”

She nodded and said yes. The couple laughed. The guy next to me chuckled and said, “That’s a fact.”

The guy behind the counter called out one of the orders and the person who had been waiting jumped forward. Heretofore he had been completely silent, not joining into the impromptu “Group W” conversation, but once he had his pies he waved at all of us on the way out the door and said, “You guys have a good night.”

“You too,” we all returned.

Nice guy. Not very talkative, and he probably kicks his dog and steals cable when the rest of us aren’t around, but there at the pizza place he was a hell of a guy.

A minute or so later the lady who had voiced her loathing of people who were behind her in line getting their food first was called up for her order. In case you forgot, she had been behind me by 2 or 3 customers, yet I was still waiting. But, there was no animosity there. I was happy for her that she now had her pie in hand. Still, the guy next to me and I made a joke about it anyway – all in fun, of course. The couple down the wall thought it was funny. So did several other folks in the crowd. We aren’t sure if the lady thought it was funny because she was out of there so quickly that the displaced air from the door didn’t even get anywhere near her ass. I suppose that for her the magic of the social interaction was gone. She wasn’t like us any longer. She was with pizza, and we were without. She was better than the rest of us now… She had her food and it was time to “move on up”.

I really don’t blame her though. A few minutes later the guy next to me had his and was waving on the way out the door. Soon after that I had mine and was making a beeline for the exit. The couple who had ordered the supremes was still waiting. I smiled and said, “Hope yours are ready soon!”

They smiled back and said, “Us too. Have a great night!”

I returned the pleasantry and headed for my truck, secure in the knowledge that my new found friends would soon be with pizza, just as I was.

I don’t think we’ll be exchanging Christmas Cards or anything like that. In fact, if by some odd chance any of us run into one another at the grocery store or gas station in the future, we probably won’t even blink because we’ll be in ignore the world mode.

But, for a few minutes that foggy night in January through the social magic of food we were a tight knit group of friends, standing around waiting for our 5 dollar pies… Unwittingly, we had each become beneficiaries of The Pizza Effect. Of course, since everyone went their separate ways, I can’t say what each of them learned from this flash of intimate social experience. But, I definitely know what I took home.

Three pizzas. 1  cheese, 1 pepperoni, and 1 sausage.

More to come…

Murv