FaceMelt; or, life's a b, then you reboot

A friend pointed out to me, in advance of recent Halloween revelry, that the best holiday movies are the ones we ourselves create by living them. No argument there, particularly as said revelries this year were fantastic. Celebrating the harvest in San Francisco isn't what it once was, not since too many shootings in the Castro District forced the city to outlaw mass gatherings of Soylent Green-like proportions; that is to say, mass over-population that sang and danced like it was 1999. Those were the best. Still, though we might miss brighter days, it's just as fun creating new ones: it's all about having the right company along.

To a former denizen like myself, SF visits are rife with sentiment. Around every corner lurks a pocket of memory. The least expected naturally has the greatest impact, such as finding a comic shop thought gone for good. Just as gratifying was being recognized by the proprietor, Al himself, and chatting it up like it was only yesterday rather than a decade ago that we last saw each other. A moment right out of The Big Bang Theory, geek nirvana.

Family and friends made this a memorable Halloween, as they have in the past and will yet again for many more to come. Life and its fragmentary burdens underwent a soft reboot, provided by that offline service called Holiday. It makes all the difference, not least thanks to the ability to go online and further utilize it to maximum potential.

The lazy Sunday that followed was spent partially online, as we reviewed and renewed the previous night's joys by posting pics to Facebook. Happy little editors of our memories, tagging old friends and new, sharing the brilliant costumed figures who populated the night. I couldn't help but pity those in my life not blessed with a Facebook profile: they missed out!

Next year I may feel less hemmed: RockMelt lurks around the corner, with its premise of Facebook-integration. This will add yet another delightful dimension to Halloween, as FaceMelt gives distant relations sights as well as sounds of celebration, transcending borders real and imagined, coming to you like the thing itself, realer than real: we will not merely live the best holiday movies, but have an audience to cheer us and by vicarious association live the very best of times.

External Monolog

I had a conversation with a friend in the early days of cellular phones, and she expounded a theory that these portable devices are enablers of external monolog. This was before the advent of weblogging, but I think the idea fits: given a venue to express what otherwise might be bounced around in the psychodrome of one's head, folks will unload and unleash the voices once referred to as the internal monolog. That which in former centuries languished beneath the surface now finds full expression in the fin de siecle World Wide Web.

For a couple weeks I temped at a startup company whose entire purpose was to transcribe voicemails into text. Sitting in a room that would be called "airless" in the most generous terms, myself and a small cohort punched away at keyboards while legions of voice streamed into our ears. We typed out messages no more than one minute in length, ranging from lawyers' notes to affectionate asides, and converted them to emails which were forwarded to subscribers' phones. The one-to-one ratio was a limited social activity, but the basic model held true: folks offered thoughts, ruminations, arguments and reminders that would have remained unexpressed lacking the technological empowerment.

Which brings us to Facebook. More in context, we could refer to it as "Mebook".

I'm thinking specifically of an aspect in Facebook called Living Social. Replete with quizzes, questionnaires, and queries after your opinion of movies new and old, I'm at a loss what specifically is "social" about Living Social. If taken to mean that talking about personal qualities and flaunting your quirks is interactive with people around you, then this kind of "living" is indeed social. Having participated in (more than) my fair share of these, it isn't gratifying to absorb the silence that follows. Certainly there are comments that sometimes follow the publishing of results, but even when they are fun remarks from friends, the feeling I'm left with is attenuation.

Spend time around enough people and very likely you'll find that flaunting quirks does indeed amount to social behavior. What of the senses? When experiencing unique and interesting features of individuals online the transaction is conducted under a veil of silence. Visual perception alone is required. What of inflection and nuance, anunciation or even a funny accent? These are sadly absent!

Lately I've complained that people who work around me are deficient: they don't talk to themselves like I do. Why can't they engage in external monolog as fecklessly? It makes me feel lonely, as if the world were too quiet a place for true happiness.