Facebook is a really odd thing. I find myself strangely addicted to it, and mildly offended by it too. I can’t knock it. FJ and I first started chatting on facebook, so it will always have a fond spot in my heart, but it has other facets that scare me.
I find myself checking it continuously just to see if some long lost soul has found me after all this time. I have reconnected with a number of old high school, primary school and even nursery school friends. When I say reconnected, it’s never been more than a few emails:
longlostfriend: oh my word! Clive! How are you?
Clive: Long lost friend! Fine and you? What are you up to… it’s been almost twenty years!
longlostfriend: I know! You still look the same. Me, I was married, have three kids, divorced and still live in Benoni. You?
Clive: Well, my boyfriend and I just moved in together and we’re hoping to adopt one day.
A few days pass.
longlostfriend: Sorry for delayed response. That’s great.
Generally the chatting ends there. Not because of the gay thing. But really what is there to say? You’re really strangers even though you got your first pubic hair around the same time.
What’s worse about facebook is when the aforementioned friends tag you in old photo’s. I think that’s the main reason I check in all the time. Is it really necessary for you to haul out old photo’s and present them to all I know so they can see how Benoni-like I was?
You see, I was a skinny kid. Who never got Valentines cards (only from Jesus). And there was a reason for that.
Somehow I just never cracked it in the looks department. Or the fashion department either. I wore stone washed jeans when everyone stopped. I wore skinny jeans when everyone started mocking guys for wearing them. And I wore leatherette shoes. What I spent in foot powder to avoid the smell, I should have put into decent shoes. You know, really.
I also had a very full head of hair, that had a tendency to curl when long – especially in the fringe – so I had what looked like a big rose corsage above my right eye. I never knew how rose-like it was until I was tagged in a photo.
I mean seriously. Can someone not have taken me aside to suggest a bit of a trim. Maybe a weedeater session? And here I was asking for Valentines cards, when all they saw was rosehair boy…
What sparked this blog off was a group on facebook devoted to a club I used to love, called Idols. It used to be in End Street in the centre of Joburg, and I spent many a Friday and Saturday night there, dancing with my hands in the air, waistcoat over my denim shirt, green jeans and freedom shoes. I even had a studded belt (that looked like I had gone mad with the parental’s bedazzler) which I wore proudly. So when I saw the group I thought I’ pop across. To my horror there were 114 photo’s. I have spent the last two hours scrutinising each photo to make sure I could not be seen. Thank goodness, not one pic. But then I saw what everyone else looked like. Gosh, it feels like yesterday, but it’s already 15 years ago… and you can see!
I’ll let you into one pic from the time… just so you can see I lost the rose, and assumed a new Roger Moore-type style…
To think I’ll be looking back in 15 years time shuddering at what I look like now… C’mon, share your fashion woes and even your pic’s… I dare you…