In praise of MySpace and Facebook.

I think it’s pretty obvious that I enjoy the internet. I’ve met some really cool people via the crazy interwebs, hell in 1998 a bunch of people on the internet heard about my cat needing surgery and they all got together and sent donations for the poor thing. I LOVE the internet. But MySpace and Facebook? I have never really been a fan, until this summer. I still think MySpace has already rolled downhill and is probably dying down there, but let me tell you a little story…

My sophomore year at NYU was one wild and crazy ride. Even for me it was just too much. I moved into a shitty apartment on 2nd Ave and 18th Street. There was a guy who took up residence in the closet under the stairwell, someone called the landlord about it and she just started charging him rent. It was THAT kind of shitty apartment. The front door was always broken—anyone could just walk right in the building. We all fiercely kept that a secret from our parents. (please, Mary, don’t tell Mom!). The guys on the first floor almost burnt the place down one night when they passed out drunk and left ramen noodles boiling away on the stove. My roommate and I actually had a conversation before dialing 911.

“Is this a 911 situation?”
“I think so: there’s smoke, an alarm going off, and they won’t answer their door…yes, we’d better call 911”
”You do it.”
”No! You do it!”

And THEN I had a nervous breakdown and the university counseling center put me on Zoloft. (loved that shit) School was too much, working two part time jobs to help pay for school was too much, Dave was 500 miles away and what the fuck was I doing in New York anyway??? In the middle of all that there was a group of a friends I made while working one of those part time jobs at the Admission Office. Two of them are friends to this day—the only friends I have left from my NYU days actually. But this story is about this one particular guy. This guy was a senior and very much the big brother type. For some reason we became sort of friends. And then we weren’t. He graduated, I got engaged and never saw him again. We didn’t even exchange addresses. But he’s always been one of those people I sometimes wonder about, “whatever happened to…?”

(and while I’m at it--hello Johnna, are you out there???)

ANYWAY, I haven’t seen this guy in 12 years, then I saw him in one of those VH1 video countdown things (doing commentary) and googled him—found him on myspace and holy crap he remembered me too.

Seriously the last time we spoke was in late May of 1996. We were at a party on some one's roof in Greenwich Village--just past Bleeker St. Cheap beer and a view of the Empire State Building to die for. At the end we were standing on the sidewalk out front and as I was leaving he said (as I remember it), "Are you really getting married?" and I said, "Yes, yes I am". We looked at each other, had a long hug and then I walked home to 18th Street. Got caught in the rain and my pretty new sandals that I had bought especially for that party gave me blisters.

And every time I hear the song “Champagne Supernova” I remember that day.

It has been incredibly weird to get back in touch with him. But in a nice way I think. It's nice to be reminded that at one point in life you thought everything and anything was possible (even after a total psychiatric meltdown), and that there are people out there who remember you that way, and they DON’T know what an incredibly bitter, cranky old woman you grew up to be. We’ve kicked around the idea of meeting for a drink or a coffee. Is that a good idea? Do I really want someone who keeps talking about how “nice”, “little” and “sweet” I was to meet the me I am today? Hmmm.

Now how do you feel about Facebook ma’am? OMIGOD I have to tell you this one—some chick who was totally nasty to me back in the KVA days sent me a friend request on Facebook. I let it sit there for a couple of weeks while I thought about it. Came to realize that how I really felt was, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME BITCH? DO YOU REMEMBER THE HELL YOU PUT ME THROUGH??? Yeah. I’m not over the middle school torture. Sorry.

I clicked Deny. It felt so good.

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So excited!

After years of thinking about it, talking about it, researching it and obsessing about it, we put a deposit down this morning for a trip to the Galapagos Islands!

In early November we'll be spending 8 days on the Samba, this lovely 14 passenger motor yacht.

We're spending a bit more than we were hoping to for this--primarily for the itinerary. Most of the boats don't visit Fernandina and Isabela, the two Western islands, and we feel that if we're going to do this once in a lifetime kind of trip, we want to see it all. And that really narrowed down our options; all the "budget" boats stick to the Eastern loop of islands. Then we discovered that going with some of the cheaper options also means no hot showers and I had an ugly flashback to the London trip of 2005, and we just don't need to go there do we?

I don't think we've ever planned a trip this far in advance. Even my solo trip to Paris was thrown together about four weeks before take-off! For a trip to the Galapagos this is getting to be pretty last minute though, I understand most people book a year or more in advance. I was thinking of a waiting a bit more to see if the agent (we booked with the boat representative directly which involves paying for things via bank transfer or paypal and let me tell you, that is a nerve wracking thing to decide to do for this amount of money--but this boat and agency come highly recommended so I'm squashing qualms and just doing it) would lower the price as they had on some September sailings--but there were only three spots left for the time frame that works best for us, it seemed silly to risk someone else snapping up those spots.

Here's a map of the itinerary we'll be following. 94 days from today!

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