I’m taking my revenge on the deployers of banal Facebook updates. I’m writing a blog post about my new couches.
Old couches recovered, actually. But I’ll get to that soon enough.
I had first thought to be avenged on the lame updaters by putting up a false Facebook status update of my own each day, attempting to see how long it would be before people caught on to the joke or simply had me removed from Facebook altogether. I thought it’d go something like this:
MATT REES is cleaning out tripes.
MATT REES is cleaning out his own tripes.
MATT REES is pleasuring himself before a Youtube video of Celine Dion singing the AC DC classic “You Shook Me All Night Long.”
MATT REES is disposing of a body (and is simultaneously un-friending JON FRIEDMAN.)
MATT REES wonders if the Holocaust really happened.
MATT REES and CELINE DION are engaged.
MATT REES and MAHMOUD AHMEDINEJAD are now friends.
MATT REES is sure the World Cup is fixed. ….But here you have the nub of the problem, because suddenly my ludicrous fiction hits on a dark truth. Which is why I changed from journalism to novels, after all.
I mention all this because every author these days faces varying degrees of pressure – from his neurotic I-must-have-a-piece-of-the-action self, his publisher, his readers – to engage on internet platforms like Facebook. I’ve recently drawn the line at Twitter, because I don’t spend long enough in front of a computer (except when I’m actually supposed to be writing a book) and I don’t have a Blackberry to tweet with when I’m in the doctor’s waiting room (so I take a book to the doctor’s waiting room instead and sometimes thing, “I could tweet about the book I’m reading, but then I wouldn’t be reading.”).
Moreover, my Facebook friend the DALAI LAMA says that when you’re cleaning tripes, you should just be cleaning tripes. Not gumming up your iPhone with tripe runoff while you tweet about the tripe-cleaning you’re doing. Be here now, and all that meditational stuff. Well, it really works.
These things all relate to me and my desire to limit my online engagement. What of my readers? Well, there’s a good reason for them not to want me to engage in updating, too. It’s because I don’t really do much.
I could tweet you an average morning like this:
I’m awake. So is my son. Whoa, lots of pee in that diaper, little man.
He won’t eat his peanut butter toast. He wants to plaaaay.
Have a nice day at kindergarten, little man. See you later, Mummy.
My computer turns on very slowly.
I’m writing my book.
I’m writing my book with one hand while I eat cashews with the other.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Today it’s very hot in @Jerusalem. So I’m writing without a shirt!!!
Standing on one leg. Strrrretch.
That’s enough writing. Time to eat lunch. @Hummus again? Sick of it.
There are times when things pick up, but my point is that at those times I don’t want to stop and tell anyone else about it. I do it later. In a blog post. Which seems almost novelistic these days in comparative depth and seriousness.
So here’s what I’d have been tweeting/Facebooking about if I bothered to do non-book-related Facebooking. My couches.
I TOOK A BIG RISK with these couches. My wife was away in America. I brought in an upholsterer and chose the material and chose the color to recover our old couches, while she was away. I DIDN’T WAIT for my wife’s input on the color of our couches!!! She came home and held in her discontent. When the couches arrived, she LOVED them. They’re a pastel russet that’s the color of the stucco on the exterior of houses in Rome, done in a microfiber that’s very much like suede. I LOVE them too. She doesn’t hate me for risking our marriage on the toss of a swatch-book.
Imagine how many Facebook updates I could’ve got out of that if I’d set my mind to it. Even before I got around to explaining how I’m married to this woman while also being engaged to Celine Dion.
Of course if you want to know what I actually write on Facebook, click on this: