lisa norton has one friend

From TORONTO
November 17th, 2008

No, really. Many admirers. Plenty of fans. People I hang out with, spend time laughing and sharing with, comparing fears, hopes, dreams......Swapping underwear, and lovers. And lovers of underwear. Gazing at the stars. Raising important existential questions, such as "If I were a bat, would you still hang out with me?" or even, "If you were a bat, what kind of bat would you be?" (West African sucker-footed fruit bat, by the way, hands down, no question. We're talking quality of life here, people.) Crying. Helping each other through breakups, shakedowns, stirfries, and other tough times. Getting piss-ass drunk. Getting sober, and still managing to enjoy one another's company. Talking about nothing.

But when it comes right down to it, none of this really counts as friendship. Because according to Facebook....I only have one friend.

I just wrote the word "Facebook" on a non-Facebook affiliated website. (Or is it?) So rest assured they are watching me right now. And damn if I don't look good, those lucky sons of whores. (They're watching you, too, so do your hair for god's sake, would you? Jeez. You're a disgrace to your whole living room right now.) From now on I will refer to it in my usual way, as Facef**k. Not because it will stop the surveillance, but because I'm ten years old and think it's funny.

Of course, it is by choice that I have but one Facef**k friend. Well, I suppose my real choice would be for Facef**k not to exist at all, not to mention for us to get rid of these pesky Cellulite Telephones and Microwavy Ovens. These newfangled horseless carriages are getting to be a nuisance, too, but let us stick to the point at hand. Which is that I could obviously have as many FF friends as I wanted - I mean, who wouldn't like to brag that they are pals with me? Who isn't knocking down my virtual inter-door begging for the cyberprivilege to do so?

At this juncture, allow me to make my reasons for resenting Facef**k (to the point of calling it Facef**k all the time, tee hee) very clear, laying them out rationally thus: IT IS EVIL OH MY GOD IT'S SO EVIL IT WILL SUCK YOUR SOUL AWAY UNTIL YOU ARE EMOTIONALLY SHRIVELLED AND PRUNY and besides there is a reason I'm not in touch with everyone who went to my high school or that guy I once did a play workshop with and make awkward conversation with at the Fringe Festival once a year, also I already feel guilty for ignoring everyone on MSN (the stragglers who are still on it that is) and for not returning emails; do you really want me to have one more HUGE GIGANTIC THING that I am lax and inept at to make me feel like crap? HUH? DO YOU??? And everyone knows that the whole thing is half excuse to flirt with people you used to date, half fake way to feel cool and anyway I have a boyfriend now so the prospect of being poked by strangers doesn't have quite the appeal it used to....and I went on Bunker's Facef**k page for five minutes once and felt like puking after and anyway what if I do get hooked I'm lazy enough already I'll never accomplish anything again (especially with all the throwing up), Not to mention it is a WELL KNOWN FACT that Facebook is where Al Qaeda gets information about you (and about your babies and puppies and grandpa) or maybe I made that up but it sounds entirely plausible nonetheless so there!

And let me reiterate, in case you didn't catch this crucial point the first time: So there!

So how is it, Mystified Reader, that I came to have a "profile" at all, empty of photo and information as it is? Who is my one, consistently ignored Facef**k friend? How did such a strange thing come to pass?

Meet Kimwun Perehinec, Lucky Reader. Actually, you may have already met, or made sweet cyberlove, as she has about eight million Facef**k friends. Kimwun (or Kimwunowassis, if the shortened version of her name isn't weird enough for you and you're craving extra syllables) and I go way back. We were both proud and talented attendees of the James Brown Theatre School (Hit us one time!) back in the day. The day being March 12th, 1942...or thereabouts. We were in different classes, but became friends, especially after graduation, when we were neighbours, and did a horrible kids' play together at Stage West.

Chatting onstage during the show one day (it was a boring scene, come on), Kimwunowassis-a-ramalamadingdong and I discovered that we had both had the rather strange misfortune (or fortune, depending how one looks at it) to be nicknamed Macchio when we were kids. At the risk of dating myself - oh, if only I had the flexibility - and her, I will say that we were somewhere late in our grade school years when the Karate Kid was king. We were young, shorthaired and flat; so was Karate Kid star Ralph Macchio: hence the comparison.

I'd like to say that I was also a Kung Fu expert, and that was the real reason my friends called me Macchio...... so I will. This is my blague, after all. So, yes, I am a Kung Fu expert. Anyway, I look good in baggy white clothes with black belts. And that's gotta count for something.

OOOH, MISTER MIYAGI, I NEVER KNEW YOU CARED.

I embraced my Macchio-ness (can't beat 'em to a pulp with a large spiky stick without being tried for attempted murder in a court of law....join 'em, as the saying goes), to the point of dressing up as the Karate Kid for my Dress-As-Your-Favourite-Movie-Character birthday party that year. Kimberly Moonlight, Hansa Prasad and Janice Luke all came as Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan, using the occasion as an excuse to dress like sluts, a phenomenon anyone who's ever been to a Hallowe'en party will find familiar....but remember my earlier description of us as being in GRADE SCHOOL.

No wonder the weird old neighbour kept dropping by to offer extra pop and chips, muttering something about bleeding and breeding.

As for Kimwun, she denied and ran from her Macchiosity, burying it deep within some sobby dark place in her soul...until sharing it with me, and learning to own it proudly. You may have heard us hail one another as Macchio across a crowded room or discuss a possible Macchio & Macchio web series, one of the goals of which would, of course, be an ultimate guest appearance by old Ralph himself (our hero).

[Sidenote: one day a few years ago, while running at the Winnipeg YMCA - yes, ooh, exciting - I caught The Karate Kid on my treadmill television (as high-tech as I get).....and was amazingly struck by Ralph's resemblance to both of us. It was true! Some angles he looked just like me; some expressions were pure Kimwun. It was beautifully eerie. I cried, just a little, all over my impressively large muscles.]

If you've been paying attention, Dear Reader, you will have gleaned two things from this story. (Actually, if you've really been paying attention, you will have noticed many more than two; anybody catch the blue broomstick hiding in the corner? And that Waldo's wearing two hats? Way to go, Judith from Etobicoke!) The two major things to be learned here are these: one, that The Tourist did, in fact, have a childhood, rather than springing in finished adult form from her father's head in full battle armour like Athena, Goddess of War...as is popular belief. (I sprang out as a fully formed toddler, thank you very much. Far easier on ol' Dad's skull.) Two, that the bond shared between Kimwun and me is deeper than you may ever know. I hear her thoughts at night when it's quiet, for one. They're not very interesting, really, but a neat feature nonetheless. And if anyone wants to know what she's planning on washing at the laundromat today, just say the word.

But was it with her friendship that Kimwun lured me to the dark side? Or was it with my own pride and vanity? Take a wild guess, Dimwitted Reader. (Smart Reader, turn to page 28. And collect your prize. Ding!)

How it goes is this. It is December, 2007. I go to a party. A Christmas party. Matt Edison and Arwen MacDonnell's Christmas party to be exact, a party which I have attended several years running, but almost didn't find out about this season because the hosts, for the first time, just put the invite out there on Facef**k and didn't bother to make the usual phone calls or - god forbid - emails to luddites like me. I run into one of the hosts at the last minute and do attend....and spend the entire evening defending myself for not being a member of the Facef**k community. Every friend I run into there begins conversation with "Merry Christmas! Are you on Facebook?", which is a common thing at parties these days, and the reason I now carry a hammer with me at all times.

Kimwun is snapping pictures at this party. (You already know where this is going don't you? No, wait! I didn't take my top off - that's not where this is going! Okay, keep reading.) She captures on, er, digital stuff, my exasperation at the Facef**k offensive....my joy (Woo hoo! I'm at a grownup party...with boys! And booze! And pin the tail on the boozy boys!)....my general gorgeousness and flair. You know. And perhaps my eating of every last clementine on the food table. Tell me those little suckers aren't like crack cocaine; girl, you know it's true.

The next day, I receive an email from Kimwun, addressed to me and Aviva Armour-Ostroff as apparently her only friends who are not on FF. She invites us to look at the pictures from the party, includes a link which, she says, will let you look at the pictures without joining.

Clicking the link, however, only takes you to a message informing you that you cannot look at photos unless you sign up. Aviva, on reading this message, shrugs, turns off the computer, and goes back to polishing her halo. I, however, am wracked with an ugly, narcississtic curiosity. How horrid - or stunningly wonderful - do I look in these photos? What is the entire Facebook world thinking as they wake to a dawn of postparty pictures of me on Kimwun's page? Shall I expect marriage proposals, or harsh rebukes this week? Did she catch me scarfing down the clementines.....or punching Arwen's grandma in the face.....or humping the sofa? More important, is there something in my teeth? The cat, maybe?

So I clicked. For one brief moment, ladies and gentlemen, I clicked with all my heart.

The pictures were fine, nothing to be embarrassed about - I looked very nice while humping the sofa, in fact - but here I was, suddenly ashamed, painfully aware of my weakness, having changed my life forever. I immediately got a message ON MY WALL from Kimwun, saying "Shut up!!!!! Shut Up!!!! Woooo Hoooo!!", expressing her great joy and surprise at my sudden 180, and meant as a welcome of sorts, but which only made me sob harder. I felt naked, exposed (and not in the usual fun way), when within minutes I started getting friend requests from Kimwun's eight million Facef**k Friends. Her page was proudly proclaiming "Kimwun Perehinec and Lisa Norton are now friends!", as if we had been bitter enemies the past twelve years and suddenly come to terms. I was getting "poked" by people whose names I didn't even recognize. Oh, Beyonce, is this what life is like for you???

Reluctantly, Kimwun agreed to make our friendship secret (now her page merely whispers "maybe kimwun perehinec knows lisa norton just a little bit. sort of.", in a small font, hidden within an advertiser's message.) At first she was convinced that I would become hooked and share her eight million friends in no time. She even wished this on me, because, as I have come to learn, everyone on Facef**k feels somewhat ashamed of themselves and can only relieve that guilt if everyone else in the world is doing the same thing. Hence all the Facef**k evangelism.

Over time, though, my Macchio grew to love that she was the only one defacing my otherwise pristine wall....the only poker of my fire, my secret facebook friend. Now, even if I changed my mind and wanted to jump in, I couldn't, as Kimwun derives such glee from checking in and reading the words, "Lisa Norton has one friend."

I have thought about it, I'll admit. Because, all this said, I am beginning to feel a bit like the cavegirl who insisted that this wheel thing was just a fad. The cavegirl who doesn't know what's going on in all the other caves. Who is afraid of missing caveparties with cavemusic and cavecanapes and catching up with old cavefriends. Who wonders how she will achieve world cave domination, particularly with her caveblog, if she continues to publish it with a tablet and chisel and rely on the five friends who come over to read it over her shoulder. Poor cavegirl.

"HEY GUYS! WAIT FOR ME!!!"

But there's the danger that by the time I do cave (haha) and embrace Facebook, it will be old hat and everyone will have moved onto something else. Hopefully something retro like Pong or velcro, or oatmeal; something warm and fuzzy that I can understand. Though I'm not quite sure about the social networking applications of oatmeal; I'll let the tech wizards figure that one out.

One thing's for sure. Waldo sure does look funny wearing two hats.

In good old-fashioned confusion,

Your favourite Stone Age hominid,

The Tourist

P.S. Please forward this to all your Facebook friends. Maybe, just maybe, it will lure some of them back to the analog side. At the very least it will let them know I exist. And that Wilson and I say hi.

"HI."