I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Confessions Of A Middle-Aged Lurker.


To what? What do you want? Why am I here? Why are you shining that bright light in my face? Why am I handcuffed to this chair? ...Are these fuzzy handcuffs?
Well, yeah. The cop supply store was out of regular handcuffs, so I had to go to the adult store.
They're very comfy. Do they only come in pink?
I know aren't they? Yes, that's all I saw. I'm thinking about trying some RIT dye. Maybe a nice macho Black or something.
That would be nice. Or maybe just save the pink for the girls and do blue for...
...for the guys, yeah I was thinking about that too. Great idea.

Great minds and all.
Yeah. Now, where were we?
Oh yeah. CONFESS!
To what?!
You know.
I don't. Honestly. I'm a little confused, the last thing I remember was looking at Facebook. And then I woke up here. I've never done anything to anyone. I'm innocent.
You make me sick.
Are you sure it's me? Maybe you ate something.
Shut up. You rebel scum.
Ooh, Star Wars. Nice.
I know, I know. Sometimes my geek shows through.
Oh don't I know it, I can't tell you how many times I've quoted Monty Python or The Princess Bride.
"I do not think that word means what you think it means."
Hahahaha... Can I go?
Haha... No. Not until you confess.

OK. I don't always wash my hands after I pee.
Ewww. Gross. I wonder if you can dry clean fuzzy cuffs?
I don't pee on my wrists.
Whatever sick-o. But that's not it.
What then? What?!
You have been accused of the heinous crime of... lurking.
What?! No no. That wasn't my fault. She left her blinds open, and I just happened to be taking a walk on the 4th floor fire escape. It was an total accident.
Not peeping. Lurking.
LARPing? Only once when I was a teenager, my friend convinced me hot babes would be there, but it was only Gretchen from the chess club and Androgynous Pat. It was a total bust, I never went back. On the plus side, we did get to go to IHOP afterwards, and I ordered the Rutti Tutti Fresh and Frutti, but I was too embarrassed to say it so I just wrote it down on a piece of napki...
ENOUGH! Not LARPing (dork.) LURKING. Lur-king. Luuuurkiiing.
Does that involve baby oil, a twister board and... never mind. What's is lurking?
Lurking is when you sneak around your friends on social media sites and never say anything.
That's a real thing?
Very real. And you violate it every day. You're a heinous offender.
Serious? No. But... no. No.
Yes. If I was to start a conversation and you just listened in and never said anything, wouldn't that be considered rude?
Well yes. But Facebook isn't like that. It's just people posting a bunch of crap they found on the internet. It's not like a conversation.
You should know this better than most, Mr Graphic Artist. Isn't visual information, pictures and drawings, non-verbal communication?
No, I, uh... It could be.
So, your friends and acquaintances are trying to have a conversation with you, you just stare at them blankly and drool on yourself. You disgust me.
I didn't know. I didn't think of it as a conversation, I thought of it as billboards on the highway. Not something I had to comment on.
Is that so? Do you put things on Facebook?
No. Never. Not usually. Only my blog...
What was that?
My blog posts.

Speak up. I didn't hear you.
My blog posts.
Oooh, the mighty author posts his ART on Facebook. Do people comment?
Yes. Sometimes.
Do you like their comments?
Of course I like them.
No. Do you like them?
What? Press the "like" button? No.
Too high and mighty for that, eh?
No, it's not like that see? They don't care if I like it.
Oh really? And how else do they know if you have seen their comment?
It's the next day?
Too lazy to click a little button, eh?
I didn't know.
How do you feel when people don't respond to your comments.
Empty inside. Dead. So cold.
Is this a joke to you?
No. Yes. A little.
Is it funny when you post something and you don't get a response?
No. But that's different. I actually WROTE something. I didn't find it; I created it.
So. How is that different to the woman who wrote about stupid bosses or the guy bragging about his exercise regimen?
It just is.
Says the arrogant jerk.
I'm not.
You are a no good, two-bit LURKER.

I'm not.
OK, OK, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I promise to change my evil ways and honor Facebook in my heart, and try and keep it all the year.
You promise?
Scout's honor.
You were never a scout.
How do you know? Who are you?
It's me. Bobby. Your best friend, I figured you would have gotten that by now.
Dude, what the hell?! I couldn't see you with that friggin' light in my face. Why are you doing this?
Because I can see when you are on Facebook and you never say anything about MY stuff.
Oh well, I never comment on your stuff because, I don't know how to respond to it.
Well you start typing under the my post where it says your name, and...

No. I know HOW to. Just not always HOW to.
For instance, you posted something about being bored. If I like that, am I saying that I "like" that you are bored? That's just weird. Maybe they should have a button that says, "ambiguous", or "I saw this, and have no opinion on the matter."
You're a moron.
I guess, but that's getting to be a lot of buttons.
Again. What?
One that says "like", one that says "ambiguous", one that says "you're a moron", and one that says "I saw this, and...
N0. YOU are a moron.
OK. "YOU are a moron." Plus I don't think anybody will click on that button, that's kind of a mean thing to say to your friend.
I give up. I'm outta here.
Uh, dude. Hey Bobby, can you undo the cuffs first? Bobby, come back, I'm sorry. I don't "like" this anymore. BOBBY!