I make a determined effort not to read too much on social networking sites, mainly because I need to preserve my bad eyesight for “work” – or whatever.
Every so often I succumb to the temptation to wander over and look at something, and that just never goes well.
The reasons are rather obvious when it comes to facebook – as Mash asked me recently X [edited to protect the guilty] is a bad guy, right?
We are required to share that kind of check-in, because our heads were bashed in The Accident. There are a few murky episodes that nobody really wants to talk about.
But, yes, there are a few bad guys in our collective past. Perhaps compelling, or sexy, but not safe to hang out with. Ever.
Though I’m not especially concerned that the serial rapist is two clicks away, since there is still a contract on his life. Nothing to do with me! I can look after myself! I broke his nose the last time he tried to hurt me, and he only smacked my elbow. No, his mistake was messing around with people who could not defend themselves, though they had a great talent for attracting the patronage of the criminal underclass.
My contribution to the debacle has been to routinely, for twenty years, show up at hometown social events (weddings, funerals, reunions, you know, the usual) and refer to the incidents openly, then laugh maniacally. This has not helped my reputation, but hey, what do I care?
All of that is beside the point and the thoughts only wandered through my brain this week because I thought of whats-his-face, that hilarious first husband of mine who made off with the Hunter S. Thompson poster. If he had been the sort to stay in touch with his kid, we might still be the best of friends. But he didn’t, so we aren’t. Once again: boring.
The more interesting point is that growing up with a certain set of values and experiences determines how you interact with the world later, whether in sympathy or opposition. That has certainly been true for me. I have a high tolerance for liars, tricksters, all manner of public and private malfeasance.
Because I grew up in a bifurcation of managing cancer treatments (proper, procedural, bureaucratic), and dealing with the junkie behavior of my family (chaotic, intense, psychotic), I am exquisitely sensitive to subtle dangers.
Often a heartbeat too late.
It took a very long time to understand that leaving and making a new life did not mean that I had escaped.
I have always been reasonably careful because, while inherently hedonistic, I also had a good mother. I was destined to place the safety of my kids ahead of any inclination toward annihilation. If you take that job seriously, you might be able to fuck around some, but only within defined limits.
I can wander through any party scene, ghetto, or similar marginal adventures, because I can feel trouble.
That is not the same thing as knowing what I am looking at.
The one thing I have always lacked is the relevant sensors to parse middle-class mainstream existence.
The other day on facebook I randomly stumbled across the only truly evil person I have ever known in my entire adult life.
Please note that I have met thousands upon thousands of people, befriended hundreds. I have had all manner of sketchy and hugely entertaining escapades. I hold no grudges, not against abandoned lovers, nor treacherous friends, nor even the people who have stolen my money. Heck, not even against the person who held a gun to my temple and informed me that his life would be easier if I were dead.
So, then, evil – what a concept – especially for a confirmed atheist to espouse.
Evil – why?
Our friendship started in the early days of the internet, before many people figured out that this form of communication is a great way to distort truth and reality. Fine – I got it, even back then.
What I had never encountered in my daily life was a person who worked so hard to create an intricate screen of distractions, opinions, decorations, music, finery, schools (but only the best, private, progressive sort). To hide what exactly, I do not know, though it obfuscated the fact that the person was secretly, viciously, verbally abusing children.
Perhaps more. Or rather, I suspect that more happened, but I had no actionable evidence to take to the police.
I wasn’t that close – not a teacher, trusted confidante, priest or in any way privy to the internal workings of this family. I just had a hunch. That creepy, raised hair on the back of your neck, something is wrong here intuition.
For this – expressed in nothing more than a raised eyebrow and inquiry about why the elder child was so … angry… around… kittens, I was exiled.
Then the person in question started a very long siege attack in the form of a whisper campaign. Presumably the goal was to trash my reputation, and I have certainly noticed a rippling impact in certain quarters.
Vicious rumors fans of the magazine might have heard? They can be directly attributed to this former friend, by way of a former volunteer, via a semi-delusional disenchanted fan, dribbling down in a noxious thin stream.
None of which has even merited comment for the last decade.
I honestly do not care – I find the whole thing really sad, and just hope that the people in question get sorted out eventually.
My only complaint is that I would like to use facebook in the obvious way, reading funny/racy updates, looking at hilarious high school pictures, and otherwise taking a break from real life, without encountering stalkers.
Oh well! I should probably be working anyway!