So 1) know that I am trying to type this post while ravenously devouring dinner (it's 10pm) in my room at the hotel in Greenville because I didn't eat before I went to see Yo-Yo Ma KICK ASS with the Greenville Symphony Orchestra because I never eat at work-related receptions (so yes - I was at a work-related reception pre-symphony) because it's too much to maneuver the [mandatory] glass of wine and the Louis Vuitton Alma and to try to talk to people and deal with food/plates/silverware/napkins and not be totally paranoid about having spinach and/or sesame seeds stuck in my teeth.
And 2) on this teeny, tiny desk I have to my left: an oversized room service tray with a few more bites of grilled chicken over baby greens (I am a virtuous bitch - hate me if you must) and to my right an oversized leather something or other (coffee tray?) with a mini coffee brewer and a couple of bags of Fair Trade SBUX coffee and sandwiched between the two (oooh - sandwich - why didn't I order a fucking sandwich? They come with fries and everything. I hate being a virtuous bitch sometimes. I really do.) is me trying to type a post on my laptop. Two more bites of salad and the tray is on the floor.
Now - onto the important stuff. I am school-girl giddy over this post because I am finally popping my blog fodder cherry.
Right - is that too direct? This is what happens when you inhale salad for dinner after 10pm. It's like my stomach can't keep up with my brain. Or vice versa. Anyways, this is the first post I have written inspired by a reader's comment and I am entirely way too excited about it.
So my fellow NASCAR-loving blogging goddess Shelly commented the other day:
"Hey - here's some blog fodder for you: How does it feel to have so many of us developing Marshall crushes? Obviously you are proud of your father, but is it weird at all?"
Ack! So after getting over the whole "here's some blog fodder for you" I got to thinking about her question. And the short answer is: No. It's not weird. Well, not that weird.
And then I started to think about why it wasn't weird. And all I could think of was that my father and I don't have the most conventional relationship.
How many of YOU are friends with YOUR father on Facebook? Raise your hands. And how many of YOU follow YOUR father on Twitter AND allow him to follow YOU back?
So here's the thing. When I signed up for Facebook, Dad was already on there. And of course, he was one of the first 50 people I friended (just kidding, he was one of the first 17...). And it never occurred to me NOT to be friends with Dad on Facebook because it's not like I was some teenager or college kid who was going to post stupid, drunken photos or write random, bizarre, cryptic messages like "I am score you fire-hydrant poodle - CHA CHING!" that only me and my friends would understand. No - Facebook was about social networking and interacting and connecting with old friends and why couldn't Dad be a part of that?
Ditto Twitter. Well - not the whole reconnecting with old friends business. Twitter is more about randomly spouting off a mere fraction of the 14,000 random thoughts that pop into my head throughout the day - but the whole point is - on Facebook, on Twitter - I theoretically have nothing to hide.
And in fact - having Dad present in my social networking universe is like having a natural filter. I always remind myself: "Country Girl, Dad will probably be reading this, so is this really what you want to say?" However, despite my best efforts, as he told me the other day, Dad still suffers the occasional cringe factor when he reads something I have written. I am guessing this recent Facebook status update might have made him cringe:
"On my mind: minor obsession with In Treatment and Gabriel Byrne. Only minor. Not like I am going to stalk him or anything. Even though he lives a block away from my BFF in Bklyn. And she invited me to stalk. No. Cuz I am so not crazy. Well - not that kind of crazy. HUGS!"
Yes - I suspect Dad may have cringed a little when he read that. Mind you - it was typed all in good fun but sometimes it's hard to tell in a Tweet/text/status update where humor/sarcasm ends and cringeworthy crazy begins.
Another I am sure cringeworthy Facebook status update:
"I am fluffy. Fucking fluffy."
This warranted a "private" message from Dad via Facebook:
"Congratulations. You just beat out David Mamet for writing the most Fucks on Facebook. Does it worry you that you are in a conservative business in a conservative part of the world?
You would not do well in a Taliban regime.
WTF does fluffy mean?"
What did I say about not writing bizarre, random, cryptic messages that only me and my friends would understand? Whoops. (As for the whole F-bomb thing, that's another story. And as for what fluffy means, I really couldn't tell you. Really. I was out with my friend Anna and our girlfriend Holly was there with some of her friends and she kept coming over to our table to hang (b/c we were way more fun) and then she kept saying that her friends would be fluffy as in "If I don't get back to the table the girls are going to be fluffy" and my friend Anna and I looked at each other like "WTF is fluffy" and the we decided it would be really cute if we both updated our Facebook status with "I am fluffy" at the exact same which we did. Only Anna's friends gave her "we like this" thumbs ups and left cute comments. I got a mild (yet still totally humorous and therefore worth sharing with the entire universe) reprimand from Dad. I guess THIS is why some people are not friends with their fathers on Facebook.)
I didn't mean to veer off track from Shelly's original question, but I had to put it in context of what's weird and what's not, and the whole social-networking dynamic has changed my relationship with Dad in so many ways that weird has new meaning. I mean, I give dad Twitter Tips (in fact, I give all of my friends Twitter Tips because apparently I am the go-to Twitter guru for everyone I know even though my only qualification is that I Tweet more than anyone I know) and THAT is weird. Kind of.
But a group of folks (women I presume) developing Marshall crushes? My dad is pretty amazing, extremely funny, totally charming, utterly endearing and I am fiercely proud of him. So, yeah, it simply seems...normal. Or at least, not weird. Not like Twitter Tips weird. Not like trying to TEXT Dad to tell him how to download Tweetie to his iPhone while he was on a train so that he could Tweet remotely. That was fucking weird.
So readers - you tell me what you think is weird. And it doesn't have to be about your father.
And thank you Shelly. For making me think. And for giving me some fodder. I mean, finally, fodder for me and not for my animals.
And if that ain't country, I'll kiss your...