Sunday is for Resting?
As the 40's engulf me and lead me in a march similar to the Bataan Death March toward my 50's and beyond, I look back at the good friends in my life. Some have moved on, some remain but there is one constant, they are all far away. In the transitional American lifestyle a sad realty is that upward mobility means the sacrifice of relationships and the forging of new ones. Eventually though, I just got tired somewhere along the line. Even though I have now lived in my present home longer then anywhere since childhood I don't have anyone near me I would qualify as an "out of work" friend. I do my best to stay in touch with my others but aside from an occasional meeting we all exist mostly in our own worlds of life, work and family.
Modern technology however has ushered in an era of bizarre companionship. We have all heard tails of the lonely souls that live their entire life with friends they have never met on Facebook or the internet. Relationships that are virtual yet never bonded by personal human interaction. I have been guilty of the same yet at least I strive to eventually meet those I contact. The vast majority of the time it is a success. I find I get along well with my once virtual friend and lament the distance that will yet again come between us. In fact, my record has really only been tarnished by one bizarre incident from my youth. Back in the days when pen-pals actually meant mailing a letter, I had a friend named Joan in England. We wrote and she seemed normal. I was after all just your average American middle class kid.
It was 1986 and I had just graduated from high school when I ventured out into the world. I decided to spend the summer making a student odyssey with nothing but ambition and my back pack. I journeyed across Western Europe sleeping in youth hostels and an occasional train station. I traveled with New Zealanders, Israelis and a guy from Atlanta, Georgia. At one point in England I decided to venture out to Boston, England to meet my friend Joan. When I arrived I expected to find a young person much like myself. In reality I found an absolutely huge English punk chick with an ear ring in her lip and nose long before it became fashionable in today's terms. She had fuchsia hair and it quickly became apparent how far words can drift from reality. We spent the evening in a pub with a clan of leather clad punk friends as I squirmed as out of place as mouse in a cat's litter box. Needless to say, the next day I reached for whatever flimsy excuse I could find and moved on.
In retrospect, I wish I had stayed. From my perspective today I would have appreciated the chance to discover something vastly different than myself. However, at the insecure age of 19 sometimes experience is not everything.
I tell this story because I currently have a friend named "Pablo" that I met on Xbox Live. His real name is Paul but since we met with game tags he remains Deformed Pablo and I am Zephyr. We eventually met in body and he has visited me in South Carolina and I him in Florida. We are both slightly over weight balding men somewhere in their 40s. We both have families and work our 9 to 5 existence. We both escape our worlds every Sunday at 11am and join each other online escorting our imaginary armies or guiding our video gunslingers out into a violent world. This past weekend things changed. A new game entered the mix. It is one of those virtual sports games where you use a sensor to follow your movements.
Prior to the commencement of our competition I attempted my practice track and field maneuvers. At one point while navigating the hurdles with a running leap I lost my balance and went crashing into the closet behind me. Guess what I will be repairing this Sunday? When Pablo joined me online we engaged in vigorous boxing, running, volley ball, soccer and ping pong with our virtual characters. Each of us staring at our tv's while flailing our arms and legs around. Each running with maximum velocity sending chandlers swinging and floors shaking. I must confess I lost in all of them bringing back horrific images of high school gym class but this topic will be best served in another essay.
There are times in life when I like to step outside my own body and look down at myself from above. I suddenly saw myself and I saw Pablo. Each of bouncing and thrashing our 40 plus year-old bodies achieving their own form of perpetual motion. I know what you are thinking, why not just go take a walk or a jog? Sure, I could have done that but then I wouldn't have been with my virtual friend.
At one point during the competition I heard a slapping sound.
"What the hell is that?" I asked, shouting at the open air microphone.
"That's me," Pablo responded in a muffled tone emanating from my television. "I'm slapping my stomach., I took my shirt off."
A few moments passed and it started again.
"Guess what that sound is?" Asked Pablo, "I'll give you a hint, it's me and I'm not slapping my stomach."
I suppose in life we all adapt to our circumstances and in that moment it was the era of two middle aged men, one in Florida, one in South Carolina, exercising with virtual characters in cyberspace. I am not sure if this is a positive or a negative development in the course of humanity. I will say however, it was a hell of a competitive workout and my body is still sore. Now if I can only remember where I put my glue for that closet door.
Modern technology however has ushered in an era of bizarre companionship. We have all heard tails of the lonely souls that live their entire life with friends they have never met on Facebook or the internet. Relationships that are virtual yet never bonded by personal human interaction. I have been guilty of the same yet at least I strive to eventually meet those I contact. The vast majority of the time it is a success. I find I get along well with my once virtual friend and lament the distance that will yet again come between us. In fact, my record has really only been tarnished by one bizarre incident from my youth. Back in the days when pen-pals actually meant mailing a letter, I had a friend named Joan in England. We wrote and she seemed normal. I was after all just your average American middle class kid.
It was 1986 and I had just graduated from high school when I ventured out into the world. I decided to spend the summer making a student odyssey with nothing but ambition and my back pack. I journeyed across Western Europe sleeping in youth hostels and an occasional train station. I traveled with New Zealanders, Israelis and a guy from Atlanta, Georgia. At one point in England I decided to venture out to Boston, England to meet my friend Joan. When I arrived I expected to find a young person much like myself. In reality I found an absolutely huge English punk chick with an ear ring in her lip and nose long before it became fashionable in today's terms. She had fuchsia hair and it quickly became apparent how far words can drift from reality. We spent the evening in a pub with a clan of leather clad punk friends as I squirmed as out of place as mouse in a cat's litter box. Needless to say, the next day I reached for whatever flimsy excuse I could find and moved on.
In retrospect, I wish I had stayed. From my perspective today I would have appreciated the chance to discover something vastly different than myself. However, at the insecure age of 19 sometimes experience is not everything.
I tell this story because I currently have a friend named "Pablo" that I met on Xbox Live. His real name is Paul but since we met with game tags he remains Deformed Pablo and I am Zephyr. We eventually met in body and he has visited me in South Carolina and I him in Florida. We are both slightly over weight balding men somewhere in their 40s. We both have families and work our 9 to 5 existence. We both escape our worlds every Sunday at 11am and join each other online escorting our imaginary armies or guiding our video gunslingers out into a violent world. This past weekend things changed. A new game entered the mix. It is one of those virtual sports games where you use a sensor to follow your movements.Prior to the commencement of our competition I attempted my practice track and field maneuvers. At one point while navigating the hurdles with a running leap I lost my balance and went crashing into the closet behind me. Guess what I will be repairing this Sunday? When Pablo joined me online we engaged in vigorous boxing, running, volley ball, soccer and ping pong with our virtual characters. Each of us staring at our tv's while flailing our arms and legs around. Each running with maximum velocity sending chandlers swinging and floors shaking. I must confess I lost in all of them bringing back horrific images of high school gym class but this topic will be best served in another essay.
There are times in life when I like to step outside my own body and look down at myself from above. I suddenly saw myself and I saw Pablo. Each of bouncing and thrashing our 40 plus year-old bodies achieving their own form of perpetual motion. I know what you are thinking, why not just go take a walk or a jog? Sure, I could have done that but then I wouldn't have been with my virtual friend.
At one point during the competition I heard a slapping sound.
"What the hell is that?" I asked, shouting at the open air microphone.
"That's me," Pablo responded in a muffled tone emanating from my television. "I'm slapping my stomach., I took my shirt off."
A few moments passed and it started again.
"Guess what that sound is?" Asked Pablo, "I'll give you a hint, it's me and I'm not slapping my stomach."
I suppose in life we all adapt to our circumstances and in that moment it was the era of two middle aged men, one in Florida, one in South Carolina, exercising with virtual characters in cyberspace. I am not sure if this is a positive or a negative development in the course of humanity. I will say however, it was a hell of a competitive workout and my body is still sore. Now if I can only remember where I put my glue for that closet door.
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