As Face To Facebook will eventually be turned into a stand up show, this week I've asked each friend their favourite joke and after reading it I then wrote an original gag to compliment it. This week's blog is written in the style of a stand up gig with the borrowed joke first and the Davis original straight after.
Imagine you've just paid a fiver to sit in the back room of a rank pub and you and your mates are the only one's there...
"Good evening ladies and gentleman, my name is Max Davis."
"There were two peanuts walking down the street and one of them was a salted!"
"I actually live in a constant fear of getting attacked at knife point. My only hope is that if this ever happens my girlfriend isn't with me. It's not that I'm over protective, I just don't want her to see me burst into tears and shit myself."
"What's yellow, sticky and smells of banana's?"
"Monkey sick".
"The funny thing about illness is you need someone else to confirm it for you. But you don't go to a doctor, you go to the first person you can find and say, 'feel my head, it's warm isn't it?' As if this untrained individual has any ability to diagnose your condition. What's worse is you don't want them to tell you you're fine. You WANT them to tell you you've got a temperature because somehow that makes you feel better! 'I knew it! I knew I was ill! Thanks mate'"
"Where's the best place to find out how much a pie weighs? *sings* Somewhere over the rainbow. No? Nothing? Weigh a pie."
"I can hear some of you groaning out there which is encouraging because I was worried you had died. I like that joke because you have to finish it yourself, although it does smack of Pieway robbery."
"Speaking of which, I walked past a car yesterday and there was a sign in the window. It said, For Sale: £995 or near offer. So I called the number and said, 'I'll give you £9.'"
"A sailor meets a pirate in a bar, and they take turns telling about their adventures on the seas. The sailor notes that the pirate has a peg-leg, a hook and an eye patch.
The sailor asks "So, how did you end up with the peg-leg?"
The pirate replies: "We were in a storm at sea, and I were swept overboard headed for Davy Jones' Locker. Just as me men were pullin' me out, a shark bit me leg off."
"Wow!" said the sailor. "What about the hook?"
The pirate went on, “We were boarding an enemy ship and were battling the other sailors with swords. One of the enemy cut me hand off.”
"Incredible!" said the sailor. "And how did you get the eye patch?"
“Arrr. That were from a seagull dropping fell into me bloody eye,” replied the pirate.
"You lost your eye to a seagull dropping?" the sailor asked incredulously.
"Shiver me timbers!" said the pirate. "It was me first day with the hook..."
"Why is it whenever you go to a public toilet now they have detailed instructions on how to wash your hands, but nothing about drying them? There must be people staggering around outside public lavs screaming 'What now?! What now?!' That's if they can get the door open.
"They say, ladies and gentleman, you should end a set with a big finish, which is fortunate in my case because this next joke is fucking enormous."
"After dating his girlfriend for years, a man decides that he wants to ask her to marry him. But he has a problem. What he loves more than anything in the whole world is a big plate of baked beans. But unfortunately they give him incredibly bad gas. And he doesn't ever want her to know how his horrible secret. Torn, he finally decides he's going to ask her, and he will never eat beans again.
Ten years down the line, they are happily married and he has not once indulged in his favourite meal. His wife has no idea of his terrible problem. Then one night, on his birthday, he begins the journey home and his car breaks down. He has promised her he will be home on time as she has a big surprise for him. He walks along the road until he comes to a diner where he can call her from a payphone.
As he walks in, he can smell baked beans cooking. He phones and says he will be late, she says she will keep dinner warm while he walks home. As he turns to go, an idea occurs to him. If he eats a plate now, he can get rid of his wind on the way home, and his wife will never know.
Only, he gets home and as it's a particularly bad case, he's still not quite, well, finished. (It has been ten years, maybe his stomach's not quite used to it). He lets out what he hopes will be one last tremendous fart outside, and just in time before his wife opens the front door.
She says "Welcome home honey - boy have I got a surprise for you!" She blind folds him and leads him to the dining room table, sits him down, and says "On the count of three, I'll take off your blind fold. Ok - one, two..." and the doorbell rings..
As she goes to answer it he decides he can't hold it any longer, and lets out an enormous fart. It's pretty bad. Panicked, he grabs his hankie out of his pocket and starts waving it away, and just in time as she returns.
"Ok, sorry honey. Ready - one, two..." and the phone rings! She runs to answer it, and he lets out the most enormous one yet. He stumbles blindfolded to the window and opens it, madly fanning to get rid of the smell before she comes back. He sits down just in time and shoves his hankie back in his pocket again. She'll never know...
"Ok, no matter what happens this time honey" she says "I'm going to do it. One, two, three!!" She whips off his blindfold, and what do you think he sees at the table??
All of his friends and family, sitting in stunned silence..."
"As I get older I find myself farting more. I'm also finding a disturbing amount of fluff in my belly button. I've almost got enough to make a set of matching hand towels."
"It gets worse. I found my first grey pube the other day. That's the last time I go speed dating in a care home."
"I've been Max Davis and you've been, whatever your individual names are. Thank you and good night!"
Sunday, 18 September 2011
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
Chapter 6: Don't mess with the bull son, you'll get the horns.
As I get older I find myself in an almost perpetual state of annoyance. I get annoyed by young people with the headphones and crack and I'm equally annoyed by old pensioners with their hearing aids and their crack.
Mostly I'm annoyed by myself. I don't mean by this that I'm mostly annoyed when I am alone, I mean that Max Davis as he currently stands in the year of our lord 2011 is a very annoying creature. He thinks he's far funnier than is. For example, here is a joke I recently did at a stand up gig in London.
"I was going to tell you about the time I tried to slit my wrists, but I thought it would be a bit near the knuckle."
Nothing. Silence. Actually I think I heard a guy at the back of the room throw up.
For the last two weeks, Face To Facebook has been devoted to the study of Annoying Facebook Types. It turns out that much like The Breakfast Club these friends can be divided into convenient definitions. I asked each friend if they had any experience of them and if they were brave enough to admit whether or not they themselves were guilty of being one.
In honour of that classic piece of cinematic brilliance all names have been changed to actors from the film.
Molly Ringwald has an interesting story about The Chronic Inviter. She rashly accepted the friend request of someone she didn't know because they had lots of mutual friends. This individual then began to comment on all of her status updates and pestered her to read his very boring blog (the irony of this is not lost on me gentle reader). Things got so bad that Facebook itself had to send him a warning because he was adding too many people as friends. Given that Facebook allows Holocaust deniers and tribute pages to uber nutcase (and friend of Gazza) Raoul Moat to operate without censorship this guy must have been racking up some serious numbers.
This brings us neatly to Ally Sheedy who freely admits that she herself is a member of the next group, The Stalker. I can assure you we all have these. They are people who you didn't even know you were friends with constantly commenting and "liking" every single bloody thing you update. I once got a like AND a comment on a picture of a chili. But Ally freely admits that she is nosy by nature and you can't help but love that kind of honesty. Like on my friend, like on.
Fran Gargano (I know, if I'd have thought this through I would have realised there's only really two girls in the movie) hates a Lame & Boring Status Updater. Posts such as "Just snuggling down on the sofa to watch X Factor with my BF" are met with a swift culling. If you really piss her off she'll post an angry hip hop video on your wall. Frankly if your posting FB status updates when you should be snuggling then your relationship is doomed and not even Biggie can help you.
Fran says I'm welcome to use her name but you'd be better off going to youtube and searching TheBanditBennett24 and watch her hilarious stuff first hand.
Judd Nelson hates a Sympathy Baiter and I can't say I blame him. The internet is not there for people to whinge about their problems. It's for porn and redubbing Darth Vader dialogue with Chas and Dave songs. I was going to call these people The Miserablists but that is in fact the name of my friend Cliff's air guitar band and he is liable to sue. We used to be in another air guitar band called Satan's Underpants but broke up when an imaginary groupie OD'd on some metaphysical coke.
Emilio Estevez on the other hand only uses Facebook to organise the local village football team. His pet hate is the Lame Gamers, People who keep trying to get you to work on an imaginary farm. Having said that I work in a very real pub and was recently attacked by a mad man wielding a bottle of vinegar and so that virtual grass looks pretty green right now.
And what of me? Your faithful Quester. Well I shall tell you. I love with every fibre of my being the Brawler. I love nothing more than to go to my News Feed and read "Paula is tired of all the two faced little slags chatting shit about her and Dave behind our backs! What goes around comes around and Tracy, I know what you said about me last Friday to Trisha so you'd better stay out of my way cos next time I'm in town you are DEAD!"
God bless you Paula. Have WKD blue on me.
Until next week...
Mostly I'm annoyed by myself. I don't mean by this that I'm mostly annoyed when I am alone, I mean that Max Davis as he currently stands in the year of our lord 2011 is a very annoying creature. He thinks he's far funnier than is. For example, here is a joke I recently did at a stand up gig in London.
"I was going to tell you about the time I tried to slit my wrists, but I thought it would be a bit near the knuckle."
Nothing. Silence. Actually I think I heard a guy at the back of the room throw up.
For the last two weeks, Face To Facebook has been devoted to the study of Annoying Facebook Types. It turns out that much like The Breakfast Club these friends can be divided into convenient definitions. I asked each friend if they had any experience of them and if they were brave enough to admit whether or not they themselves were guilty of being one.
In honour of that classic piece of cinematic brilliance all names have been changed to actors from the film.
Molly Ringwald has an interesting story about The Chronic Inviter. She rashly accepted the friend request of someone she didn't know because they had lots of mutual friends. This individual then began to comment on all of her status updates and pestered her to read his very boring blog (the irony of this is not lost on me gentle reader). Things got so bad that Facebook itself had to send him a warning because he was adding too many people as friends. Given that Facebook allows Holocaust deniers and tribute pages to uber nutcase (and friend of Gazza) Raoul Moat to operate without censorship this guy must have been racking up some serious numbers.
This brings us neatly to Ally Sheedy who freely admits that she herself is a member of the next group, The Stalker. I can assure you we all have these. They are people who you didn't even know you were friends with constantly commenting and "liking" every single bloody thing you update. I once got a like AND a comment on a picture of a chili. But Ally freely admits that she is nosy by nature and you can't help but love that kind of honesty. Like on my friend, like on.
Fran Gargano (I know, if I'd have thought this through I would have realised there's only really two girls in the movie) hates a Lame & Boring Status Updater. Posts such as "Just snuggling down on the sofa to watch X Factor with my BF" are met with a swift culling. If you really piss her off she'll post an angry hip hop video on your wall. Frankly if your posting FB status updates when you should be snuggling then your relationship is doomed and not even Biggie can help you.
Fran says I'm welcome to use her name but you'd be better off going to youtube and searching TheBanditBennett24 and watch her hilarious stuff first hand.
Judd Nelson hates a Sympathy Baiter and I can't say I blame him. The internet is not there for people to whinge about their problems. It's for porn and redubbing Darth Vader dialogue with Chas and Dave songs. I was going to call these people The Miserablists but that is in fact the name of my friend Cliff's air guitar band and he is liable to sue. We used to be in another air guitar band called Satan's Underpants but broke up when an imaginary groupie OD'd on some metaphysical coke.
Emilio Estevez on the other hand only uses Facebook to organise the local village football team. His pet hate is the Lame Gamers, People who keep trying to get you to work on an imaginary farm. Having said that I work in a very real pub and was recently attacked by a mad man wielding a bottle of vinegar and so that virtual grass looks pretty green right now.
And what of me? Your faithful Quester. Well I shall tell you. I love with every fibre of my being the Brawler. I love nothing more than to go to my News Feed and read "Paula is tired of all the two faced little slags chatting shit about her and Dave behind our backs! What goes around comes around and Tracy, I know what you said about me last Friday to Trisha so you'd better stay out of my way cos next time I'm in town you are DEAD!"
God bless you Paula. Have WKD blue on me.
Until next week...
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
Chapter 5: Love Heart of Darkness
Perhaps its arrogance or maybe just a blind assumption that people spend as much of their day online as I do, but I did think that everyone I contacted on Face To Facebook would reply to me... eventually.
But like the existence of Father Christmas (spoiler alert!) I have had to accept that this is a blatant and dirty falsehood. Out of seven contacts, only four people got back to me this week and interestingly they are all ladies. This might be down to the fact that this week I decided to pose two questions.
1. What was your first love?
2. What was your worst love?
Maybe women are more prepared to bare their souls than men. Perhaps the guys I wrote to were too busy stripping down motorcycle engines or hunting elk with a spear fashioned from old porno mags to respond. Or maybe they just thought it was a shit idea.
I chose these questions as I am on the verge of finishing a one hour TV pilot script which is essentially about love. Not a very original idea I know, but then I'm also the guy that wrote a sitcom about an average Joe becoming a superhero two months before Kick Ass was released.
This week all names have been replaced with female characters from Beatles songs.
Eleanor Rigby was a classic case of youthful exuberance. Her first love was with a beautiful young dancer, called Lord Albert Spankfudge-Ringworthy III. I should stress that this is not his real name. Eleanor had to travel to the ends of the earth to get over this love. I've never had to do this, although I did once travel to the Lidl in Cricklewood, which is almost as glamorous.
Lovely Rita was a 9 year old female cub scout when she first fell in love. I wish we'd had girls when I was in the cubs. I would certainly have spent less time playing with my woggle, although that was just a pet name for him really. Rita eventually tried to seal the deal using the tried and tested method of giving her paramour a Chinese burn. I have discovered to my determent that this method is less effective when you're 26.
Dear Prudence first fell in love when she was 6 with a boy called Chewbacca. That was actually his real name (*) and this is why sniffing glue and choosing baby names should never be attempted at the same time. They became an official couple. I think being in a serious relationship at the age of 6 could be quite rewarding. You're outgoings are limited to a sherbet dib dab and the odd slush puppy, the rent on Wendy House's is very reasonable and if she claims you never surprise her anymore, a game of peek-a-boo will keep her amused for hours. On the down side you'll probably need help pushing the trolley on your first trip to Ikea.
Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds chose to buck the trend and answered that her first love was literature. I thought this was a lovely answer. I can still remember my own trembling, youthful excitement when I came home from the library with Of Human Bondage secreted under my coat. I'll be honest, it wasn't the sexiest book I've ever read.
Now you might notice that I have described the first loves but not the worst loves. I decided to keep these revelations to myself. For now...
(* Don't be silly, of course it wasn't.)
But like the existence of Father Christmas (spoiler alert!) I have had to accept that this is a blatant and dirty falsehood. Out of seven contacts, only four people got back to me this week and interestingly they are all ladies. This might be down to the fact that this week I decided to pose two questions.
1. What was your first love?
2. What was your worst love?
Maybe women are more prepared to bare their souls than men. Perhaps the guys I wrote to were too busy stripping down motorcycle engines or hunting elk with a spear fashioned from old porno mags to respond. Or maybe they just thought it was a shit idea.
I chose these questions as I am on the verge of finishing a one hour TV pilot script which is essentially about love. Not a very original idea I know, but then I'm also the guy that wrote a sitcom about an average Joe becoming a superhero two months before Kick Ass was released.
This week all names have been replaced with female characters from Beatles songs.
Eleanor Rigby was a classic case of youthful exuberance. Her first love was with a beautiful young dancer, called Lord Albert Spankfudge-Ringworthy III. I should stress that this is not his real name. Eleanor had to travel to the ends of the earth to get over this love. I've never had to do this, although I did once travel to the Lidl in Cricklewood, which is almost as glamorous.
Lovely Rita was a 9 year old female cub scout when she first fell in love. I wish we'd had girls when I was in the cubs. I would certainly have spent less time playing with my woggle, although that was just a pet name for him really. Rita eventually tried to seal the deal using the tried and tested method of giving her paramour a Chinese burn. I have discovered to my determent that this method is less effective when you're 26.
Dear Prudence first fell in love when she was 6 with a boy called Chewbacca. That was actually his real name (*) and this is why sniffing glue and choosing baby names should never be attempted at the same time. They became an official couple. I think being in a serious relationship at the age of 6 could be quite rewarding. You're outgoings are limited to a sherbet dib dab and the odd slush puppy, the rent on Wendy House's is very reasonable and if she claims you never surprise her anymore, a game of peek-a-boo will keep her amused for hours. On the down side you'll probably need help pushing the trolley on your first trip to Ikea.
Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds chose to buck the trend and answered that her first love was literature. I thought this was a lovely answer. I can still remember my own trembling, youthful excitement when I came home from the library with Of Human Bondage secreted under my coat. I'll be honest, it wasn't the sexiest book I've ever read.
Now you might notice that I have described the first loves but not the worst loves. I decided to keep these revelations to myself. For now...
(* Don't be silly, of course it wasn't.)
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
Chapter 4 aka The 4th Chapter!
Greetings faithful Quest followers!
This week I will be replacing the names of the friends contacted with characters from Reservoir Dogs. This is so that I can't get sued. Quentin Tarantino may of course take offence, but I think I'm safe as we are not as yet Facebook friends.
Mr Blue sings in a band called Sleeper Effect and I urge you to go out and discover them right now. As a young Cornish lad I once harboured my own dreams of musical greatness and formed a band called Void. Somewhere out there is a VHS copy of our one and only gig. It's slightly ruined by a lanky knob head with a red guitar who keeps asking for a cigarette between songs and grinning. I can only apologise.
Music's loss was theatre's gain and so I embarked on a career as an out of work actor instead.
Finding a job that you can do between acting work is a very tricky deal. It needs to be flexible enough that you can go to auditions at a moment's notice and will take you back after your two week's playing Rookery Nook at the Chesterfield Pomegranate has come to an unexpected close.
I was very fortunate that I found an actor friendly job in a Bond Street chocolate shop by the name of Charbonnel et Walker - scourge of the Microsoft spell checker. I have the dubious distinction of having worked there for 12 years off and on. Well, more on than off if I'm honest. Mr White is an actor who has weathered the storms of this job with me. He is nothing short of a God send. Mr White is a proper actor, which means that even if we haven't seen each other in months he can be relied upon for a good bit of actory banter and the inevitable moan about one's agent. Sean Penn said changing agents is like changing deck chairs on the Titanic. Then again he's probably never been sent to audition for a Conflict Management Workshop at a German army barracks on Christmas Eve.
I then contacted Mr Pink, who is also an actor and he reminded me of the famous quote about acting "It's a marathon, not a sprint". It's probably more accurate to say "It's a marathon, but instead of trainers you have to wear orthopaedic shoes made out of degradation and shorts woven from missed opportunities. Mr Pink might well disagree with this analysis but then he works more than I do.
Mrs Orange (Yeah, see what I did there?) represents a water shed moment in the Quest because she is the first family member I have contacted. This is a slightly weird relationship as we did not grow up with each other. In fact I only met her a few years ago. She had just graduated drama school and was already doing far better than I was. Despite this, I've decided to like her enormously. She recently suffered a Green Day related injury and is currently nursing a broken foot. This proves my theory that listening to any Green Day album made after Insomniac can only be bad for your health.
After contacting three actors it was perhaps fitting that Mr Brown is my old A' Level drama teacher. I was a little hesitant telling him that I was not, as yet, a Hollywood super star. But it turned out he already knew this. He then paid me the nicest compliment I've had in a very long time. I won't tell you what it is but it reminded me that success while lovely and very important is less important than talent. So maybe I made the right choice after all.
See you next week.
This week I will be replacing the names of the friends contacted with characters from Reservoir Dogs. This is so that I can't get sued. Quentin Tarantino may of course take offence, but I think I'm safe as we are not as yet Facebook friends.
Mr Blue sings in a band called Sleeper Effect and I urge you to go out and discover them right now. As a young Cornish lad I once harboured my own dreams of musical greatness and formed a band called Void. Somewhere out there is a VHS copy of our one and only gig. It's slightly ruined by a lanky knob head with a red guitar who keeps asking for a cigarette between songs and grinning. I can only apologise.
Music's loss was theatre's gain and so I embarked on a career as an out of work actor instead.
Finding a job that you can do between acting work is a very tricky deal. It needs to be flexible enough that you can go to auditions at a moment's notice and will take you back after your two week's playing Rookery Nook at the Chesterfield Pomegranate has come to an unexpected close.
I was very fortunate that I found an actor friendly job in a Bond Street chocolate shop by the name of Charbonnel et Walker - scourge of the Microsoft spell checker. I have the dubious distinction of having worked there for 12 years off and on. Well, more on than off if I'm honest. Mr White is an actor who has weathered the storms of this job with me. He is nothing short of a God send. Mr White is a proper actor, which means that even if we haven't seen each other in months he can be relied upon for a good bit of actory banter and the inevitable moan about one's agent. Sean Penn said changing agents is like changing deck chairs on the Titanic. Then again he's probably never been sent to audition for a Conflict Management Workshop at a German army barracks on Christmas Eve.
I then contacted Mr Pink, who is also an actor and he reminded me of the famous quote about acting "It's a marathon, not a sprint". It's probably more accurate to say "It's a marathon, but instead of trainers you have to wear orthopaedic shoes made out of degradation and shorts woven from missed opportunities. Mr Pink might well disagree with this analysis but then he works more than I do.
Mrs Orange (Yeah, see what I did there?) represents a water shed moment in the Quest because she is the first family member I have contacted. This is a slightly weird relationship as we did not grow up with each other. In fact I only met her a few years ago. She had just graduated drama school and was already doing far better than I was. Despite this, I've decided to like her enormously. She recently suffered a Green Day related injury and is currently nursing a broken foot. This proves my theory that listening to any Green Day album made after Insomniac can only be bad for your health.
After contacting three actors it was perhaps fitting that Mr Brown is my old A' Level drama teacher. I was a little hesitant telling him that I was not, as yet, a Hollywood super star. But it turned out he already knew this. He then paid me the nicest compliment I've had in a very long time. I won't tell you what it is but it reminded me that success while lovely and very important is less important than talent. So maybe I made the right choice after all.
See you next week.
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
Chapter 3: The concluding part of the ongoing saga!
I've never really considered myself the type of guy that jumps in without thinking. Although, I did once accidentally buy an electric razor on ebay that I thought I had just been browsing. I emailed the seller to confess my mistake and call off the deal, he respectfully declined my request and called me a "fucking time waster". So with a heavy sense of moral responsibility I accepted my foolish purchase. When it arrived it didn't work. I grew a goatee and never bought anything on ebay again. Lesson learned.
And yet despite my overly cautious nature I cavalierly launched my Face2Facebook campaign last week with a pocket full of dreams and a handful of biscuits.
I reasoned that as long as no major UK wide news event broke at the same time, simultaneously involving and implicating Facebook and Twitter, I would be fine.
I can't write this without mentioning the riots. Not just because it'll make me look like a self obsessed douchebag but because once Hulk Hogan has expressed his opinion on an event it becomes too big to get around. Much like Hulk himself.
The original intention of Face2Facebook is to explore how we have all of these "friends" and yet we are completely unconnected to our fellow man. But over the last 24 hours I have seen whole communities using FB and Twitter to check on each other's safety, organise cleanup projects and post information about how to get home safely. I currently live in Leicester, which is so far trouble free, but after 13 years in London I still see it as my home town and frankly without social networking sites I would be completely out of the loop and frantically worried about my friends.
Even the humble text message has played it's part. How else would I have discovered that my non-Facebook using friend Dan was hoping to squeeze into his girlfriend's leotard and take to the rooftops dolling out justice and demi plie's in equal measure? That's right Dark Guardian, your secret is out.
There'll be a lot of talk over the next few weeks about social networking and how it can be used by bad people to do bad things. And it's right to have that discussion. But I'm humbled to see how it's been used for good over the last 24 hours.
But worry not my faithful followers, I promised that I would blog about the people I contacted last week and so I shall.
I wrote to the first five people on my friends list. One got back to me. That's right. One. The other four have their reasons and they are all good. When they do write back, rest assured you will hear all about it. In the meantime I would like to say to that Facebook friend; thank you for getting back to me. It was lovely to hear from you. I'm glad your dog, Mr. Sizzle has had his chakras realigned and I hope his job interviews are going well.
Until next week.
And yet despite my overly cautious nature I cavalierly launched my Face2Facebook campaign last week with a pocket full of dreams and a handful of biscuits.
I reasoned that as long as no major UK wide news event broke at the same time, simultaneously involving and implicating Facebook and Twitter, I would be fine.
I can't write this without mentioning the riots. Not just because it'll make me look like a self obsessed douchebag but because once Hulk Hogan has expressed his opinion on an event it becomes too big to get around. Much like Hulk himself.
The original intention of Face2Facebook is to explore how we have all of these "friends" and yet we are completely unconnected to our fellow man. But over the last 24 hours I have seen whole communities using FB and Twitter to check on each other's safety, organise cleanup projects and post information about how to get home safely. I currently live in Leicester, which is so far trouble free, but after 13 years in London I still see it as my home town and frankly without social networking sites I would be completely out of the loop and frantically worried about my friends.
Even the humble text message has played it's part. How else would I have discovered that my non-Facebook using friend Dan was hoping to squeeze into his girlfriend's leotard and take to the rooftops dolling out justice and demi plie's in equal measure? That's right Dark Guardian, your secret is out.
There'll be a lot of talk over the next few weeks about social networking and how it can be used by bad people to do bad things. And it's right to have that discussion. But I'm humbled to see how it's been used for good over the last 24 hours.
But worry not my faithful followers, I promised that I would blog about the people I contacted last week and so I shall.
I wrote to the first five people on my friends list. One got back to me. That's right. One. The other four have their reasons and they are all good. When they do write back, rest assured you will hear all about it. In the meantime I would like to say to that Facebook friend; thank you for getting back to me. It was lovely to hear from you. I'm glad your dog, Mr. Sizzle has had his chakras realigned and I hope his job interviews are going well.
Until next week.
Tuesday, 2 August 2011
Chapter Number B: The Adventure Begins To Continue...
Imagine if you will the great adventures of all time.
Luke Skywalker stumbles upon a plea for help from a beautiful Princess. He hooks up with a crazy old wizard and... does nothing.
He puts old Ben Kenobi on a Megabus to Mos Eisley and spends the rest of life on his Uncle’s farm eventually getting caught in a compromising position with an R2 unit after drinking too much blue milk on New Years Eve.
Or take King Arthur. Fulfilling the prophesies of Merlin he draws the sword Excalibur from the stone and proclaims himself the once and future King of Britain.
He then sells Excalibur on ebay to a guy called Loverman22 and uses the money to go back packing around Thailand, comes back and gets a job in marketing.
It just doesn’t fit does it?
This is the situation I now find myself in. A year ago I posted a blog pledging to contact one of my Facebook friends each day, make some kind of direct, personal connection with them and at the end of the week I would blog (humorously) about what I had discovered.
It was called... Face To Facebook.
The response within the online community was nothing short of mildly interested. I was poised on the verge of greatness. The blog would lead to a stage show in Edinburgh, that would in turn lead to a book, then a DVD, finally a movie with myself being played, naturally enough, by Robert Downey Jnr. I would then receive a Knighthood, eat a Mr Kipling’s cherry bakewell and go to bed. I was finally taking my life and my career in my hands – nothing, but nothing was gonna stop me now!
I managed to contact three friends before the whole thing fell apart.
What happened you ask? I’d like to blame the recession. I’d like to blame being made redundant from my job, the pressures of being an out of work actor, my budding stand up career (8 gigs and 6 laughs so far). I’d like to blame David Cameron’s B&Q Society.
I’d like to blame all of these things. But the truth is I’m a very lazy person and
I got distracted by watching Frasier. For a year.
My intention was to make some sort of statement about how we are plugged in 247 and yet we have never been more lonely. I realise now that my real motivation was the fact that nobody ever texts me.
Well never let it be said that I learn from my mistakes. Like a phoenix from the ashes or a re-booted Hulk movie I’m having one last shot at the big time.
I’ll start from scratch at the top and work my way down as promised. I promise not to cull anyone until my quest is complete. Get ready Facebook friends. It’s coming...
Luke Skywalker stumbles upon a plea for help from a beautiful Princess. He hooks up with a crazy old wizard and... does nothing.
He puts old Ben Kenobi on a Megabus to Mos Eisley and spends the rest of life on his Uncle’s farm eventually getting caught in a compromising position with an R2 unit after drinking too much blue milk on New Years Eve.
Or take King Arthur. Fulfilling the prophesies of Merlin he draws the sword Excalibur from the stone and proclaims himself the once and future King of Britain.
He then sells Excalibur on ebay to a guy called Loverman22 and uses the money to go back packing around Thailand, comes back and gets a job in marketing.
It just doesn’t fit does it?
This is the situation I now find myself in. A year ago I posted a blog pledging to contact one of my Facebook friends each day, make some kind of direct, personal connection with them and at the end of the week I would blog (humorously) about what I had discovered.
It was called... Face To Facebook.
The response within the online community was nothing short of mildly interested. I was poised on the verge of greatness. The blog would lead to a stage show in Edinburgh, that would in turn lead to a book, then a DVD, finally a movie with myself being played, naturally enough, by Robert Downey Jnr. I would then receive a Knighthood, eat a Mr Kipling’s cherry bakewell and go to bed. I was finally taking my life and my career in my hands – nothing, but nothing was gonna stop me now!
I managed to contact three friends before the whole thing fell apart.
What happened you ask? I’d like to blame the recession. I’d like to blame being made redundant from my job, the pressures of being an out of work actor, my budding stand up career (8 gigs and 6 laughs so far). I’d like to blame David Cameron’s B&Q Society.
I’d like to blame all of these things. But the truth is I’m a very lazy person and
I got distracted by watching Frasier. For a year.
My intention was to make some sort of statement about how we are plugged in 247 and yet we have never been more lonely. I realise now that my real motivation was the fact that nobody ever texts me.
Well never let it be said that I learn from my mistakes. Like a phoenix from the ashes or a re-booted Hulk movie I’m having one last shot at the big time.
I’ll start from scratch at the top and work my way down as promised. I promise not to cull anyone until my quest is complete. Get ready Facebook friends. It’s coming...
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Chapter The First: Our Journey Begins
THE WHY:
“Don’t you think this idea is a bit, you know… bollocks?”
This is the girlfriend. This is bad.
Not that the girlfriend has to like an idea for it to be a good one, but in three years she’s never been wrong. Maybe this is a crap idea. So why can’t I let it go?
Facebook. It’s all the fault of Facebook.
When it comes to Facebook people fall into three camps. There are those who hate it. They think its a boring, self serving, morally questionable threat to privacy and personal data. They are of course completely right. There are those who love it. Really, really love it. You know them. They’re the ones suggesting you adopt a virtual cow, list your top ten pizza toppings or horror of all horrors, come and see them perform Ibsen in a dank toilet theatre above, below or indeed behind a pub
Now me, I fall into the third camp. I simply accept whatever technological development comes along, fill in the requisite forms and I'm away. Why? Simple. I've always been worried that everyone else is having a better time than I am. Facebook can't fix that, but it can at least let me know when and where that better time is being had and give me the option of clicking "maybe" on the RSVP.
But lately I've been yearning for more. Like all relationships, Facebook three and half years in has lost some of its sparkle. I don’t want Facebook to just sit there like unloving shrewish wife - I want it to do something!
The truth is that I've been feeling very disconnected of late. I have brilliant friends but I hardly ever get to see them (no doubt the fault of the Tory government) and as I ease into my thirties everything seems much less spontaneous than it used to. It's hard to meet now. We have to text, email, confirm, reconfirm and then probably cancel.
When did it get so complicated? When I was 15 my mate Martyn used to wait outside my house every day after school. I hated it, but you've got to admire the simplicity of his plan.
It's my fault. I'm crap at texting and loathe talking on the phone. I'm antisocial and always have been. This never used to be a problem, but finally people have cottoned on. They’ve stopped calling and texting because they know I’ll be too busy watching a DVD box set and eating crisps.
So there they sit. My Facebook friends. All 383 of them. Let's face it, I haven't got a clue who half of them are.
So why have them? Why keep them? Why not just cull most of them and save the 20 (okay 4) people I actually get on with?
I could, but I won’t.
I'm not going to give up on my 383 friends. Oh no. I'm going to do something much worse. I'm going to get in touch with them.
THE WHAT:
Starting at the top of the list I am going to contact one Facebook friend per day and by God I'm going to make a connection.
One by one, day by day, I will work my way down the list until every single bloody one of them has been contacted.
I know what you’re thinking. Big deal. That’s why I have Facebook friends, to stay in touch with them.
But think about it for a second. How many of your Facebook friends do you actually communicate with? How many people have you added and then never thought of again?
Well no more. I am going on a voyage into the unknown, the undiscovered country, the unpoked multitude – and I’m taking you with me!
Each day I will contact one friend and at the end of the week I will blog about what happens. Who knows? I might even turn it into a stage show and perform it in a dank toilet theatre above, below or indeed behind a pub.
Keep your eyes peeled. You could be next…
“Don’t you think this idea is a bit, you know… bollocks?”
This is the girlfriend. This is bad.
Not that the girlfriend has to like an idea for it to be a good one, but in three years she’s never been wrong. Maybe this is a crap idea. So why can’t I let it go?
Facebook. It’s all the fault of Facebook.
When it comes to Facebook people fall into three camps. There are those who hate it. They think its a boring, self serving, morally questionable threat to privacy and personal data. They are of course completely right. There are those who love it. Really, really love it. You know them. They’re the ones suggesting you adopt a virtual cow, list your top ten pizza toppings or horror of all horrors, come and see them perform Ibsen in a dank toilet theatre above, below or indeed behind a pub
Now me, I fall into the third camp. I simply accept whatever technological development comes along, fill in the requisite forms and I'm away. Why? Simple. I've always been worried that everyone else is having a better time than I am. Facebook can't fix that, but it can at least let me know when and where that better time is being had and give me the option of clicking "maybe" on the RSVP.
But lately I've been yearning for more. Like all relationships, Facebook three and half years in has lost some of its sparkle. I don’t want Facebook to just sit there like unloving shrewish wife - I want it to do something!
The truth is that I've been feeling very disconnected of late. I have brilliant friends but I hardly ever get to see them (no doubt the fault of the Tory government) and as I ease into my thirties everything seems much less spontaneous than it used to. It's hard to meet now. We have to text, email, confirm, reconfirm and then probably cancel.
When did it get so complicated? When I was 15 my mate Martyn used to wait outside my house every day after school. I hated it, but you've got to admire the simplicity of his plan.
It's my fault. I'm crap at texting and loathe talking on the phone. I'm antisocial and always have been. This never used to be a problem, but finally people have cottoned on. They’ve stopped calling and texting because they know I’ll be too busy watching a DVD box set and eating crisps.
So there they sit. My Facebook friends. All 383 of them. Let's face it, I haven't got a clue who half of them are.
So why have them? Why keep them? Why not just cull most of them and save the 20 (okay 4) people I actually get on with?
I could, but I won’t.
I'm not going to give up on my 383 friends. Oh no. I'm going to do something much worse. I'm going to get in touch with them.
THE WHAT:
Starting at the top of the list I am going to contact one Facebook friend per day and by God I'm going to make a connection.
One by one, day by day, I will work my way down the list until every single bloody one of them has been contacted.
I know what you’re thinking. Big deal. That’s why I have Facebook friends, to stay in touch with them.
But think about it for a second. How many of your Facebook friends do you actually communicate with? How many people have you added and then never thought of again?
Well no more. I am going on a voyage into the unknown, the undiscovered country, the unpoked multitude – and I’m taking you with me!
Each day I will contact one friend and at the end of the week I will blog about what happens. Who knows? I might even turn it into a stage show and perform it in a dank toilet theatre above, below or indeed behind a pub.
Keep your eyes peeled. You could be next…
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