All Together Now

One of the best things about having friends who have known you forever is that they remind you that you used to have a life before the life you live now.

My friends from college are a wonderful group of people; like, literally, they spoiled me for all other friendships later in life.  We’re a fluid bunch – we all had other friendships and groups we hung out with – but there is a core set and after we graduated in 2004, we kept saying we needed to get together. Through weddings, a funeral, a class reunion, and a few random vacations here and there, all of us have seen all of the others at some point over the years, but it wasn’t until a wedding last year that every one of us was in the same place at the same time.  But with some of us in the wedding party and some of us not, we didn’t get to spend much time together…which is why this past weekend, we finally convened in Austin, Texas, expressly for the purpose of hanging out.

Highlights:

Thursday night, Megan picked me up from the airport and we headed into Austin to grab a (late) bite to eat on Sixth Street.  After discovering that the kitchens were closed for most of the restaurants in town, we found ourselves in a touristy bar where the bartender mostly ignored us in favor of girls who were younger than us and did not have the dazed look of people who are usually long in bed by that hour.

Megan:  "He didn’t even card us."
Becky:  "This place is terrible."

Then we headed back to the airport to pick up Crystal.

Becky:  "Oh, it looks like you have a missed call from Crystal."
Megan:  "I didn’t even hear it ring."
Becky:  "Me, neither."

*phone rings*

Becky tries to hand the phone to Megan.
Becky:  "I don’t know what’s going on!  I don’t know how to answer your phone!"
Megan (exasperated):  "Becky, that’s your phone."

Friday we slept in and then took an ambling walking tour of San Marcos, where Megan lives, including a scenic stroll near the river.  Lunch was at a sandwich place and afterward we headed back to Meg’s where, within ninety seconds of us walking in the door, it started to downpour torrentially. It never rains like that in Austin, of course.  Ever.  Except the last time I was in Austin, back in 2009.  It rained like that then.  I think that was maybe the only other time in the history of the world it rained in Austin like God hates Texans.

The rain made our trip to the grocery store interesting (Megan, Crystal, and I managed to get wet enough to drip all over the store in the three seconds it took us to run inside) and then we headed out to the house in Wimberley where we were staying for the weekend to drop off our groceries and bags.

Greta, who was already in town, was staying with another friend of hers, so we picked her up on the way to the airport to collect the final amigo, Kathryn.  And I say all this like we just zipped into the city and loaded the car with more people but, in reality, the city of Austin has the worst traffic of any place on the planet, so our trip involved three hours of sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Megan was going to rent a car at the airport because…well, it’s not important to the story to explain it all…but she was going to rent a car except she couldn’t because the people at National thought she was going to steal it.  Or something.  So Greta had to rent it.  And with the rain and the traffic and the National Rent-a-Car debacle, we were all terribly exhausted, but found solace in eating our weight in pizza and drinking pitchers of beer.

Greta:  "Are you keeping a quoteboard for this weekend?"
Becky:  "Obviously!"

Except I didn’t keep a quoteboard.  The only things I wrote down the entire weekend were, “Just go to the rocks!” (which, out of sheer self-preservation, I can’t bring myself to explain publicly) and the conversation topic Hipsters:  En Masse vs. On Their Own (the consensus was that solo hipsters are the more tolerable variant; feel free to disagree in the comments).

This represents an awfully poor showing in quote-recording on my part.

:(

Saturday it was still raining, so I did my best to sell everyone on the OBVIOUS MOVIE CHOICE, HELLO, FAST AND FURIOUS 6 STARRING DREAMBOAT PAUL WALKER.  But then that didn’t happen, mostly because the only available seats were in the front row, but also maybe a little because I think Greta and Megan would have rather forcibly removed their fingernails with pliers than sit through this movie.  (I WILL SEE IT SOON AND I WILL LOVE IT.)

Instead, we walked around the city during a well-timed and much-appreciated break in the rain.  We had mimosas with lunch and, as the rain was still holding off, we went into some stores, like Anthropologie, which I only ever go in when I’m on vacation.  (I, personally, don’t wear clothes from Anthropologie, but every single person I’m friends with and go on vacation with would wear anything in Anthropologie and that’s why I have been in a billion different Anthropologie stores.)

Back at the house, we settled in to a night of drinking Greta’s fabulous margaritas and eating the delicious enchiladas that Meg made for us.  In between swapping stories…

Kathryn:  "I helped them move in together!"
Crystal:  *gasp* "What?!  How did I not know this?!"

…and deconstructing our lives…

Greta:  "I don’t know how much is her not knowing and how much is her knowing and covering for him."

…we watched the Grizzlies lose, which was sad, but not nearly as sad as me trying to explain the nine friends on your Facebook Timeline when I was four or five drinks in.

Becky:  "These are your nine except it doesn’t matter because what I see is different than the nine you see, and shit, I’m doing this all wrong!"

(Dear Everyone Who Has Read That Entry, I am so sorry for the shame I did our collective interest there.)

I had to be up super-early the next day so Meg could take me to the airport, so off to bed I went.

And that was that.  Everyone else had another great day together, but I had my date with Sir Paul.

What we didn’t do was post what we were doing on Facebook.  Facebook is, after all, the internet’s great experiment in making other people jealous, and none of us wanted our weekend together tainted by fears that someone was going to feel left out.  The lack of broadcasting made it much more intimate.  This wasn’t about sharing our fun times with the world (er, this entry notwithstanding), but about spending time with people purely for the sake of spending time with people.

And when I came home, I felt restored, as if a part of me that I didn't know was lacking nourishment had been fed, and that ties into what I said at the beginning about being reminded that your life has more scope than your present circumstances.

I'm already looking forward to the next time!  And maybe now that we've actually pulled it off once, it won't take us the better part of a decade to make it happen again.

:)

Paul McCartney, Memphis, May 26, 2013

If last time was a pilgrimage then this time was a homecoming.  It was a homecoming because this was the first opportunity in twenty years for me to see Paul here in Memphis, and it was a homecoming because I literally had to come home for it – I left a group of my closest friends from college in Austin, Texas, to finish out our eight-years-in-the-making reunion weekend without me.  

I was parallel to the second row, six rows up on the right-hand side of the stage.  Right was where the piano was; it was also the side where Paul and the band entered and exited.  I was close enough to make eye contact (!) and, unlike those on the floor, high enough to look out over the entire crowd.  It was the best seat I’ve ever had for any major concert in my life, and all it took was $252-plus-fees, a rescheduled plane ticket, roughly a decade of battled experience working online ticketing systems, and two-thirds of my life in devotion to the man in question.

There are a lot of times when I feel little more than exhaustion from my compulsive inability to do anything half-assed, but in terms of Paul McCartney concert experiences, I’d say last night was proof positive that there comes a point at which there is equal repayment for what you put in.  It wasn’t good this time because I was floundering through life and needed an awakening (2010, Nashville), or because it was the first time I’d seen him in my adult life, (2002, Atlanta, two nights in a row), or because it was my introduction to the entire concept of concerts (1993, Memphis). 

It was good because instead of amping the surrealism, being that close made Paul McCartney seem like a real person.  Not an untouchable icon, not a symbol of personal or cultural significance, but a man who lives and breathes, and who has had an incredible life, yes - transforming society itself in ways immeasurable - but who is a human being, mortal, real, and corporeal.

He was just Paul to me last night, and I think that’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen on a concert stage – the person behind the persona. 

He mixes it up tour by tour, but there are things that stay the same year after year and knowing them,

not being distracted by the newness of much, there’s more time to observe.  Like the group of girls in front of me who couldn’t have been older than fourteen but knew every single word to every single song.  Like the family behind me who had someone take multiple pictures of them because the kids thought this was “so much better than going to the lake!”  Like the way the crowd collectively said “awww” at the opening notes to “And I Love Her.”  Like the way Paul nimbly ran up the stairs to the stage for both of his encores even as my own legs were killing me just from standing.

“All Together Now.”  “Lovely Rita.”  “Hi Hi Hi.”  Feeling the heat of “Live and Let Die.”  Seeing myself (briefly) on the monitor during “Hey Jude.”  “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!”  Still turning around at the end of “Something” to pay respects to George (always).  “Maybe I’m Amazed” replacing “My Love.”  “I’ve Just Seen a Face.”  “Junior’s Farm.”  “Your Mother Should Know.”  Three hours.  Close to forty songs.  Eighteen thousand people screaming along with me. 

I will remember an arena filled with happiness.  I will remember thinking not a single person had a better seat in the house. 

And I will remember thinking about that eleven-year-old girl who saw him the last time he was in Memphis, whose parents got up early to wait in line at Cat’s Music to pay $32.50 a piece for three floor seats at the Liberty Bowl.  The whole world has changed since then…

…but somehow this hasn’t.  And maybe that’s why last night felt so much like home.  Two decades later, he’s still redefining the standards, still putting on the best damn show I’ve ever seen.  What a night. 

What a concert.

Picture of Paul on stage from The Commercial Appeal.

Short and Sweet

When I read that Justin Timberlake once locked himself in his room and listened to “Bohemian Rhapsody” for forty-eight hours straight, it made me feel better about my own compulsive musical tendencies.  Like the way I’ve spent the past three weeks listening to nothing but Maroon 5’s Hands All Over album from 2010.  Why?  Why now?  I have no idea.  I just can’t seem to get sick of it.

Aside from bingeing on Adam Levine’s voice, also on my agenda is a trip to Austin on Thursday to visit some friends from college, and a Paul McCartney concert back here in Memphis on Sunday evening.  It might be a little while, then, before the next substantial blog entry…

Until then!  (Until then, I'm sure the commenters on the previous post will keep you entertained.  I can't follow what they're talking about half the time, but I remain fascinated.)

Nine Friends on Timeline: Stalkers, Crushes, and Where Those Nine Come From

11/12/2013 UPDATE:  NEW POST!  The algorithm has changed, as of November 2013.  The most recent theories can now be found HERE. 

Well, well, it's been quite a discussion over on the first post covering this topic - so much so that I thought, for ease of information access, it was time to summarize our observations and theories regarding Facebook's nine friends box on the new, updated Timeline.

What we know for sure right now:  

1.  The only reason anyone is interested in this subject is because they want to know if their crush is stalking them.  (No judgment here; that is precisely the reason I became interested in Facebook friend selection long ago.)

2.  Sorry, you can't tell if your crush is stalking you.

(I know, I know, we've had a few anomalous reports that suggest otherwise, but I'm going to walk us through it and discuss confirmation bias along the way.)

One thing that cannot be denied is that the algorithm that Facebook uses to determine the nine profiles that show up on a person's Timeline is complicated, enough so that there is no clear-cut, across-the-board, definitive methodology to determining who will show up on your list and who won't.

But there are a few things that are unquestionably influential.

- People listed as "close friends" will get priority ranking.  Conversely, people listed as "acquaintances" will not show up in your nine.

- People listed as "family members" will also be prioritized, though how, exactly, these people are filtered in and out remains a mystery.

- For everyone else in your nine, your interactions are the primary (though we can't conclusively say sole) determinant of positioning.

And perhaps most importantly of all...

- Facebook has a memory.

***

I will fall on the sword of dignity here and offer my own case as an example.  A couple of years ago, I became friends with a guy I had a crush on and I stalked him.  Hard.  I went through every damn picture on that poor boy's page.  Hell, I'd be surprised if he didn't feel physically violated by the things I did to his profile.

Then one day (this was the pre-Timeline era, by the way), I was luxuriously relaxing my way through a nice morning of stalking when I noticed my picture on the side of his profile; I was one of the twenty friends that rotated with each refresh over on the left of his page.  Hmmm, I thought, that's interesting.  The next day, out of curiosity, I checked again, and lo and behold, I was still there.  And then again the next day.  And on the fourth day, OH MY GOD, I WAS THERE BECAUSE I WAS STALKING HIM AND FACEBOOK KNEW IT AND HE PROBABLY DID, TOO.

After coming close to dying of embarrassment, and then quickly recovering because I realized I didn't care (I have no shame), I started researching the subject, and made note that he was in my twenty as often as I was in his.  Was this because he was stalking me, too?  Or was my activity alone responsible?  I never got a chance to dig very deep because Timeline happened.  And then he started dating someone else.  And then I stopped stalking him.

But he never left my profile.  He stayed right there in my Top 25 (see this entry).  For months.

Much as my ego would like to think that he was secretly Facebook-pining for me despite being happily ensconced in his new relationship, I theorized that it was far, far more likely that he stayed in my Top 25 because I had done such a bang-up job indicating my interest in him to Facebook on the front end that it was going to be a very long time before anyone caught up to him.

I use this example because it mirrors what many of you have reported back to me:  people that you used to stalk have been sticking around in unusually high places in your friends rankings even after months - in some cases close to a year - of non-activity on your part.  You've also been experimenting with stalking and/or messaging/commenting with people you never interact with to see if you can get them to show up in your nine, and for the most part, those people do eventually make an appearance, but they're often low on the list and usually quickly replaced.

Zuckerberg never forgets.

What does this mean?  It seems to mean that Facebook is basing its rankings on a very long time scale of your activity.

And your activity can be hard for you to be an impartial judge of, which is where confirmation bias comes into play.  You may think you're keeping your hands clean, but every move you make on Facebook is tracked.  It's not just writing on a person's wall or sending them a message.  Every time you click on a picture in your newsfeed, that counts as an “interaction.”  So does clicking on a posted link. And hovering your cursor over their name in the mini-feed. And yes, visiting their profile. All of that counts.

I say this because, from personal experience, it can be tempting to think you're seeing something that must be the result of someone else's behavior when, in reality, what you may actually be seeing is the result of a click (or two, or twelve) that you forgot about...

***

We have had at least one example of someone (via a planned experiment) moving up in someone's nine after a single profile view after a period of inactivity.  However, this person was already in the nine...

We have also had confirmation of someone admitting to stalking someone but being nowhere near her nine.  (Also, I know of people who stalk me [they often give themselves away by creepily referencing things to me in person that are deeply buried in my profile] and none of them have touched my nine.)

And what does that mean?  It seems to mean that mutual activity plays a role, but your activity matters much more than anyone else's. 

For those looking to dig a little deeper, there are other places to find rankings of your Facebook friends.  One is this bookmarklet (which, warning, only works for profiles with Graph Search), a somewhat sobering numerical representation of your Facebook activity.  (Interestingly, people you aren't friends with, but whose profiles you visit, are ranked alongside your friends.)

And then there is the PiliApp ranking, which may (or may not) be the same as your chat list.

Both appear to be independent of the nine.

IN CONCLUSION, the nine friends on your Facebook Timeline are your close friends, your family members, the people you interact with the most, and the people you stalk (or at least used to).  And the major common denominator is that it's you driving these classifications. 

Please feel free to refute me if you have conflicting evidence!  I hope the conversation continues...in fact, complicated as it all appears to be on the surface, if this is really something that I can sum up in a single blog entry then I'm going to be a little disappointed...

The Slider Inn

There are mornings when I wake up a little disoriented...with memories floating through my head that I'm not sure are real...and I know that sometime around noon, I'll start to feel like death warmed over...and I CANNOT.  STOP.  LAUGHING.

And that's when I know - I know - that it was a good night at the Slider Inn.

I'd rank the latest outing in the top five.  Full-on Twilight Zone-level weirdness.  The beauty of the Breakaway/Slider experience is that every once in a while, the stars align and it's not just that things don't happen the way I anticipate they might, it's that I couldn't anticipate what was going to happen because my capacity for imagination does not stretch that far.

I used last year's Cinco de Mayo pub crawl run as validation of my maturity.  I remember the pride I felt in leaving at 9:00 and walking away before I had too much to drink.

And I'm equally proud of myself for using this year's run to prove I can still be fucking idiot every once in a while.

Balance.  In order to find it, sometimes you have to test the extremes on either end.  And trust me when I say I have see the full spectrum at the Slider Inn.

Force of Nature

Occasionally, I will have an afternoon like my afternoon today, in which all I need to do gets done early and an open expanse of freedom lies before me.  Reading and movie-going rank at the top of my list of how I usually spend these afternoons, but every once in a while I like to mix it up, which is why today I decided (of all things) to go through my scores of old internet bookmarks and (of all things) visit a website that long ago was part of my daily routine but that I hadn't laid eyes on in years, and it was there that I discovered (of all things) that Jenna was publishing Force of Nature again.

Of all things.

***

It is not an exaggeration to say that the movie Brokeback Mountain changed my life.  Brokeback begat the Jake crush, and the Jake crush begat the involvement with Jake Watch, and the involvement with Jake Watch begat the book I'm Stalking Jake!, and the book I'm Stalking Jake! begat the adulthood I am currently living.

But before most of that begatting, there was just a movie that made my 24-year-old self pine with hopeless romanticism, and there was a whole wide world of fanfiction on the internet to give me the storybook ending that the film failed to deliver.  The very first Brokeback fanfiction story I ever read was a novel-length masterpiece (I don't use the word lightly) called Somebody New.  It picked up the story shortly before the movie ended and wove an entirely different outcome.

So successful was this story that the author immediately began working on its sequel, Force of Nature, and when I think of those early, early Jake days, before I was even writing for Jake Watch, I remember very vividly the thrill that flooded me every time I saw a new chapter of Force of Nature had been posted.  I would damn near wet myself.

But then there was some kind of legal issue and Force and Nature was abruptly halted.  And I was devastated.  And I wrote a sweeping defense of its power on MySpace (which I am sadly no longer able to link to), and I wrote extensive and mournful e-mails to my internet friends whom I used to discuss Brokeback Mountain fanfiction with.  I took heart in the author's public assurance that she would continue to write even if she wasn't able to publish the story online, but knowing it was out there and I couldn't read it made me ache in an unseemly and admittedly pathetic way.

I would have killed to read the rest of that story.

And what do you know?  Seven years later, thanks to a free afternoon, I now know that I can do just that.

***

Except I think we all know where I'm going with this.

I'm not going to read Force of Nature.

I have no doubt it remains as powerful and well-written as it was all those years ago, but...that's not me anymore.  I left Jack and Ennis behind long ago and while I wish them the best, I no longer have any need to know what happened to them.

How can something that had such a devastating grip on you fade away so quickly as to mean absolutely nothing in a few years' time?

I don't know.  But I think I needed that little reminder today - that the things that we think are so terribly important, the things that we invest so much emotional energy in, are often things that ultimately don't wind up mattering to us.

It's also a nice reminder that sometimes stories do live on.  Jenna didn't give up and here she is.  It took a while, but it turned out okay.

And for all I might find myself stressed over right now, I'm confident that okay is what it will be for me, too. :)

Becky's Top 3 Memphis in May Moments

I didn't think I was going to make it to the Memphis in May Beale Street Music Festival this year, but on Sunday, with the help of some canceled plans and a free ticket, there I was, ankle-deep in mud, listening to Public Enemy.  (Because when you think Becky Heineke, you think Flaava Flaaaaaaav.)

Public Enemy was the only act I saw this year (a Cinco de Mayo dinner lured me away from the music), and I hate to say it but there was something a little dull about a bunch of fifty-somethings yelling, "Don't believe the hype!" and immediately following it with, "Find us on Twitter!"  (Actual quote:  "That's F-L-A-V-O-R-F-L-A-V!")

No, this year was missing something...let me think...let me think...ME.  This year was missing me.

Here are some highlights from years past, in which I gave a little more to Music Fest, and Music Fest did its duty in meeting me halfway.

Becky's Top 3 Memphis in May Moments

3.  2007 - The Year I Wound Up on the Front Page of The Commercial Appeal

Megan was always skeptical that it was us in the picture, but I know the flyaways on the top of my head, and I also know exactly how far I dragged her into the crowd to see Sum 41.  At the time, I had Sum 41 listed on my MySpace profile as "one of my all-time favorite bands" (huh) and was so eager to see them that I told my best friend Kara, driving in for the weekend from Indiana, just to meet us at Music Fest because I couldn't be expected to risk missing them while waiting for her to roll into town.

During the show - which was one of the worst live performances I have ever seen in my life - we were surrounded by a sea of kids at least a decade younger than we were, and my white shirt wound up an innocent casualty to a nearby mud fight. The whole thing permanently undermined my loyalty to the crappy punk rock genre.

Upside?  Sum 41 made the front page of The Commercial Appeal the next day, and so did the top of my head: 

2.  2011 - The Year I Stalked Jake Gyllenhaal's Sorry Ass All Over This Damn City

Hard to believe that as little as two years ago I was still blogging about the Precious Moments-eyed boy-man that is Jake Gyllenhaal.  While touring with Mumford and Sons (Jake was a fan), he cruised into town with their stop at Music Fest, inspiring such a day of adventure and single-mindedness on my part that a man from Midtown Bike who rented Jake a bicycle still remembers me to this day, and referred to me as "that crazy girl" on Facebook not two months ago:

The full account of my stalking, which is practically novella-length, has been read over 2,500 times, which isn't terribly impressive respective to other things I've written about Jake, but it is one of my more riveting Memphis in May recaps.

Plus, bonus, the weekend gave the world this picture of me:

1.  2006 - The Year I Snubbed Little Richard to His Face

It's doubtful that anything will ever top this classic, which is why it rightfully lands here in the top spot.  While headed downtown, I was sitting at a stoplight when a pimped-out black Escalade, complete with gold rims, pulled up next to me.  The man in the passenger seat rolled down his window and tried to hand me two paperback books, along with an obviously photocopied "signed" photograph of Little Richard.

"Here's a personal gift from Little Richard!" said the man.

I took one look at the photocopied picture, rolled my eyes at him, and sneered, "I don't believe that that's real."  The light turned green, I pulled ahead, and...

...in my rear view mirror was the unmistakable sight of Little Richard, behind the wheel of the Escalade, laughing his ass off at me.

In disbelief, I slowed down, rolled down my window, and, as they drove by, the man in the passenger seat yelled, "I told you so!", Little Richard still cackling beside him.

***

Later, at Little Richard's concert, the man who had been in the car with him handed out books and pictures to the crowd, so I wound up with a copy of both.  The book was about Jesus and the picture (and signature) were, indeed, photocopied.

At the end of Public Enemy's set yesterday, Flavor Flav led the crowd in a nice feel-good rally about loving our fellow humans and extending peace to the world.  That resonated with me more strongly than the Jesus book...but the Jesus book wins on principle because of the personal hysteria I caused Little Richard over it.

And that's why Music Fest is better the years I actually put some effort into it.   

Because it's all about me.  Always.