“the beauty and challenge of facebook” by Julia at her desk

Sunday February 18, 2018
9:40pm
5 minutes
Multitudes
Margaret Christakos

Earlier today I was on Facebook deleting all the people who I no longer want to have access to my life. You don’t get to see what I’m up to if you’ve been a bad friend. Or not a friend at all. It isn’t your right! I decide, okay? I’m getting heated up forof a myriad of reasons. Sometimes it feels like the whole damn world is watching. Sometimes I want to be left alone. Tina and Guy send messages from each other’s accounts and that drives me up the wall. Speaking of walls, I don’t need some stranger commenting on a conversation I’m having with my sister’s boyfriend. I don’t need to be having conversations at all on Facebook but I’m on it and that’s that. I don’t want to miss anything. My brother posts videos of his kids in the pumpkin patch. I don’t want to miss my mom accidentally telling me she misses me on my profile picutre. But I don’t want the people who don’t deserve my time to witness my activities. If they can’t be in my life, they shouldn’t get to see it. I don’t just post all the best stuff either so it’s really, really my life.

“the beauty and challenge of facebook” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday February 18, 2018
8:02am
5 minutes
Multitudes
Margaret Christakos

I fucking hate Facebook. I think it’s all posturing and must-be-seen-as and “come see my show!” BARF and “this is how beautiful I am this is how talented I am this is how political I am this is now armchair activist I am!” I fucking HATE Facebook. I wonder how many hours, as a society, we waste zooming in on the face of someone we went to kindergarten with, someone we made out with once, someone we forget how we know but damnnnn their baby is cute. I fucking HATE Facebook. But I spend hours on it. Every. Single. Day. Especially when I’m trying to avoid the gym, or crossfit, or my best friend who just went through a breakup and “needs to talk RIGHT NOW.”

“Now that I’m free from any such shackles” By Julia at her desk


Monday March 6, 2017
10:18pm
5 minutes
davidsilverberg.ca

Of course he asks what I’m working on the moment I leave my work to check my Facebok account.
“Nothing really,” I tell him, because saying, “well, I was working on my novel, and before that the pitch for my television show, and before that I was busy securing some income so I was working on that” just sounds like an excuse train. In this very moment, no, I am not doing anything, and at least in this very moment, not doing anything means also not lying. I don’t need Facebook although I tell myself I do. It’s filled with opinions and videos of cats and maybe some event information that otherwise NOBODY would e-mail out. It’s filled with endless scrolling down the lives of others who are also not doing anything right this moment because they are on Facebook too and have posted an article to their wall to make it seem like they are working very very hard.
I imagine him giving me a pittying smile and saying, “oh, yeah, of course you are” with a snide undertown of prentiousness since he’s already been off Facebook for a month and a half. He doesn’t smile at all. He says nothing.

“has been hurt on the job” by Julia in her bed


Monday October 17, 2016
11:51pm
5 minutes
from a Facebook post

My cousin Matthew missed the Family Picnic that we started calling “The Reunion” even though it was really just a regular get together only with meals starting at 10am instead of 2. Italians love starting meals at 2pm. He missed it because he was in an accident at work and got a piece of led in his eye or something equally as dramatic. He would have liked to be there. He said he looks forward to the hour drive every summer, even if it’s raining. Matthew couldn’t even open his eye for a whole week. He had a very good excuse to miss the bocce ball and the badminton and the group photos and the cute little videos we make for the family members who also really wanted to be there but couldn’t because of very good excuses. We should have made one for Matthew. I’ll tell him we owe him one.

“nasal congestion” by Sasha outside of Banyan Books


Friday, June 25, 2015 outside of Banyan Books
11:41am
5 minutes
NETI: Healing Secrets of Yoga and Ayurveda


You’re ready. You’ve got a bottle of Grapefruit Perrier and a small bag of peanut M & M’s, poured into a pink teacup because you’re classy like that. You even blew your nose so that all your senses could be in their most tip top shape. You turn up your screen brightness and adjust the volume just in case there’s any video content. You know your route, your map, your lily pad path on which you’ll jump. You’ll hit up exactly two ex-boyfriends, but that’s just the warm-up, like a quad stretch or a neck roll. Then, you’re ready for the big leagues. The Ladies. First, the ex-girlfriend of an ex-fuck buddy. She’s so political. She’s so colourful and always has impeccable, stylish but not too stylish haircuts. She’s vegan. You eat exactly twelve M & M’s on her pages (Facebook settings are private, so quick! On to Twitter and Tumblr!), and then feel guilty and dump the rest in the compost. Next, the sister of your best friend from grade three. She’s a violinist. She’s in a band. She blogs while they’re on tour and one time you definitely had sex with the drummer so it’s a nice way to keep tabs! No! Big! Deal! You feel shitty about the fact that you called him drunk two years after sleeping with him ONCE and try to fish the M & M’s out of the compost. #FAIL

“a divorce lawyer” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday June 8, 2014
11:41pm
5 minutes
Humans of New York post

I get home, late, from work. I eat a rice cake with goat cheese and avocado, my go-to late night snack. (How many calories? How bad is it, really, to eat before bed? Where does that energy go?) I open my laptop, the zombie glow. I search his name on Facebook, unfriended when we ended, you know how it goes. But I still listen to his band sometimes, streaming it on CBC. But I still… I search his name and I get that rush of naughtiness, of wonder, of mystery, of “am I the one that got away for him?” Probably not. Probably he’s glad that he ended it because… If I were skinny this would all be different.

He’s bartending at a restaurant in my old neighbourhood. He’s doing podcasts. He’s… I scroll and look and feel like I’m eating a big chocolate bar, a good one, fair trade. Why do I even care? He was an ass to me, at the end. Not calling and me wondering and waiting, so patient, so fucking patient with the assholes and never patient with the loves. Punishing the love for the assholes. Punishing the love for the father.

I slam my laptop closed. I eat my rice cake. I think about how I need to get a bikini wax because it’s shorts season. I think about moving across the country and how I don’t know if it really is that good of an idea. I think about watering the cactus.

“#PRACTICE” by Sasha at Fresh on Bloor


Tuesday, February 25, 2014 at Fresh on Bloor
5:13pm
5 minutes
The Dentyne Ice Subway Poster

She annoys herself with her recycled thoughts. She’s had them since the time before hashtags, since the time before a thumbs up meant a thumbs up and not a “like”. She goes to the mirror and tries to get out the blackhead that’s been annoying her since last night, when she spent approximately thirty seven minutes picking at herself. Poor face. She hears her mother’s voice, “use a q-tip or you’ll scar!” She doesn’t care so much about the scars you can see, more about the scars you can’t. “Practice love,” she hears the voice in her ear-buds. “Practice healing.” She’s annoyed at this voice, this coo-ing, goo-ing voice. She’s unsure of gender or time of day, she’s unsure of origin. She hates this voice. She throws her iPod onto the floor. “Practice patience,” she hears, tinny, trying to reach her, trying to grab her, trying to pull her back.

“I can’t even go on Facebook today” by Sasha in the Alberta Theatre Projects Rehearsal Hall


Wednesday, July 10, 2013
7:14pm
5 minutes
Overheard by Sasha in the rehearsal hall

She couldn’t believe that you did it over text message. “Hey V, this isn’t working. I’m sorry. B” She couldn’t believe that you didn’t even take the time to write her full name. She called you thirty nine times, never leaving a message, but waiting til the voicemail kicked in so that you’d have to delete, you’d have to spend time thinking about what you’d done. She sent you a single e-mail. It read: “You are the absolute worst.” She didn’t sign off. She didn’t fill in the subject line.

She’s been playing this game. She’s been seeing how many Pringles she can fit into her mouth at once. She asked me to change her Facebook password because she can’t go on. She’ll creep you. She’ll look at and maybe even download every picture that you’re tagged in. She won’t be able to resist Liking your status from a couple of weeks ago that involved a hike in the hills and her beautiful sunburn.

“nor are we talking about thousands” by Sasha at R Squared


Monday, March 11, 2013 at R Squared
11:20am
5 minutes
The War Within (The New Yorker)
Jon Lee Anderson


I’ve got a tickle in my throat, a wish on my lips, a secret in my ear, and a pound in my heart. I’ve got two subway tokens, six hundred dollars in my bank account, a ten ounce Striploin defrosting on the counter, and a message from you, from twelve years ago, on my answering machine. I’ve got one bachelor apartment, one mistake that haunts my walks by the water, two hunded and fifteen Facebook friends, and a sticky note on the mirror in my bathroom that reads, ‘Floss your damn teeth’. I’ve got an appointment at the gynaecologist on Wednesday, night school on Friday, lunch with Talulah Jasmine today…