Josh Muggins's Blah Blah Blah


January 23, 2011

Adventures in Facebook

Not quite this ridiculously hot,
but this gives you some idea...

My Rolling Fella Bomber (which I have affectionately dubbed “Old Reliable”) got a workout last weekend after I stumbled across some fetching Facebook pictures of young women I had known years ago at NU. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

While I continue to resist the whole social media phenomenon in my Josh Muggins incarnation, it has inevitably wormed its way into my day job. The students in my two-year undergraduate seminar decided to launch a Facebook Japan account for our group. The student in charge, an early adaptor of Facebook Japan herself, seemed to know what she was doing so I left her to her own devices. Alas, instead of setting up an account to promote an organization, she mistakenly set up a personal account for someone named “Muggins Seminar.” As a result, Facebook addresses me as “Seminar-san” when the language setting is Japanese, and backslaps me with a jarringly familiar “Hey there, Muggins” in English mode.

Our account violates Facebook rules for personal accounts in that it is obviously not the account of a single person, so I have vowed to deactivate the thing pretty soon and thereafter maybe start over with the correct sort of page. But in the meantime, Seminar-san is getting friended two or three times a day, and I’m beginning to discover the appeal of this whole social media hoop-de-doo.

Indeed, nudging the door to Facebook open for the first time reminded me of that long winter night back in 1996 when I finally got the consarned external modem to yield a dialup connection to that Inter-web thing I'd been hearing tell of, and my theretofore boring Mac Color Classic was instantly transformed into a Magic Box capable of vomiting forth anything I could think to ask it for. At one point I looked at the clock and discovered that it was going on five a.m., but what did that matter when, right before my eyes, a field of blotchy, flesh-colored cubes was slowwwwwly but surely resolving itself into an authentic full-frontal nude picture of Sandra Bullock?? (It wasn’t, of course, but when you’ve been in full-on Magic-Box mode for seven straight hours, you’ll believe whatever you want to believe.)

Gaining access to the Facebook universe wasn’t quite as enthralling as my first night on the Internet, but it produced the same species of tingle. Practically the first thing I did after activating the page was to root around for former romantic partners or old-time objects of lust. (Creepy? Perhaps, but remember Jesus's excellent advice about casting first stones.) My primary targets were the Japanese chicks who attended my former employer, NU, during the period that I recounted in How To Pick Up Japanese Chicks and Doom Your Immortal Soul.

Of course I tried to find “Princess Michiko,” the dominant character of the final third of that opus. I doubt that any reader could begrudge me that. I failed; I looked for and found a few of her friends; I scrolled through all the “friends” of those friends in hopes of finding her under a different surname; and kept this up until that thirty-minute buzzer that signals the moment when idle curiosity segues into cyber-stalking sounded in my head. Then I switched to “Ayana,” another prominent figure in the book, whom I found at once. I was sort of sorry to see that she remains single, but she looked great.

But not great enough to hold my interest for long. I moved on and soon hit the jackpot in the form of two former students, whose participation in US exchange programs I had facilitated nearly a decade ago. On each of there pages was a treasure-trove of photos, some taken with each other and some with other blast-from-the-past oldie-but-goodie fantasy hit-parade regulars.

One of these women, whom I’ll call Chisako, had posted a series of pictures from a 2010 Halloween party featuring her as a Native American maiden replete with feather jutting out of her hair. The costume was not overtly sexy or revealing, but, well, there is such a je ne sais quoi about Chisako that…anyway, suffice it to say that that’s when Fella Bomber met Facebook.

I would like to suggest to Facebook that they need to place a new link below photos. The current options—“like” and “comment”—really do not suffice in the instance of finding one’s adored former student decked out as a charming Indian maiden. There really needs to be a “gives me a raging boner—one of those nagging, toothache-like boners that throttles the mind and won’t let go of it until gonadic release is achieved, preferably by means of a Rolling Fella Bomber” link. I mean, really, isn’t this what Facebook is all about? I have yet to see the recent movie about the site’s creation or to read the book on which that movie is based, but I don’t have to do those things to know the raison detre of Facebook: in a single phrase, it’s Old Acquaintance Porn. And that is so much more effective than the original kind. I may not bother to renew my Videobox subscription.

Back to Chisako: In the afterglow of my Fella Bomber session, I succumbed to an even viler temptation and friended her. I should take a step back here and note that, when I set out on my quest, I had vowed not to friend or poke or otherwise alarm any old NU girls. I was simply on a fact-finding mission, I assured myself. But then I broke down and friended Chisako, and she in turn confirmed me (i.e., “Seminar-san”) the next morning. And may God have mercy on our souls.

I suppose it would be demeaning of me—not to mention superfluous—to point out that these young women, whom I had known when they were 18 to 20 years old, “still hold up.” They’re only around 27 now, for heaven's sake, and they are, after all, Japanese chicks. (At least, they still qualify as chicks in my book, and let us not forget that I am the person who literally wrote the book on Japanese chicks.) Japanese females are the sequoias of the human race: majestic, inspiring, and destined to outlive us all. That said, I can’t honestly say that I’ve ever felt compelled to strip below the waist and pleasure myself while scanning online pictures of sequoias. But that’s just me. There are all kinds of freaks out there, as you well know. Perhaps the expression “getting some wood” was coined by sequoia fetishists.

This post stopped making any sense about 3.4729 paragraphs ago, so I think it’s high time to put the thing out of its misery. In other news, I’ll be launching my third book—Wussie: In Praise of Spineless Men—in the very near future, in Kindle ebook format only. It's imminent, I tell you: as imminent as the death of Bob Dole. Which reminds me: I'll have to re-do the About page when the time comes, won't I...Stay tuned for updates.