Blast(s) from the past

Melissa Stagnaro

A few months ago, I got strong armed into joining Facebook by one of my best friends. I’d always resisted setting up a profile on MySpace and all of those other social interaction sites, but Liz was very persuasive. (And not above resorting to bullying when it looked like she might not get her way.)

It didn’t take long for me to set up a quick profile, upload a suitably vague photo and fill in the required blanks with (what I thought were extraordinarily) witty responses. Before long I was flooded with “friend” requests and comments from long lost co-workers, distant family members, high school classmates and oh-so many college friends I’ve done a horrible job keeping in touch with. It’s been one blast from the past after another.

I have a notoriously poor track record when it comes to corresponding with even those most near and dear to me, but now I really have no excuse. I don’t even really have to take an active role in the process. I can just post my status (“Melissa is…trying to think of something interesting to blog about, unsuccessfully I might add.”) and then scroll through what everyone else is doing. All from the comfort of my very own profile page.

It’s what you make of it, of course. You can upload thousands of pictures and then “tag” your friends in them. (Liz likes to pick the most unattractive pictures she can possibly find, just to get a rise out of me), write on each other’s “wall,” send messages, etc.

Silly little forwards make the rounds, like the ones where you are forced to write 25 random things about yourself that no one really wants to know. You can join in on Mob Wars or poke people, all in good fun of course.

While I don’t spend nearly as much time on the site as some people I know, who get constant updates on their “Crack”berries as Liz calls hers, I can understand why it is more than a little addicting.

It’s all that catching up and thinking about “the good old days” for me.  It’s almost like little bits of our personal history get lost when we don’t talk to those people that played such a big part in our lives at one time or another. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed them, or those parts of me, until we got in touch again.