140 words in previous sudden paragraph that dips you uppity into real life -- a slice of life. A slice of Saga Lundberg's life is a slab of gingerbread served thick with fresh whipped cream. “Gingerbread” reveals more about her than do her Facebook practices. In practice, she visits Facebook daily while trying to keep a low profile. She dusts her tracks. She limits access. If her Facebook friends were to visit in real life, she would not lose a day to loneliness. An endless roll of traipsers would come at odd hours to her living room, where she’d set a rug to wipe their feet: people she’d pick up at the airport from Ireland, Germany, the UK. They’d dine at nearby McCoy’s Public House. They’d politically digress.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Saga Lundberg checked her Facebook home page: Eleven eligible men advertising singleness -- “for the whole world to see” -- were not behind the times, were networking. Mistake in perception: married men on Facebook were not seeking out dames as well. Dames herselves were seeking? Connubial bliss. As described on Oprah. It begins in the perfect pair of blue jeans and moves from there to perfect abs. Perfect abs lead to the sunny sport of one-ups-man-ship: grabbing abs and opportunities. Manship is not a word in the dictionary of this word processor, but Facebook, capitalized, is. One-ups-man-ship desvío del saco. To be Serena Williams in tennis; to be Saga Lundberg in love. Saga -- who might believe the What Is Your Swedish Name? application might name a short story writer Saga? Believability the first yardstick in prejudicing us for make-believes.