An excuse for actually socializing...

I recently reconnected with an old friend from high school on one of the now ubiquitous social networking sites. I hadn't heard from him in something like seven years, so it was interesting to catch up a bit. I was glad to hear that he's married now, although I was kind of sad to find out after the fact and from just looking at the profile he's got on the site. We had been very good friends, almost like brothers. So I'm kind of disappointed we lost touch. And I'm kind of disappointed to have missed out on meeting his girlfriend, then fiance, and the wedding. But, again, I'm very happy for him.
Still, it's a little strange. Like I said, we were very good friends back in the day, and when I say we "caught up" a bit, I really mean very little. There's just not a lot we have in common anymore. And I've got many other friends from school, acquaintances, girlfriends, people I used to know, with whom I have lost touch. Then when you reconnect, if you reconnect, it's always somewhat awkward. What do you talk about now? Our lives are different, our priorities, our interests, our experiences.
"So, what have you been up to?" is about the extent of the conversation. Once the pleasantries are over, so is the conversation. When you used to have hours' worth of material to talk about on a daily basis, things other people did, classes you had together, homework assignments you worked on with your friend or copied from your friend, girls you admired and desired, it seemed it was much easier to be "friends." The commonality of mutual experiences drove our friendships and sustained our brotherhood. Now their lives and mine have diverged. Now these are just "people I used to know."
But that's life, I guess. People go their separate ways. I knew there was a reason Journey gave their song that title...

The Funny One...

I was at a festival this past weekend and my friend was telling me about how much the ladies love my brother. I realize he is a more attractive dude than me, but it was still kind of unfortunate for my admittedly fragile ego.
He makes out with lots of drunk girls, apparently. I do not, and never have. Although, that could be partly because I find sloppy drunk highly unattractive, even if I too have been drinking. But it's probably mostly because I tend to go unnoticed, even amongst the girls wearing their beer-goggles. Just as an aside, I find that euphemism somewhat annoying and rather sophomoric. But that is beside the point, although somewhat curious, as I also enjoy watching reruns of Two and a Half Men on occasion, which, too, is annoying and sophomoric.
I suppose my invisibility, as it were, could be an asset. Perhaps my true calling ought to be in clandestine services. Perhaps I ought to become a spy for the CIA. Anonymity and the ability to evade notice is likely extremely helpful when transporting state secrets.
Anyway, while we were conversing about my brother's exploits, I mentioned that I often play the role of "the funny one" to no reaction, indicating that, yes, I am "the funny one." Not "the good looking one," which I never expect, to be honest, or "the cute in a dorky kind of way one" or even "the brooding yet mysterious one" which would still be fun. No, I'm "the funny one." Being funny has long been a method of compensation for being ugly. That, and being rich. That's why you see very few attractive comedians, but very many ugly ones.
Well, at least I'll stay funny as I get older. Attractive people get less attractive as they get older. Looks fade, man, but a snappy off-the-cuff one-liner never gets old.