Now that all Joyceland beavers have been combed, clipped, dyed, trimmed, or taken to Brazil we’re feeling much more ready to tackle the day. Some GrannyJoyces informed us that they have no upkeep on their beaver at all—one day, at a ripe old age, their beaver just up and disappeared. What would The Gray Beaver Club have to say about that? Good riddance? Go buy a beaver wig? You decide.
Non-doing, escaping to Joyceland, and just enjoying life can be as time consuming and fulfilling as heading up a merger or acquisition. For example, it takes time and energy to keep the beav looking pretty and it’s important, too.
Lately we’ve been reading about the whole social networking frenzy and we have to say that it’s very anti-Joyce. Joyce doesn’t even own a computer. She and PamJoyce have been known to announce loudly at parties, “The computer is a fad. Get over it.” Joyce thinks that sitting at the computer reading people’s tweets or friending someone on Facebook is absolute insanity when you could be Petula Clarking it (call me!) or chatting in person. We think Joyce may be on to something–although we’ve told her to simmer down or she may pop a leg vein.
Last week The New York Times shared the story of a sixty something lady who was becoming depressed after spending time on Facebook. The FB friendships were mostly virtual and not very fulfilling. And as she read what her virtual “friends” were doing she began to feel like her life didn’t measure up. Her hubby hadn’t brought her flowers, her daughter hadn’t gotten the big promotion, she wasn’t loving her neighbors, and she wasn’t headed to Italy for a fabulous trip.
We discussed this topic the other day with BonJoyce over a lovely lunch, live and IN PERSON. We jump for joy over live and in person. It’s just so great to look at someone’s real face! BonJoyce and her husband JonJoyce (known together as JonBon Joyce but not to be confused with Jon Bon Jovi) agreed that there is something not very authentic about letting our fingers do all the talking. Even Stephen King has noticed what’s happened to our relationships and has written a new novel where the characters turn into murderous zombies because of pulses transmitted to them through their cell phones. Jeepers Joyce creepers!
So what are we going to do about all this meaningless online chatter? Wouldn’t you rather attend a beaver trimming party with your BFF’s as opposed to sitting home alone reading a virtual friend’s latest tweet stating that she’s married to the most fabulous man on the planet? (Pssst—we’ve met him at parties—and he’s not really that great, but we’re not going to burst her bubble by saying so. If she’s tweeting to the world that he’s fab, let her keep dreaming. But we’re not buying what she’s selling.)
So let’s spell it out: wouldn’t it be more fun to play pin the beaver on the beaver (www.thegraybeaverclub.com) in person than virtually? Just some food for thought.
P.S. And no, Bon Jovi, we will not consider Bumpits for the beaver.