Everybody must be "ON"!

Being "ON" all the time. I don't know about you guys, but I get so tired of all these pictures, videos, slides, videochats, videomails etc. And the TAGGING! People get insulted if you, courteously but firmly, ask them NOT to tag you in their photo without your permission. To me, tagging is the ultimate rude behavior in the digital age. Maybe the narcissists that tag everyone don't think that there are people who think differently and would rather not appear in shots that are unwanted, unflattering, or simply uninteresting, if not to show that the tagger knows you and you were one more satellite around his/her ego-sun in that event.
 In short, I have had enough of all the constant visually documenting every move you make and every breath you take online, on the phone, on the Pad, on the Pod. I want my right to obscurity reinstated. And it's not because I'm not in my prime anymore. I have been camera-shy, or, rather, shy in general, since I was a child. To me pictures are pure torture, and only if I take them myself and are satisfied enough with them I have no objection to post them publicly, maybe to show the curious, if nothing else, that I look like a normal, average, not surgically enhanced, human being; certainly not out of vanity.
When I interact digitally with someone else, I like videos to stay out of the picture. They are invasive and all-pervasive. I have used videochats to let my parents see me and see my parents - we don't meet often, but that's more or less the extent of what I am comfortable with.
Maybe it's an effect of middle age, but I find connected life tiring. All the constant updating, upgrading, upscaling: it is actually like standing in a crowd and having to elbow your way out of it all the time. Inherent competition is everywhere  because people are, whether they want it or not, constantly visible. The web has become the triumph of voyeurism, of make-believe, a parallel dimension where the essence of the real you is lost in a constant struggle to make yourself seen, heard, read, noticed, be funny, express your opinion. TV is all "unreal reality", with by now professional reality "stars" that stage what should be "everyday life" situations - that is, uninteresting. Or counteracting the tendency to the other extreme and behave outrageously. Way too outrageously. To the point of uninteresting.
I know that all this connecting is partly good, probably people feel less alone, unimportant, or irrelevant, as they did once when they walked to the bus or were wrapped in boredom at their desks or in their living rooms. Now we can all be little stars to our 25, or 225 readers. And chat with your friend in Papua anytime you want it.  Like most people, I guess, I am guilty as charged. Only sometimes I step back and observe, and I actually see how maddeningly "normal" this state of things has become. Then I feel the need for extreme solitude and reflection. Because I want "OFF".

Friends or Frogs

Friends, the real ones, are discreet accomplices who are on your wavelength and share vibes and sense of humor.
They don't monopolize your attention with their issues and don't even ask how you are. They give and ask for NOTHING in return. They are there when you need them.
They know empathy, they know love. You can trust them, they won't tell on or about you. Ever. They won't judge you because they know what it's like to be judged, and they love you enough not to put you through that.
Friends don't need to be on your Facebook wall or in your Twitter list. They might, but they certainly don't need to.
Friends don't need benefits. They don't exploit situations. They don't use you as a cover, a third wheel, a substitute. They respect you enough not to ask, either.
Friends and money are an oxymoron. When money gets into a friendship, both are lost. Beyond repair. 
Friends forgive. They don't necessarily forget, but they do forgive. Forgetting means not having learned a lesson.
Friends accept each other, but if they see you going towards a precipice, they feel the moral duty to warn you. You can listen or not, but they warn you.
Friends don't treat you like inferiors, brag about what they have, or exhibit lack of respect and arrogance. If you see any of these creeping in your friendship, then the friendship is not for real.
Friends might disappear for a while because you never know what can happen in life, but they always come back. 
Last, but not least: Friends are there for a reason that you only will see in hindsight.
If you have a friend like this, you have the Real Deal. If not, you have Frogs in your life, not friends.

In the eye of the beholder?

I woke up with a nice take in my mind about beauty.  Come to think of it, it seems to be less and less true that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, given the similarities and the boring predictability of the media-imposed model young (but also cougar-ish) people must follow in order to be considered attractive or even acceptable in the eyes of their peers or the people they fancy. 
I'm so happy not to be young and in dating hell in these days you couldn't believe. I thought the media and peer pressure was bad enough when I was a teen or in my 20s - I lived in a much more conventional place then, that's true, while now I am in an "anything goes" zone that I cherish.
Then plastic surgery was a necessity for people who had been disfigured in accidents: only a few, ancient Hollywood beauties like Rita Hayworth or Marlene Dietrich were rumored to have used procedures to alter or improve their features (one had taken two centimeters of hair off her forehead; the other had pulled off her molars to achieve that "hollow cheeks" look).   The best known way to disguise or change your face was the celebrated plastic masks in the 007 movies. The first time that I was made aware of the possible use of plastic surgery to alter your features was when my mother saw a movie with Liz Taylor and Helmut Berger, "Ash Wednesday", in which Liz's character went under the knife to look younger and rekindle her marriage.
Today The Monster is everywhere. If looks can kill they surely will. I have gone through my transition to mid-life with my face unaltered. I am not perfect; there are some features of my face that I like, as my eyes and my lips. I wish I had gotten better genes for hair and nose in the lottery, but, hey, that's life. Unlike many, who put their narcissistic fears and cravings first, I am fully aware that cosmetic surgery is an industry - and its first and foremost goal is making money, not making aging or dissatisfied people happy. This is a fight against gravity we are talking about. The most effective way to avoid sagging skin or body parts is floating in a missile around the Earth beyond the pull of gravity. Gravity cannot be fought or fooled on a permanent basis: It will inevitably pull down whatever it is that one puts money, effort, and pain into pulling up. In this tug of war, the losers are your skin and your wallet. Plastic surgery is an addictive business. Like with drugs, you will never experience that first elating feeling again, and will spend the rest of your life (and cash) chasing it. When you willingly alter a feature, then - unless you have been disfigured; reconstructive surgery I do understand and would undergo - the others are off, so you have to start having work done elsewhere too to balance your act. And you are not fooling anyone - whether you are young or (especially) older - only yourself. A plastic looks is instantly spotted. Even comparatively minor procedures as Botox, Juvederm, Restylane etc. injections are destined to fail and produce lumps, lazy eyes, sausage lips or new sag if interrupted. Yesterday I watched in horror one of these procedures on TV - I was mesmerized by the willpower and the masochism this woman narcissist (middle-aged, not particularly striking) was exhibiting when a two-centimeter needle was being repeatedly thrust under the layers skin of her face. She squeezed a stress ball - she wailed in pain. The doctor behaved like someone who took sadistic pleasure in squeezing pimples. I was horrified: and the final result was barely noticeable. How many more times will this woman and thousands like her go under in order to keep the illusion going? And this is NOT someone who worked in show business, where such procedures seemingly are included in  contracts. Such is the power of peer pressure, or the need to keep your man from exerting his wandering eye (as if such a specimen was such a trophy to keep), the push to look not necessarily better but more compliant with the diktats of the media. I have heard to my utter astonishment that men and women who re-entered to workforce after some unemployment time went under procedures to look younger and more employable. I thought there were some anti-age discrimination laws in effect! But the powerful tentacles of the cosmetic-diet-exercise-at-all-costs industry are long and their brainwashing persuasive.
I understand the need to feel good about yourself and not wince when you look in the mirror. I am very old-school: been taking very good care of my skin since I was 12, have always used good quality cosmetics in moderate amounts - after all our skin is like hide, keep it moisturized and groom it and it won't fall apart all of a sudden. Grooming and being presentable I understand. But it stops there. I want to look like me, not like the model of the month, young or cougar (a term I find hugely offensive, btw. What is a man like Hef? A coyote in maxipads?) I am aware of the fact that no matter what I do, I will never have my 18-year-old skin or energy ever again. And that's OK, because nature has to take its course. 
We were not born to disfigure ourselves in order to feel good and look in the waters of our narcissistic pool with satisfaction or to cater in any moment to the need of displaying every moment of our life in the media. I hate having my picture taken, I hate the constant superficial scrutiny of everyone. 
Recently we were dining with a number of friends. Half the table was busy documenting our outing for posterity. I found it so disconnecting and sick, a real sign of the times. Another thing that narcissism, self-centered or vicarious (showing off our kids, our gadgets, our clothes, our cars etc.) has taken away from us is the convivial spirit - once people got together to dine and exchange interesting ideas on the meaning of life down to  politics, friends, healthy gossip and whatever else. Now it seems that people get together to twit or FB every single move they make for those who aren't there.
But this is another story. Maybe the next post.

The Damage Done.

I also know many people that suffer because they've been used and thrown away by narcissists, or they have mistook their courteous, mesmerizing manners (when they needed something from them) for genuine interest. I have been teetering on the edge of this, but then my inborn skepticism and lack of trust in my fellow humans prevailed. This is how I manage to get along with my narcissist friends, family, and acquaintances: Seeing and accepting them for who they are. If they want to talk about their favorite subject (themselves), OK, if I have the time I'll listen or will pretend to. Some of my pool-gazing friends are really fascinating, unique human beings, so I am genuinely interested in listening to them and understanding their thought process. Others are totally unaware of their narcissism. In this case, I try to bring it all home by throwing around some food for thought. Most of the time, it does not work, but at least I'll get the satisfaction to tell them. 

Sometimes people realize that they have been or are being used, other times (most times) it's not really dawning on them. I am always aware of the fact that I'm most likely being used - make no mistake. These days, if you do not choose the hermit path, you must function as an audience for your fellow humans. Accepting a narcissist behavior means also not to get mad at them, because they don't know any better, or any different. They are almost always affected by persecution or martyrdom complexes: everyone is out to bother them, get them, or not treating them with the due respect. Yeah, yeah, yeah. A non-narcissist has only one weapon against these butterflies who overpopulate the virtual and real world (usually to document their life and show it in the virtual sphere): Indifference. Try and completely ignore a narcissist: You will get his/her immediate interest, for good and bad. It's really up to you which of their side you want to get. If you show a non-interest in a narcissist that just annoys you, manifesting indifference is the way to go in the long haul. If the narcissist interests you, be an attentive listener in your interaction with him/her, but shield your heart and soul with indifference and cynicism. Never, ever for a moment believe their words of praise and promise. Know where you stand: You are a T O O L  that can obtain what they need in the moment. Otherwise you're expendable. If you engrave this in your brain, you'll never sit there and cry your heart out for months on end trying to heal The Damage Done.

I'm not an anorexic moron in Christian Louboutins.

Does this qualify me as "non-narcissistic", therefore not worthy of the time or attention or narcissistic people? I hope that anorexic morons in Christian Louboutins soon become an endangered species, because they are everything that embodies what narcissists like. Because most narcissists control the media, the model that they propose is either the moron gay guy vampire or the Loubotins-clad lollipop-head. Right. The only being worthy to be on their side, or the object of their (fleeting) interest.

I have some narcissistic friends (who doesn't?) - some of them blatantly so, some others don't believe that they are (because many narcissists do not realize that they are). And I know some sane persons. I like to think that I belong to the latter category, because I get horribly sick and tired of the narcissists. I know perfectly well that they won't waste time with me unless they need something.
I get very annoyed at this. People don't realize that they can be the Pope, Matt Damon, or whoever, if they're jerks, they're jerks. They're unlikable. They are suckers for flattery. That means, one day they'll rot alone with their memories and the pictures of when they used to be so and so or WITH so and so. Because sooner or later every normal person gets incredibly tired of narcissistic people. Their behavior is predictable, their tastes are predictable, and there is no talent or intelligence that is a redeeming quality after a certain point. People like me do not have narcissistic tendencies and are generous. But they are not stupid, and realize that there will never be space for a real friendship or any kind of relationship if those who give always give and those who receive always receive. It's called moving on. When the narcissistic person loses what could have been a true friend, he/she is stuck with those who are "satellites" - who try to bask and shine in their reflected light, and plaster their pictures with them everywhere or namedrop at the first occasion. These people are wannabe narcissists, and they don't give - they WANT. First a little, then more and more and more. So it is this way that the narcissist gets a does of his or her own medicine. But the narcissist never gets rid of the parasitic satellites: They validate his or her self-importance. I'd say this is typical, tried, and true. So if you have a narcissist in your life, don't waste your time hoping that he or she will change.

Narziss - What a name for a secluded abbot! Huh?

As those who read the book know, Narziss was an apparently ascetic, very spiritual, incredibly gifted person. The story seems to be about Goldmund and his quest for love in the image of his lost mother, but the real main character is Narziss. He is the mover and shaker, he got all the power in the monastery, he is the inspiration behind Goldmund's quest. In short, it's all about him. Ahhhh. Now I'm starting to see the Freudian reasons why Hesse named his character after the youth that fell in love with his image and drowned into a pond in the vain hope of embracing it.
We live in narcissistic times - or better we are enduring a narcissistic epidemics, no question about it. The media are now in everyone's reach thanks mainly to the Internet and its social sites, smartphones, and text phones. It's a constant "LOOK AT ME". The Hiltons, the Biebers, the Kardashians, the Housewives and the viral YouTube videos. Not to mention the omnipresent cats, dogs, and kids who do spectacular things. Porn galore! Lives dissected and commented by trolls, with misspellings and insults!
Yeah, you'll say - but you are blogging! Touché? No, sir. I'm making the case of a blog being what school essays or even certain university thesis used to be - or, for the more narcissistic among us bloggers, a journal that now anyone - or a few selected ones - can read. Bloggers are the wallflowers of the virtual world. Now that I think about it, this would be a better title for my blog. We don't show what we do, we speak our minds or our minds or someone else's mind. We hide behind pseudonyms, cartoon character avatars (ahem), we THINK before we act (one hopes. Never mind). We are still trying not to be obnoxiously pushing our lives in front of all and sundry - after all, one choses to read a blog, while visuals are much more immediate and quick. You can decide at any time and in any moment if what we write is of interest for you or not. We'll simply fade into the background.

NarzissUndGoldmund - If you know them, they won't kill you.

I'm going to start writing on narcissism, The Narcissism Epidemic, and how to survive it (for the wallflowers among us - are there any? HELLO?) or simply how to recognize yourself, look in the pool of water, and fall in love all over a-gain....

Before I start, I am NOT a narcissist according to the Official Narcissistic Personality Disorder test (whether this test has any scientific validity, I have no clue - but results seem pretty accurate, given the extent of my self-appreciation). I scored 7 out of a 30 +, and the narcissistic tendencies start to appear if you score 15. So there.

But now it's about collecting the many thoughts and organizing them decently. Because Narcissus is one thing, but Narziss is another, and when I read the Hesse novel in my youth, I certainly felt more akin to Narziss the neurotic, OCD abbot in the monastery, then to naturechild, proto-hippy Goldmund...