What ho.......

Matt Shaw.

Blocchi.

The estimable and supposedly fabulous Facebook, which I don’t pay much attention to — I have better things to do — has blessed me with two friend invites, John Blocchi (“block-eee”), and Matt Shaw.
Both Blocchi and Matt are members of Local 282, the Rochester division of the nationwide Amalgamated Transit Union (“What’s ‘Ah-Two?’”), my old bus-union at Regional Transit.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS), the public transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY. While there I belonged to the Amalgamated Transit Union. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that.
Both Blocchi and Matt are mechanics. In my humble opinion the bus-mechanics were much more of a union than the bus-drivers.
To me this was due to circumstance.
The mechanics had pretty much the same hours, and were together in the same building.
The bus-drivers had different hours, and were away from the Property driving bus.
If something that would involve the Union occurred, it spread like wildfire among the mechanics.
Word didn’t spread like that among the drivers.
News circulation might take months, if ever.
Drivers only congregated in the Drivers’ Room, which was Company property, heavily monitored by management.
The Union’s input was a tiny bulletin-board in a dark corridor.
That Drivers’ Room was a den of extravagant rumor and innuendo.
So little Union contact was taking place, untruths were triumphant.
And if Union officials dared show up, management watched them like hawks.
To my mind both Matt and Blocchi were computer-savvy, perhaps Matt even more than Blocchi.
Blocchi was our Local’s Recording-Secretary; always on the dais with his laptop.
Other union officials might be present, e.g. the Union Prez, but without computers.
Matt specced a complete computer-system to bring our Local kicking and screaming into the new century, but it was voted down.
Partially because some noisy blowhard suggested his sister-in-law in Washington DC could get a similar system for peanuts.
Triumph of ignorance and stupidity.
Bus-drivers seem to do that — defeat themselves.
282 is still in the Dark Ages.
Expenses are still hand-recorded in a book.
I don’t consider myself that computer-savvy, but at least our accounting is in this machine.
My having a Facebook is something I put up with.
To me it’s the result of a Facebook fast-one.
Facebook e-mailed me that an old friend wished to Facebook “friend” me.
“To become a ‘friend’ you must have a Facebook of your own.”
“Well okay,” I thought, little knowing what I was getting into.
I thereby set up a Facebook of my own. It suggested various “friends,” so I made a few.
One welcomed me to Facebook.
If I’d had any idea what was happening. I woulda used an alias. —I don’t want my name spilling all over the Internet.
So my Facebook profile is quite normal looking.

Photo by BobbaLew.

The only “alias” I’ve been able to use is my profile-picture.
It’s not me; it’s the American Flag.
Facebook is nice, a social networking site; but my family’s web-site is much better.
For one thing it’s much more private — you have to be invited to join.
I suppose Facebook could do the same, by limiting “friends” to your family.
Better yet is that my family’s web-site notified of recent posts — it could take me directly to them.
Not Facebook. You have to pore through mountains of useless garbage just to find anything of interest.
And what’s posted is often boring and/or laughable; “I just burped; I hereby scratch my armpits.”
What a pain I gotta weed through all that junk to find anything of interest.
At least my family’s web-site didn’t engender garbage.
Facebook has also locked my machine; sometimes I hafta force-quit my browser.
It seems to be more stable lately; and there are all those silly ads on the right of some buxom hottie suggesting you get your “public profile.”
Plus ads aimed at stuff in your interest profile.
SPAM ALERT!
There are only two reasons I haven’t walked away from Facebook:
—1) I don’t see any way of dumping it, and
—2) I have too many friends that communicate by Facebook.

• “What’s ‘ah-two?’” is something my mother asked seeing my ATU (Amalgamated Transit Union) button.