Okay, so I joined Facebook. I decided that it wasn’t worth fighting against it day in and out…and besides, I was curious what some of my friends from years ago were up to. It was really the crappiness of Classmates.com that made me think Facebook was a more than decent option. (Charging for the use of a social networking service is pretty unacceptable in this day and age.) I do like the messaging options Facebook offers and you can opt *not* to clutter your page with crap. All pages essentially look the same, which is definitely a good thing. Most pages are easy to read and navigate, unlike another site which shall remain nameless. The applications are a nice touch, as there are some useful things in there like RSS readers, so I could add a feed to my blog so people who might not know about it can keep up. Then I still only have to update my information in one place (very useful.) I’ve also reconnected with several elementary school classmates whom I never thought I would hear from again. It is nice to see what paths their lives have taken them down.

The most hilarious feature I have discovered thus far is depicted in the above screenshot. In the highlighted area I have the option to “cancel my relationship” with Julian. Does anyone know if it would send him a notice? Is this divorce 2.0? I CAN HAS DIVORCE KTHX? :D

What’s the worst thing you have ever done? Have you stopped to think about that question seriously? Most people focus on the horrible things that happen to them, rather than things they have done to make the world a less pleasant place to be. I began considering this recently and there is one action that stands out above all others that to this day causes me to cringe and fight off tears. It happened back when I was 9 or 10 years old, but it doesn’t lessen its impact on me.

As you might know, I grew up on a farm. We raised dairy cattle and were constantly surrounded by animals of all kinds, particularly cats. I absolutely loved the cats, spoiling them, spending almost all my free time in the barn with them, running around the farm with them, and sneaking them into the house. Hundreds of kitties came and went through our farm during my childhood, and there were several memorable individuals. One of those was a cat we got from a friend of my parents who was named Resin. She basically became the mother cat, having countless litters of kittens over the years.

One day during summer vacation my brother and I were feeling especially bored and naughty so we decided to play in the haymow (the upper portion of the barn used to store hay and straw, often called a hayloft.) We had a volleyball net and basketball hoop up there which were only accessible for part of the year when the space wasn’t full of bales. At this time there were stacks of bales about 15 or 18 feet high (easily more than two and a half times our height) in the center of the haymow with a clear area on either end. Resin had a somewhat new litter of kittens which couldn’t have been more than 2 or 3 months old. They were old enough to eat on their own and basically fend for themselves but still quite small. They were born in the haymow and still spent most of their time up there. I don’t know whose idea it was, but somehow we decided that we should play catch with the kittens. We started off just throwing them to each other from a few feet apart but that was too dull.

Suddenly a brilliant but horrible idea struck us: we should play catch with the kittens over the 15′ wall of straw bales because it was more exciting/challenging if we couldn’t see the other person. We tossed the kittens back and forth over this wall a few times, and I remember at first it was funny to see flying kittens but we weren’t doing so well on catching them. After retrieving one of the tossed kittens I noticed that it had a bloody nose. I was horrified so I stopped. My brother flung another one at me and it was also bleeding. When I told him they were hurt we both stopped our game but at that moment I realized the mistake I’d made. I had terrified and wounded something I loved dearly simply for my amusement. It hadn’t been the goal of course, but a consequence. I was so ill I nearly threw up. Even now thinking back on it I still feel the same way, if not worse. I know I was just a child then but it doesn’t excuse the action; after all, I was old enough to know better.

(Side note to my brother: do you remember this occurrence? I may have gotten the details mixed up since it’s been so long.)

Sometimes humans do things that cause misery simply out of boredom. Is that the nature of us as a species? Is that why we do horrible things, because it gives us a brief respite from an unfulfilled existence?