Fakebook
Page 9
2 days ago via mobile · Like
Matt Riggio I must say, this is truly a far cry from the adventure that I’ve been expecting. Don’t TP anymore, dude.
yesterday via mobile · Like
Joe Lennon How much longer before you move on?
yesterday via mobile · Like
Ted Kaiser seriously Dave this is just sad. You are their slave! You, Dave Cicirelli, a once proud, principled young man are now a lackey for some bozo Amish people. You’re picking up horseshit.
5 hours ago via mobile · Like
Matt Campbell Ted, dude, Dave made an agreement as a gentleman. It requires that you be a man of your word or you are not a man at all. A commitment is a contract.
about an hour ago via mobile · Like
Another true-to-form post. I continued to limp away slowly from anything suspicious. Everything I did on my wall now reeked of caution. I felt like Fakebook was this beautiful but thorny flower I’d discovered but didn’t understand. I’d spent the last month trying to protect it by locking it away, but I was just killing it, and I would have kept on killing it if I hadn’t clicked onto Matt Riggio’s profile.
Matt Riggio
Trivia night at Houlihans!
Like · Comment
Trivia night at Houlihans?
That guy has the audacity to call my posts boring?
I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even know I was making this up, but he was giving me feedback. It was crazy.
Fake Dave was clearly on the cusp of—or in the middle of—a complete mental breakdown. Didn’t these people have the decency to let him unravel in his own way? Or maybe they just couldn’t see it. They were too busy projecting—dumping the weight of their fantasies on Fake Dave’s shoulders.
And in that knot, out of all the different threads, the chord that was struck was an angry one. At that moment, there was no difference between Fake Dave and Real Dave. After all, they thought he was me. I felt like Maximus in the Colosseum, bellowing out, “Are you not entertained?” Because while they may not have known they were an audience, they sure as hell were acting like one.
I was new to the feeling—unprepared for it. At that moment, I resented their rejection.
And realizing how preposterous a feeling that was…made me want to keep Fakebook alive. Yes, it was a messy, horrible knot. But every single thread surprised me. The fact that some of the surprises were terrible and some of the surprises were thrilling only strengthened my belief that this giant, flawed, morally suspect thing had a point—as elusive as that point seemed. I was scared that I’d never discover what it was.
Desperation and pride kicked in. I wasn’t going to act like Fakebook was a failure. I was going to push this forward, sputtering engine and all. If I crashed Fakebook into the ground, at least it would be with my hand on the throttle, not the brakes.
For a moment, I’d found my steel. Ted wanted rebellion; Matt wanted nobility. They both wanted a role model. So I gave my audience what they wanted.
November 8: Back on Track
It’s not easy for me to admit this. Ted’s right.
Although we’ve been friends a long time, we haven’t always seen eye to eye. His mama’s boy attitude always clashed with my DIY punk rock lifestyle. Back in high school, I’d drag race and Dead Man’s Bluff and he’d organize a bake sale for the 4-H club. I was always sticking it to the Man, and he’d always water the Man’s plants when the Man was out of town.
That’s why it’s so shocking to have our roles reversed.
Ted, I’m not sure what set of USC pajamas you were wearing when you wrote your last comment…but your words have the unmistakable sting of an unpleasant truth. And there’s only one thing to do when you feel that sting.
Take action.
I hit the road seeking freedom and found a prison. Seriously, the only difference is that a prisoner has access to a television and a working toilet.
This is not a fate worthy of my legend.
I’M DAVID RALPH CICIRELLI. MY ONLY NATURAL WEAKNESS IS AT THE FREE THROW LINE. I gladly take it on the chin from the powerful, and wear my battle scars as a badge of honor. I’ll uproot my life if my life feels wrong, because I believe in righteous confrontation!
A rut is not something you can leave behind, it’s something you need to fill in. Otherwise you’ll find yourself at the bottom again.
Matt Campbell defended me from Ted’s criticism. As much as I appreciate his unwavering support, I have to disagree with his assessment. There is nothing gentlemanly about tricking a man into shoveling horse shit.
We didn’t strike an agreement as gentlemen. I was dictated to.
If the Dave of just five years ago met the Dave of today, I’d kick my own ass. It would be an act of charity. The old Dave…the Dave I’m attempting to rediscover, wouldn’t stand for this.
I know to some, Ted’s assault seems out of place. Who is he to cast such judgment on me? The real question is, “who am I?” Ted’s emotional response came from a place of pain…because I am his hero.
Ted, you’ve reminded me that you and others live vicariously through me, admiring the many ways in which I do what you’re all incapable of. Thank you for reminding me of this responsibility.
I’ve let you down. I reminded you that sometimes heroes have feet of clay. But you’ve reminded me that I have a backbone of iron. Rest assured, I will fail you no longer. Your admiration is a responsibility I will no longer take lightly.
Tomorrow is my last day in Amish country (gotta pack my shit, dawg).
Steve Cuchinello “A nation that prefers disgrace to danger will find itself with a master, and deserve one.” Alexander Hamilton as quoted by David Ralph Cicirelli.
Glad you have found your way.
yesterday · Like
Joe Lennon Congrats! Which way are you headed next?
yesterday via mobile · Like
Dave Cicirelli Not sure. Going to hitch a ride and see.
BTW, everything worked out for Hamilton, right?
yesterday via mobile · Like
Matt Campbell You’re right. I forgot all about my anger about the threat of hate crime laws. I became complacent. How are you planning your escape?
yesterday via mobile · Like
Ted Kaiser I am glad you found your way Dave. So glad in fact, that I will let pass the subtle digs and your attempts at idolatry. You’ve been through enough lately. You should come back to NJ though.
yesterday · Like
Dave Cicirelli Ted, there’s no shame in admitting I’m your hero.
yesterday via mobile · Like
November 10: Life Is Strange…
“It’s often said that life is strange. But compared to what?”
—Steve Forbert
Here’s the piece of the story I’ve been hesitant to talk about.
Ok…yesterday, it went DOWN.
If you read my last note, I basically verbalized it. “You strong-armed me, I’m not going to be intimidated by you, I’m Ted’s hero…” blah blah blah.
Jonathon made it into this big ugly thing about the world outside of the Amish community, etc. He accused me of not being a man of my word…it got ugly. It basically ended when I dared him to stop me.
Storming out of a place filled with conscientious objectors isn’t really that challenging.
It was unpleasant, but it’s behind me.
…except it’s not.
***
When I set up camp last night, Kate showed up.
Katie Fisher, the Amish girl I’d been flirting with…followed me out of Amish country. Jonathon’s daughter chased after me like a lovesick teenager.
I mean, all right. She was my only friend out there. We made out one time, which was pretty cool. But…
…I was in Amish Country man!!!! It’s like a hook-up in Cancun, except the exa
ct opposite!
I didn’t plan on leading her on, but I DEFINITELY didn’t plan on taking her with me. This was all about independence.
Plus, I really don’t know what kind of consequences my fleeing will bring about, I just know that having her with me will make matters more complicated.
But most important, I’m not sure what her expectations are. Does she think I’m going to marry her? Support her? I live in a tent.
The bottom line is I now have this woman with me who grew up in this strange place and is now relying on me to give her everything she imagined the rest of the world to offer.
I’m freaking out.
***
So now what?
We took a local bus to Harrisburg. From here, I figure we can take a bus to just about anywhere. We’re in a cheap hotel. I couldn’t exactly let her sleep in a tent. We went shopping at the Harrisburg Mall, I bought her some regular clothes. We’ll probably hang out here a day or two then move on.
My cash supply is getting low.
She could have at least robbed her father before she fled.
Matt Riggio wow, Dave. This is heavy stuff.
about an hour ago via mobile · Like
Joe Lennon I’ll think of something with more substance tomorrow because WOW.
about an hour ago via mobile · Like
Joe Lennon Also sometimes I feel like I’m being duped by these stories because they are downright unbelievable.
about an hour ago via mobile · Like
Matt Campbell So I guess you are over your boredom with Pennsylvania Dutch country? You definitely got the last word…so far! There are so many songs and stories about the ‘farmer’s daughter,’ but not many have their plot in Lancaster.
22 minutes ago · Like
Ted Kaiser Did you hit that while at the hotel? All joking aside, I’d say watch your back. Jonathon is gonna come after you and you know how these Amish roll.
22 minutes ago via mobile · Like
Dave Cicirelli Classy as usual, Kaiser. We are fugitives, man. Both our lives were in flux, and passion runs high. It was high emotion, yet still tender and oh so right. Any more details, you need a credit card and a password. Now if you are done imagining me making love to my lady, I’ll move on.
19 minutes ago via mobile · Like
Elliott Askew Seriously dude…I wouldn’t believe you…But…You CANNOT make this stuff up…shit like this doesn’t even happen in fiction…
18 minutes ago via mobile · Like
Steve Cuchinello Dave, if she is of legal age: good for you. It was her decision anyway, you didn’t ask her to come with you. But if she isn’t my only suggestion is: RUN!! Run as far and as fast as you can (prolly a city block or two) and after that keep running. If that girl is under 18 her parents can and WILL do anything to get her back and this isn’t a fun little journey anymore where Dave loses his mind and discovers his inner being, its straight up Dave going to jail. For the first time I am actually concerned for you.
14 minutes ago · Like
Carol Weng I lived in Harrisburg for about a year after graduating college. If you’re still in H-burg, hit up Neato Burrito downtown. Or walk down the pedestrian bridge to City Island. There’s also a civil war museum that I never went to, but might be neat if you’re into that.
And about the girl…if you’re not serious about her (i.e. have any future plans of marrying her), bring her back to her father. I’m sure he’d forgive you for everything if he had his daughter back.
11 minutes ago via mobile · Like
Mariko Nakatani Wow, this is getting wild. I wanna hear more! How is she adjusting to the “real” world? This must be a pretty crazy experience for her.
9 minutes ago via mobile · Like
Ralph Cicirelli Dave,
What are you thinking? I know you feel you were threatened and wronged by some Amish years ago, but taking this girl away from her family is not going to right that wrong. Let it go!
It’s bad enough you created angst within your own family, do you need to destroy another family? Leave her to the insular life she knows and move on! In fact, abandon this half a** pursuit and come home…
Dad
8 minutes ago via mobile · Like
Dave Cicirelli Frankly, Ralph, there’s only angst in our family because of your dismissive attitude. This is obviously important to me. You choose to insult me rather than support me, and make what’s already difficult into something often unbearable.
How dare you blame me for “destroying another family.” I may have spoiled whatever YOUR expectations are for MY life, but to treat Kate’s own journey as collateral damage for your black sheep son is beyond unfair.
P.S. You don’t need to sign your Facebook comments. It’s not a letter.
7 minutes ago via mobile · Like
Kelly Murray dang! This is getting good…
just now via mobile · Like
Half days are the longest.
They aren’t very productive, either. I mostly sat at my office desk, staring at the little digital clock on the corner of my screen.
Who could work? It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving!
It’s my favorite weekend of the year. Unlike most holidays, where you’re looking for a Christmas miracle or someone to kiss at midnight, there’s very little room for disappointment. The only promise Thanksgiving makes is sharing a meal with your family. How perfect is that? It’s just so uncomplicated. At least most years.
This was to be my secret return from exile—the first time I’d be in Red Bank since I started this mess. Even on a normal visit I could count on running into an old classmate or a neighbor, but this was homecoming weekend. The town would be packed with Facebook friends.
Despite how much I was looking forward to turkey dinner, I dreaded the train ride getting there. Penn Station would be an absolute bottleneck of Red Bank–born New Yorkers. The holiday would filter out the hundred or so people in the city I couldn’t be seen by and put them all on the same handful of trains.
I looked over at my desk and sifted through a pile of promotional swag. I grabbed an oversized hoodie branded by a fitness product and a clunky pair of shades that say “Stay cool” on the sides. This would be my disguise for the eighty-minute ride home.
My office phone rang. It was an unknown number.
“Hello, this is FedEx,” a voice said on the other end. “We have an oversized package to be delivered to you.”
“What? I’m not expecting anything oversized,” I said. “Where is it coming from?”
“Lancaster, PA.”
Amish country? I was instantly excited and suspicious. “Who is this?” I yelled into the receiver.
The only response I got was a dial tone.
It clearly wasn’t FedEx, so I assumed it must be Joe or Ted or someone having a little fun with me. But with the memory of my Photoshop debacle still fresh in my mind, the phone call unnerved me. I tried to put it out of my mind and went back to the important work of watching the clock move. After all, I had a train to catch, places I couldn’t go, and people I couldn’t see.
On the train, I grabbed a window seat and put my hood up with my forehead to the window, blocking me from most angles. The disguise must have made me look like a real scumbag—but an anonymous scumbag. My reward was a mercifully uneventful train ride home.
Waiting at the station for Ralph to pick me up, however, was excruciating. The time dragged, as I felt raw, exposed, and left behind by my own splintered identity.
In New York, I was able to suppress this feeling. After all, to my coworkers and my closest friends, I was still me, and Fakebook was just a thing I was doing. In Red Bank, however, Fakebook wasn’t a thing I was doing—it was who I was. Being physically in the town, surrounded by the people who now thought I was so
meone else, was viscerally disorienting. My entire being was a liability.
“Where the hell is Ralph?” I thought.
My call to his cell phone went straight to voice mail. He must have been, as usual, saving the rechargeable battery.
“Ralph,” I barked into the voice mail. “It’s Dave. Keep your phone on. As punishment, I’m going to let this message run until it times out so you have to sit through it.”
As I filled his voice mail with dead air, I warily watched people walk by. I was compelled to look at everyone who passed me to confirm they were strangers. It felt like only a matter of time before one of them recognized me and knew I wasn’t supposed to be there.
It figured that my attempt to blend resulted in forcing lots of eye contact with everyone around me. After all, my “disguise” of a loose-fitting, gray hooded sweatshirt and blocky sunglasses made me look like a police sketch of the Unabomber. Combine that with lurking in the shadows sizing everyone up, and it painted the portrait of a drug dealer trying to get caught.
After a full ninety seconds, I reached the “message size limit” on my dad’s phone and hung up. I walked over to a support beam and leaned on it with my back to the bars that lined Broad Street. In a couple of hours, the street would be packed—tonight was one of their big nights.
I’m sure it’s the same in many towns. The night before Thanksgiving, the bars fill up with the returning prodigal sons and daughters. People jump on the opportunity to go out with the friends they normally never see and enjoy random encounters with their pasts. Despite our connectivity, there is still something wonderful and irreplaceable about sharing the same space.
I felt really wistful for this shared experience I couldn’t have and a little ashamed for disregarding these peripheral relationships to create an online prank turned social experiment. They were so much more meaningful than I’d imagined when I tossed them aside. Tonight’s annual bar crawl was just another communal touchstone that I’d carelessly thrown away.