Mixing business and pleasure

I remember the first time I heard about Facebook -- the summer before my senior year of college. My friend Amanda, who went to UW-Oshkosh, told me I should join. I hopped online and went to the site. I couldn't for the life of me figure out how in the hell to sign up. Turns out, UW-Stevens Point hadn't even been added to the list of FB-friendly colleges yet.

Back in 2005, the networking site was set up solely for college students; and not even all universities had the luxury of joining. Profiles were limited. Customization was non-existent. Members had a place for their picture, a wall for friends to send public messages to, and a section to fill out basic personal info like interests, movies and quotes.

As the networking site expanded, so did its members. Now, more and more people are joining Facebook. First with the addition of high schools, then expanding to the entire interactive community. That's all well and good, but what do you do when acquaintances at work, or professionals from your industry request to be your friend.

I never personally seek out anyone on Facebook. If I went to high school with you -- we'll leave it at that. No offense, but if we haven't talked in eight years, and barely conversed in high school, what do you think we have to discuss now? I don't care if you're "shopping at the mall!!!" or "have an aweful cold." Those everyday things can be left to your real friends.

In order to limit my invasion of privacy, I've severely limited my information posted online. I still have pictures up from drunken debacles in college, or family holidays. But, only about 30 people can see that information. If you can, consider yourselves lucky. If you can't -- don't be offended. The only way you know about those pictures is by that stupid newsfeed anyway. Not many people actually log on with the intention of looking at my personal page. If they do, they have full access anyway.

I'm reluctant to add friends by request too. Lately, more and more people from work add me to Facebook. My publisher, sales reps, cube neighbors... where do I draw the line?

I already set up the "Limited Profile" section, but to avoid embarrassing or more personal information from leaking out at work, I set up a "Work Profile" for people whom I hardly talk with, or have even had a conversation in person.

If you're not my friend, my picture and networks don't even show up.

A couple months ago, my editor decided to join Facebook. Once he established himself in the interactive community, he knew I was familiar with the site and came to me wondering how we could get our two magazines more face time with younger readers.

I was initially excited -- then reluctant. I set up Fan Pages for both magazines, added links to all the back issues, video of tool reviews and product previews, listed upcoming events. But that meant I also had to be a fan.

The Fan Pages are still a work-in-progress, but readers who are familiar with the networking site are becoming fans of our magazines.

It's a double-edged sword. The project itself has become my baby. And it looks good to integrate different communication mediums for our readers. But now, the lines are blurred.

So don't take it personally, this is strictly professional. If I don't know you, I just don't want to be your friend.

Flu shots

Disclaimer: I've taken some factual liberties with the plasma story, like the use of two needles. See comments afterward.

I am terrified of shots. I can't give blood. If I'm within a 10-foot radius of a needle, I suddenly become light-headed with the onset of fainting symptoms.

Well, this week, my employer is offering both the opportunity to Give Blood to help out our community AND the option of paying $10 for a flu shot.

The former is absolutely out of the question. I've developed a justified phobia to needles.

Here's why:

Back during my freshman year of college, I decided to join my roommate and a few friends at BioLife in Stevens Point to donate some of my plasma. Now, not only was I doing science a favor by giving up my precious fluids, I was also being rewarded handsomely in cash.

Initially we had to set up individual appointments for a physical. I passed but couldn't give plasma that day because, apparently, I hadn't drank any water at all that day. (You need to be hydrated in order for them to stick a needle in your arm.)

I had given blood a couple times during high school blood drives, so I was vaguely familiar with the procedure. I'd like to think it was to help out the community and give something back -- but in all honesty, I got out of at least one class for the day. Plus, you get juice and cookies.

I have perfect veins to donate, but I have the problem of becoming severely light-headed when I would give blood. (Or, get shots at the doctor.)

Move ahead two weeks for my donation appointment.

I walk in, fill out the paperwork and wait for them to call my name. As I sit down in the dental cleaning-esque chair, I hold out my right arm, ready for action. Unbeknownst to me until that point, the nurse begins prepping not one, but BOTH arms for needles.

Time out.

See, when you give plasma, they draw blood out of one arm, remove the plasma, and put your blood back in. The other arm has a saline drip to keep you hydrated.

A little apprehensive at this point, I realize I'm in trouble. I can hardly handle one needle, just taking blood out. Now, they want to take blood out, put it back in -- and THEN, introduce some other foreign shit into my arm? My mind made me physically regret this decision immediately.

Move ahead about five minutes.

I start getting light-headed, and tell the nurse. She suggests slowing the blood drawing, and upping the saline. Good idea? Bad idea.

When the saline enters your veins, it's room temperature. Think about it. It's maybe 72 degrees F on a good day. My body sits at a balmy 98.6 degrees.

It felt like death was crawling up my left arm.

Apparently it looked like it too. The nurse decided then that I was no longer eligible to give plasma. As I started to get tunnel vision, she advised me she'd be stopping, but they needed to keep the needles in my arms while they got my body back to normal, continuing the saline drip.

There were at least three people helping out when I came around. They told me my eyes rolled back in my head, and I started shaking uncontrollably.

As I recooperated lying down in a nearby room, I saw on both arms, purplish-yellow bruises beginning to form. The nurse came in to inform me that "your body rejected the needles."

WTF does that mean?!

I walked up to the counter about 20 minutes later, waiting for my much-deserved compensation.

The cashier placed her hand on the $20 bill, slid it across the counter and said, "Don't come back here again." I haven't had a needle in my arm since.

Now, shots are along those same lines. Granted, things are going in instead of being removed -- but any foreign change in my homeostasis, and my body goes nuts.

I've decided I'd rather be vomiting in a cold sweat for three days with the flu, rather than have to deal with that crap again.