Friday, May 21, 2010

Another slow day for Facebook suggestions. Only one. And a lazy one at that. It was suggested that I leave a wall post for the embarrassing former sex partner I mentioned earlier this week. To recap: I already left a wall post for her. And she responded. That should be the end of it. Is Facebook trying to rekindle our relationship? If so, it's a terrible suggestion. The reasons for embarrassment when we were sleeping together before are still applicable. Plus, I'm currently in a relationship. And she just got married. And we live in different cities.

Still, I've been thinking about our sex together, and the memories aren't bad. There was room to expand, though, which doesn't help with my compulsive nature. What might have been turns into what could have been or should have been or would have been if I'd been better at cultivating healthy, fulfilling relationships. I realize it's better we're not in touch, though. I'm certain of it. Facebook's suggestion will be ignored yet again.

I'm wondering if the suggestion algorithm (still not sure if I'm using that word correctly) takes into account my activity on the site. Lately, I've been logging in much more often than normal. This is partly because of my experiment and partly because I'm maintaining a page for the open mic I host. Every day or so, I try to keep up with the page's fans, post a couple of photos, or find a link to some kind of related event. I'm trying to keep it active, since I want this show to be successful. I want to give people a reason to visit.

But since I've been on Facebook so much, perhaps they think I don't need many suggestions. Perhaps the suggestions are there for people who only log in occasionally. They obviously need some kind of guidebook. Something to coax them out of their Facebook shell. The thing is, I'm still in a Facebook shell. I still need suggestions. The open mic page has little to do with personal interaction, and that's what Facebook is supposed to be about.

Maybe Facebook is giving me too much credit for being a stable, socially healthy adult. I appreciate the benefit of the doubt, but I'd rather be coddled. I want Facebook to feed me ideas. This experiment may have gone from an activity to a need. That makes my stomach hurt a little.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

I had no Facebook suggestions this morning. Further observation is required, but I'm beginning to suspect these things come in bursts. This is not good for my productivity, as my morning hours are limited. I have an hour to take in the previous night's episodes of daily comedy programs, read emails, browse online sales, and watch videos of people yelling into their webcams. I'd rather Facebook spread my suggestions out over the course of a day. I could ignore or follow a few in the morning, a couple more in the afternoon, and maybe one or two before bed. I'd also always have something about which to write on this log, which I'm afraid is becoming a compulsion. I have almost no chemical addictions, but keeping a daily, nearly unread record of my new media activities as an underprivileged denizen of the first world is habit forming. It's only a short matter of time before I purchase an iPhone. Then everything will come crumbling down.

In the absence of suggestions, I'll discuss my entry to Facebook. Like most self-absorbed artsy fartsy types, I resisted it at first. Especially because, in its early days, it seemed exclusive to members of college Greeks, whom artsy fartsy types are bred to see as the enemy. One had to have a university ".edu" email address to create a Facebook account, and all members were divided into highly-policed networks based around one campus or another. This offended my carefully manicured suspicion of joining anything. To be a Facebook member implied a certain kind of school identification, which bespoke a lack of individuality. But when I heard a friend of mine had uploaded pictures of herself in a low-cut top, I registered anyway.

Everyone seems very concerned about Facebook's total disregard for privacy lately. Facebook is everywhere. It's almost impossible to log out. Your browser cookies know who you are, and they broadcast that information to other websites so that Facebook may tune advertising to your particular tastes. Go to CNN.com, and you might see your friends list in a sidebar. It's a little creepy, I suppose, but not because it's Facebook. I just don't like seeing the faces of people I know when I don't expect them to turn up. It turns every website into a surprise party I'm not certain is even for me. Or worse, it makes me feel like I've stumbled into a conversation where I'm not wanted.

It also seems like the opposite of Facebook's initial closed nature. Facebook used to provide social networks for college students so they could swap stories, photos, and maybe even meet one another in the flesh. It was a Greek system on the internet. Now it wants to turn the whole world into a fraternity. I'm not the knee-jerk isolationist I used to be, but I'm not sure I have a choice anymore. Everyone in the world is a potential fraternity brother.

Well, the first world, anyway. Most of the planet doesn't have access to Facebook. And judging by the silence I've received from the African potted plant man Facebook suggested I friend, I'm not sure the world wants to join this fraternity.

The tables have turned. I am what I hated. But instead of worrying over a loss of integrity, I'm more convinced than ever that I was just a self-righteous nit. And that feels pretty good.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

This morning, I received my first two suggestion responses since this accursed experiment began. Karrissa the sort-of-goth accepted my friend request. I thought she might have some decent cleavage shots, and I was correct. Upon closer inspection, however, I'm not as impressed with her look. It's not only that her eyebrows are plucked to within less than an inch of two-dimensional existence. It's her seeming obsession with pot. In her profile picture, she's smoking a blunt, and some of her photos are just portraits of sticky, clumpy buds. I don't smoke pot myself, or anything else for that matter. Inhaling smoke gives me a headache, and it makes me sickeningly aware of the existence of the lung sacks inside my chest. In other words, I'm a pussy. And I have no problem at all with people smoking pot. It's just that I'm not interested in it at all, and the people who are often have a difficult time being interested in anything else. I'm too judgmental. Also, shallow. I'm not proud about the eyebrow comment earlier. But this is a log about truth. Karrissa also has a photo of a blunt laid across a Book of Mormon. So, there's that.

My second response came from the girl with whom I previously had a suddenly truncated and embarrassing sexual relationship. She doesn't seem to hold a grudge over our extended period of non-communication, which is a relief. Her response made me consider something I've been doing when following Facebook's suggestions. Whether it's a wall post or a friend request, I've often included a sort of caveat like "Facebook asked me to do this, and I'm afraid of what will happen if I don't." This is bullshit. I know nothing will happen to me if I ignore Facebook's suggestions. But I feel like I should write something to explain myself. Also something funny to break any sort of tension that might exist between me and the other person. This may be a cop out that's not in keeping with the spirit of the experiment. I think I'm more concerned about looking like a Facebook slut than I previously thought. Ridiculous.

On the bright side, I didn't have to ignore a single suggestion this morning. This may have something to do with numbers. I friended the Y-Leaders Club, an organization for children who frequent the after-school programs at my local YMCA. Despite the involvement of children, this didn't make me feel like a pedophile. I'm acquaintances with the man who runs my local YMCA. Nice guy. He writes poetry I enjoy, and I rarely enjoy poetry. Seems too easy. Like a "New Yorker" comic. But my hatred of Garrison Keillor may have influenced my apathy toward poetry, which may be unfair. If there's a good place to start digging into modern poetry, I would be interested to know.

Unrelated to the experiment proper, I accepted a stranger's friend request and immediately de-friended him after reading his profile. As I said before, I receive many unsolicited friend requests from strangers who listen to my podcast, so I didn't think much about accepting this gentleman. But then I noticed his profile picture was a metallic, heavy metal-inspired riff on the atheist's scarlet "A" symbol. On his profile, he described himself as a "militant atheist" and a member of the Pirate Party, which is a political organization originating from Sweden that pushes an anti-copyright platform. In other words, it's a party for thieves with a false sense of entitlement. I de-friended this gentleman to avoid any unwelcome suggestions from him in the future. But I hope he doesn't notice, because I don't want to hurt his feelings. I also don't want him to see me as indecisive.

This log is making me confront deep insecurities I'd rather deny. But in the spirit of the experiment, I'll accept them. It seems I care a great deal how people perceive me. But no one cares about that.

People in my news feed are talking about the results of yesterday's primary elections. It's either good or bad news for the Democrats. Everyone agrees incumbents are in grave danger. I don't know much about the situation other than Rand Paul won the Republican nomination for one of Kentucky's senate seats. He's the son of Ron Paul, who named him after Ayn Rand. Which is phenomenally absurd.

I wonder how the oil situation in the Gulf of Mexico is going to affect this year's crop of Facebook swimsuit photos.

Gosh, this log is getting pretty bleak. I don't mean to be such a downer, so I'll finish today's entry with something positive. Trivia always cheers me up, and this is something not many people know: the plural of "cul-de-sac" is "culs-de-sac". Also, culs-de-sac are the most likely places for children to be run over by cars.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

I know there are Facebook purists who believe you should never have Facebook friends you don't actually know. They say it makes you look like a Facebook slut. Well, I don't have a problem with sluts. And I refuse to be looked down upon for not adhering to artificial purity standards. But I have an excuse for not knowing the Facebook friend with the white van dyke beard I mentioned yesterday. I host a weekly podcast with a modestly sized audience. Many strangers listen to my show and request to be my Facebook friend. I accept, because I'd rather look like a slut than be standoffish and inaccessible to people who enjoy the things I make. Many of these people also happen to be attractive ladies, and I troll their photos for cleavage shots. You would do the same.

I had no Facebook suggestions this morning. I don't know how Facebook determines which suggestions to make and when, but I was surprised they didn't pile up overnight. I think I've proven in the last forty-eight hours that I'm open to suggestions. Seems like a missed opportunity. Someone should suggest to Facebook that they rethink their suggestion algorithm.

I just used the word "algorithm" without knowing whether it was in the proper context. It's not the first time this has happened.

Or maybe they're just slow. This afternoon, I had a full plate of fresh suggestions. Since I couldn't hold to my original goal of following all of them for even a single day, I was comfortable ignoring plenty of the new ones. I feel like a failure, but it's also liberating to know no one is the boss of me. Even me.

Most of these were friend suggestions. I refused to friend Heather, Mellony, or Tina. All of them had a scarlet "A" symbol on their profile pictures. This is the international symbol for atheists, whom I avoid. Many of them are dickish dullards with superiority complexes, and they don't care to discuss much outside of their lack of faith. I should mention that I am also an atheist, but still. I've friended many podcast fans who bear the scarlet "A", and they bombard me with requests to join their discussion groups or sign their online petitions to arrest the pope. It's annoying. And even though I'm mostly comfortable refusing Facebook's suggestions, I still feel a pang of guilt for not sticking to my plan. Better to avoid unwanted suggestions where possible.

I did, however, friend someone named Karrissa. From her picture, she's cute in that gothy way I like. Dark and sexy but not too po faced. Possible cleavage photos there. She hasn't confirmed me yet.

I also friended a woman named Shirlee Phelps-Dodge. We had several friends in common, and I think she may be a member of the Phelps clan who make up most of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas. These are the ones who picket the funerals of gay people and soldiers with their "God hates fags" signs. She may or may not have cleavage shots, but I'm interested to see what a bigot from Kansas lists as her favorite TV shows. If she's a different kind of Phelps, this whole thing will have been for nothing.

Facebook suggested I friend the same African American child I ignored last night. I still don't know who this kid is. We have no friends in common. Maybe these suggestions are based on mutual interests. Regardless, the kid is holding his hand in front of his face in his profile picture, which makes me feel even creepier. I won't friend him ever, and I wish Facebook would stop asking me to.

Despite my views on atheist activists, I friended Sam Harris, author of "Letter to a Christian Nation" and one of the so-called Four Horsemen of the New Atheism popularized by Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins, and Daniel Dennett. I don't care at all about atheism, but I've read Harris' books. He writes well and makes some good points. He also irked some atheist fundamentalists for suggesting there may be some secular benefit to Buddhist meditation. I don't meditate, as I'd rather be playing video games, but I appreciate Harris' open-mindedness. He had no profile picture, and I think he may be new to Facebook, since I was asked to recommend some friends. I declined. I'll follow many of Facebook's suggestions, but I'm not ready to start suggesting things to others. I don't feel it's my place.

Facebook also suggested I like things that some of my friends have also liked. In Facebook parlance, "like" is a verb. But you knew that already, since you're on Facebook just like everyone else. I refused to like a group called "Yelling 'YOU'RE COOL' when you see someone do something stupid", because that's not something I could ever see myself doing. I do stupid things all the time -- especially when I'm trying to look cool -- and I wouldn't appreciate sarcastic screams hurled at me. Even though I'm an atheist, there's a reason I was voted "most Christ-like" at the Christian summer camp I attended in the fifth grade. I also declined to like a group called "I hate the word 'moist'", since I don't. There are no better alternatives. For instance, I would never describe a slice of cake as "damp".

I liked three new groups: "I can't hear you, so I'll just laugh and hope it wasn't a question", "Austin Online Video", and "Good Records". The first one doesn't describe my behavior when I can't hear someone. I usually just yell "What?" and make a face like the other person is an idiot for not speaking up. But I appreciate the impulse. I don't know what the other two are about, but they sound supportable. I'll listen to a good record from time to time.

The lack of any response from any of my new suggested contacts is starting to wear on me. Many of these people are strangers, but some of them are friends or acquaintances with whom I've simply lost touch. I hope they don't hold this against me. It's probably not a good excuse, but I'm terrible at dropping a line every so often just to say hello. If I'm going to talk to a friend, I like to devote some resources to the conversation, and I only have so many resources to go around. This is probably a character flaw. Recently, I sent a Facebook message to an old friend to invite her to an open mic I was hosting. She told me she moved to London weeks ago, and I'd have known that if I cared to stay in touch. She was right to be angry.

I feel sick.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Despite recent privacy concerns, I still have a Facebook account. There are millions of us who either don't post personal information or don't care who sees it. I don't know which is me, since I've not looked at my profile in months. Except for a few weeks ago, when I removed my phone number from it.

Last night, I sat on my news feed waiting for a friend to pop up in my chat list. She never showed, so I left a note on her wall. She responded instantly. Which I'm fairly sure means she was on Facebook but chose to remain invisible to potential chatters. I didn't know this was an option. It feels exclusionary.

While waiting for my invisible friend, I looked at the suggestions box. I usually ignore these. I'm uncomfortable reconnecting with those I've been ignoring, and I don't need any new friends. Out of boredom or perhaps a residual feeling of adventurousness after having just completed a Dungeons & Dragons session, I followed these suggestions anyway. Via status update, I joked about doing this for a year and writing one of those young, white, urban professional NPR listener memoirs about it. Instead, I've started this log.

I don't remember all the suggestions I followed, but one was to "share the latest news" with a Facebook friend to whom I hadn't spoken since we abruptly stopped sleeping together a few years ago under embarrassing circumstances. I won't detail them here, but the circumstances are still embarrassing. I wrote a thing on her wall, though. She hasn't responded.

Facebook also suggested I friend a stranger whose name sounded African. Muttumbe or something like that. His profile picture was of a potted plant. We had a friend in common, though I didn't know that man either. Some older gentleman with a white van dyke beard. I friended the African. He hasn't confirmed.

I also left a note on the wall of my friend Bob's daughter, who's now on her second marriage. I haven't seen her since her first wedding, which was held in a Pentecostal church with a portrait of George W. Bush framed on the wall. Afterward, I called the church's answering machine and told them I would report them to the IRS for politicizing from the pulpit, a violation of the terms of their tax-exempt status. I never followed through, because I'm lazy. She hasn't replied to my post.

This evening, Facebook suggested I friend a stranger who also happened to be an African American child. We had no mutual friends, and it seemed a bit creepy to ask him to be mine. I know I'm not a pedophile, but that doesn't count for much in the universe at large. So I ignored the suggestion.

I've already failed my experiment.

The future looks bleak.