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.
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.
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