Facebook.com
Now, I originally got into Facebook.com to stay in touch with friends, but it quickly evolved into something more. Although I'm not up to the level of the kids who check their facebook six times a day to see if anything new has happened, I'm not exactly detached from it. For someone who utterly failed to get the hang of myspace, it took me by surprise that Facebook.com has become so addictive.
It has an utterly bizarre quality to it, including the friend-acquiring process. There's always that one kid you made toast next to every morning and never knew the name of who friends you, and when it says "Titus Baldwin has friended you", you say, "Well, okay, but who the hell is that?" But then you friend himm anyway, because it'd be sweet to have a three-digit friends count. Really, the name "friend" on facebook is a complete lie. I am not truly friends with the majority of the people on my list, nor has facebook made us any closer friends. I thought internet dating was creepy, a little bit fake and impersonal, but it holds no candle to an entire internet social scene.
But chief among Facebook.com's many appeals is the voyeuristic quality inevitably brings out in its users. Everyone I know has confessed to facebook stalking. Suddenly you discover that the quiet, well-dressed kid in math class actually has a wild side, and lots of friends with digital cameras. You click on "My Photos" on his profile, and discover that not one, not two, but thirteen people have tagged him eating an entire plate of cookies, vomiting, and then attempting to high jump onto the couch, ancient Grecian Olympics style (naked). And after perusing the surprising and entertaining images of someone you've never spoken more than five consecutive words to, you inevitably click on one of the cookie/vomiting/Olympics photo albums and discover an entirely new person who does random, stupid things. The ability to surf these photos for large spans of time is one of a teenager's many remarkable abilities.
My immediate reaction now, upon discovering than someone is dating, is to check their facebook account and see if Facebook.com acknowledges said relationship. Facebook.com has its faults, however. Namely, people lie on facebook. Unfortunately, people also have a limited grasp of humor, which already does not convey as well on the internet. This becomes an amusing and tragic mix of factors when it comes to dating status on facebook. Facebook.com dating is not like dating in real life. It therefore circulated that my hot, Facebook.com girlfriend and I, Katie, were in fact lesbians in real life. It was amusing at first, and then annoying, but it hasn't stopped me from believing conceivable Facebook.com love-matches.
Then there is the mystery of the poke, which is of an indeterminately sexual nature. I've heard explanations that range from "It has no purpose, it's just funny" to "It means they had sex with you" to "They want to have sex with you." None but the first of these makes any sense. If the second option were the explanation, then the only conceivable reaction to being poked is, "Um, yeah, and?" As to the third option, I doubt that any self-respecting person would have sex with anyone on the basis of being jabbed by an internet finger. I tried to keep that sentence from being dirty, but there was no way around it.
After much contemplation, I have decided that the beauty of Facebook.com is that we can all be voyeurs, post atrocious pictures of friends, hit people with a "Hot Train" on their profile wall, poke people as many times as we want, and flat out lie about relationship status, and it's all socially acceptable. Its one purpose is to kill/waste time, and it succeeds beautifully (although other forms of entertainment don't lead to my mother's speeches about internet safety and unwashed, thirty-year-old men living their parents' basements). Where else could I be friends with both Joan of Arc and Abraham Lincoln?
It has an utterly bizarre quality to it, including the friend-acquiring process. There's always that one kid you made toast next to every morning and never knew the name of who friends you, and when it says "Titus Baldwin has friended you", you say, "Well, okay, but who the hell is that?" But then you friend himm anyway, because it'd be sweet to have a three-digit friends count. Really, the name "friend" on facebook is a complete lie. I am not truly friends with the majority of the people on my list, nor has facebook made us any closer friends. I thought internet dating was creepy, a little bit fake and impersonal, but it holds no candle to an entire internet social scene.
But chief among Facebook.com's many appeals is the voyeuristic quality inevitably brings out in its users. Everyone I know has confessed to facebook stalking. Suddenly you discover that the quiet, well-dressed kid in math class actually has a wild side, and lots of friends with digital cameras. You click on "My Photos" on his profile, and discover that not one, not two, but thirteen people have tagged him eating an entire plate of cookies, vomiting, and then attempting to high jump onto the couch, ancient Grecian Olympics style (naked). And after perusing the surprising and entertaining images of someone you've never spoken more than five consecutive words to, you inevitably click on one of the cookie/vomiting/Olympics photo albums and discover an entirely new person who does random, stupid things. The ability to surf these photos for large spans of time is one of a teenager's many remarkable abilities.
My immediate reaction now, upon discovering than someone is dating, is to check their facebook account and see if Facebook.com acknowledges said relationship. Facebook.com has its faults, however. Namely, people lie on facebook. Unfortunately, people also have a limited grasp of humor, which already does not convey as well on the internet. This becomes an amusing and tragic mix of factors when it comes to dating status on facebook. Facebook.com dating is not like dating in real life. It therefore circulated that my hot, Facebook.com girlfriend and I, Katie, were in fact lesbians in real life. It was amusing at first, and then annoying, but it hasn't stopped me from believing conceivable Facebook.com love-matches.
Then there is the mystery of the poke, which is of an indeterminately sexual nature. I've heard explanations that range from "It has no purpose, it's just funny" to "It means they had sex with you" to "They want to have sex with you." None but the first of these makes any sense. If the second option were the explanation, then the only conceivable reaction to being poked is, "Um, yeah, and?" As to the third option, I doubt that any self-respecting person would have sex with anyone on the basis of being jabbed by an internet finger. I tried to keep that sentence from being dirty, but there was no way around it.
After much contemplation, I have decided that the beauty of Facebook.com is that we can all be voyeurs, post atrocious pictures of friends, hit people with a "Hot Train" on their profile wall, poke people as many times as we want, and flat out lie about relationship status, and it's all socially acceptable. Its one purpose is to kill/waste time, and it succeeds beautifully (although other forms of entertainment don't lead to my mother's speeches about internet safety and unwashed, thirty-year-old men living their parents' basements). Where else could I be friends with both Joan of Arc and Abraham Lincoln?
posted by Meredith at 7:19 AM
2 Comments:
I don't use the high-school version of facebook (I mean, I'm quite possibly the only person in my school to have heard of it) so the whole creepy friend-making concept hasn't quite taken off yet. But I agree with what you said about facebook releasing some primal stalker quality in me. I've spent way too much time finding out where all these alumni of my high school ended up. And then I started checking out those of my old school (which I attended in Kindergarten).
I wonder what will happen when college rolls around. Must not waste too much time with pointless activities such as facebook.
Eh, who am I kidding?
myspace, dear. myspace.
(although i'm growing more and more indifferent)
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