Only a few (my roommate and his dog) will witness the ceremony of tossing my laptop battery into the creek, but, in the coming days and weeks, when it becomes apparent just how dead and gone I have become, all my internet family and friends will mourn over my deactivated accounts.
A year or two before it became a radio single, I had a scrambled, low-fi recording of “Hey There, Delilah” set to play whenever someone visited my MySpace profile. Of all of the songs in the world, I chose “Hey There, Delilah” as the song I wanted to be identified with. Living in a snap judgment, profile picture world, this seems like a bold – if not asinine – choice.
Three years ago I moved to New York City with two suitcases, no money, and a month-long sublet with a burlesque dancer named Cherry Bomb.
I remember telling him that Myspace seemed like an embarrassing joke. “I would never get one. It’s for scene kids and baby prostitutes!” At the time, I was committed to my Livejournal after having taken a brief sojourn to Friendster, and had no intentions of deviating ever again.
So, yeah, I guess searching for people is kind of simple since you don’t have to remember their goofy usernames. People are ‘over’ goofy usernames, you know – wait, wait. Scroll back up. Oh, well look at this – apparently Megan MoTiVatEdWoMyN Jameston is not over ‘goofy usernames.’ Who would’ve thought?
Facebook is the Good Guy Greg of online interactions. Facebook just wants to have a good time! Check out these pictures from Olivia’s trip to Spain! Dude! Jeff just won $50 in the lottery! Isn’t that sweet? Let’s poke, bro! Let’s chat!
You spend three weeks texting and G-chatting and video chatting constantly with someone and then it just stops. The person falls off of the earth or maybe you do because things have just become too belabored. You wonder what the point of all this correspondence is and decide to sign offline for good.
People know they want to connect with other people and they’ve acknowledged, by signing their souls to more and more accounts, that the Internet is the way to reach this goal. This is why, when I opened up my Gmail account yesterday and saw the Google+ invite sitting pretty in my inbox, I signed up, all the while applauding myself for setting myself ahead of the social media curve.
Oh my god, was there anything worse than “Have a great summer?” You might as well have written “Piss off and die, you social pariah!” Whenever someone would write that in my yearbook, I would basically weep in the corner and be like, “Why does this person hate me so much? I thought we were friends!”
I don’t think “creeper,” or “stalker” properly defines a person who uses Facebook to gather some information about a friend or neighbor. After all, even digging into the deepest pockets of a Facebook profile is still just observing what the user made available to the public. It’s not like the “Facebook stalker” is rifling through someone’s underwear drawer.