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.
You like yourself. You think you’re good company. You go to lunch by yourself, catch the occasional movie all by your lonesome, and are content in spending a solo star night in. You would hang out with you. Sure. Why not?
In the case of the PS3, users understand the idea of punishing a hardware giant for trying to interfere in its users’ sense of individual ownership, and while they may not support organized crime, while they might feel super totally bad about people’s credit cards being compromised, they can assume that identity theft is only a side effect of the reckoning to which Sony is now being called.
We flooded the message board with personal flirty messages that redefined the word corny. We called each other husband, and wrote big public posts of longing and missing. After two weeks we had enough of the distance (Death Cab’s Transatlanticism was our theme song.) and decided to meet up.
How to be an Artist: Start an Etsy ‘store.’ Draw small robots, animals or ‘things’ on printer paper. Add minimal color using the markers you used in grade school. These drawings’ overarching theme should be one of ‘cuteness’ or ‘twee.’ Frame these drawings and list them on Etsy for $20 a piece. Facebook status update that you’ve “finally” started an Etsy page “so [you] can FINALLY start selling [your] art.”
If anything, what Zuckerberg has done so masterfully is make you believe that you are the master of your virtual universe, controlling your privacy settings, with the ability to add, find or delete friends, hide posts, and poke people that you like. It may not be a meaningful way of connecting, but it offers the opportunity for meaningful connections to happen.
Jeffree Star may have very well been someone’s AB once upon a time; but at the peak of his MySpace fame he more closely resembled the Barbie’s World equivalent of Marilyn Manson. His pink hair and glittery persona was all Babs, but the “I removed my bottom ribs to perform oral sex on myself” look was totally Marilyn.
If you were born in the 90s, there’s a chance that you have never lived a life without internet or social networking, which kind of sucks. You may have always known about Myspace and text messaging and cell phones. You didn’t get a chance to not be addicted to the internet for a sec, to play outside all day and scrape your knees and just be disconnected from technology.
Go back to your room, and to feel safe, put on Miley Cyrus’ “Party in the U.S.A.” on repeat.
You might wonder how my best girlfriend and I were able to date the same boy for an entire summer. Your faces are probably scrunching up in confusion right now and thinking, “That must’ve been really weird. Especially because your best friend was a chick. And he was a dude. And you’re a dude.” While in theory it might’ve been a strange decision, it turned out to be anything but in practice (at least for awhile).