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.
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.