A Plea To Facebook Hippies
Boy, it seems like just yesterday we were sneaking tugs from a pint of Captain Morgan’s behind the shed at Rob’s graduation party.
Remember that? It was back before Sue moved out to New York and scored a part in that off-Broadway production of Dr. T & the Women.
And before Julia married her T.A. and had little Brucey. I spoke with her last week actually.
She’s good, she’s good. Though she’s not very happy with me right now…
Anyway, listen; I have something I’d like to talk to you about. There’s no easy way to say this, but… well here it is: I think you should get rid of your Facebook.
Why? There are plenty of reasons really – not the least of which is how annoyingly at-peace you seem lying in the grass in your profile pic – but really it’s a number of things.
For instance…
The lack of any real information in your Info section
(Ex. No work. No school. Just “Lives in Portland, OR. Likes The Avett Brothers.”)
You have to understand; Facebook is my only window into what you’ve been doing for the past seven or eight years (yes, aside from “calling you sometime,” which we both know won’t happen). And as such, I expect certain questions to be answered. Like, when did you stop listening to Linkin Park / grow that beard / make the switch from wearing shoes to essentially begging to get ringworm? Did your dad lose the dealership? Based on what you’ve posted, I can only surmise that you watched the first three-quarters of Into the Wild and had some kind of deluded epiphany. SPOILER ALERT – you missed the part where that kid dies alone in his stupid bus.
How you’ve never posted a photo – but you’re tagged in thousands of them
(Ex. “Celia ‘Destroyer’ Watts tagged 37 pictures of Dave in her album, ‘Mustache Jamfest 2010’”)
It seems like every Monday morning I trudge into work, log into Facebook and find you at the top of my news feed: jeans rolled-up, in mid-dive over a beautiful mountain spring. Or in a dimly lit bar, engaged in conversation with some transient friend of yours (you look like you’re saying something to the effect of “Yeah, well it’s only illegal because the government saw it as a threat to the paper industry and blah blah blah”). Or at an outdoor music festival, your arm around some collarless flea-ridden dog. That nauseatingly carefree existence of yours is made all the more obnoxious by the fact that every recent picture of you looks like it was taken in the mid-70s.
The cryptic status updates you post every three months
(Ex. “listening to the trees. they still say “shhhh.” im sorry for being so loud.”)
I can make peace with the overall weirdness of your status updates because I’m almost positive you’re high when you write them. But it’s their sporadic nature that really gets my goat. You’ve got some nerve thinking you can just casually participate in the Facebook phenomenon. That while the rest of us go balls-to-the-wall, you can just pop in whenever you feel like it. Balderdash! Social networking requires near constant monitoring – a level of dedication you’re clearly unfit to provide.
Take your nonchalant attitude over to Google+. Believe me, you’ll fit right in.