For months all I heard was: “Are you on Facebook yet? Why aren’t you on Facebook? I can’t talk to you unless you’re on Facebook!”
Facebook, Facebook, Facebook; Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.
For paranoid people like myself, social networking websites are a form of surveillance that perpetuates the use of cameras in bars. As far as I’m concerned, Facebook is one more step towards Soylent Green.
Inevitability came in the form of a cancelled party I showed up for. “You didn’t get the message?” The host informed me. “Girl, it’s time you got on Facebook! And a cell phone while you’re at it!”
If you’ve ever posed for a digital photo, you are on Facebook somewhere. Posting compromising pictures of people without their permission is now acceptable behaviour. It’s a form of blackmail, like a high school yearbook or potty training photos. “You mean you didn’t want everyone to see your ass crack? I’m sorry.”
As opposed to real life, there were already people waiting to be my friend when I joined. The first thing I did was search for other Tony Correias. Most of them are better looking — even the Tonyas. Apparently, we’re all paranoid because only our friends can see our profiles.
Facebook is proof that you can’t hide from the cosmos. No one tells you that unless you program it otherwise, everything you do on the site is broadcast to all your friends. Now my niece knows I like pro wrestling; like she didn’t think I was weird already.
It’s ironic that in real life we have to tear down walls to get to know people, but online we have to build them by category to protect others from finding out about ourselves.
One thing Facebook has going for and against it is catharsis. Just as there was one person in particular that I felt a need to reconnect with, there was another I preferred to know nothing about. Figures the last person you’re looking for is the first one who finds you.
He was the first friend I ever had; we were in the same kindergarten and graduating classes. The only things we had in common was that we were Portuguese and lived on the same street. Then in high school he sold me out because I’m a fag.
And now he wanted know how I was doing. Was he out of his fucking mind? Delete.
“Did you know the guys who developed Facebook used to work for the CIA?” a friend recently asked.
“And you’re telling me this now?”
Seriously, I don’t know why I just don’t sign my name with my social insurance number. I’m sure if enough people pressured me into it, I probably would.