Wednesday, June 04, 2008

creep not lest ye be creeped

Wednesday, June 04, 2008
An open letter to facebook:

Dear Facebook,

I really liked you once. A whole lot. Scrabulous, which I adored until I was yelled at in a meeting and
publicly shamed at work for using, was and possibly is an awesome timewaster.

Sharing photos and connecting with old friends is great. You have completely eliminated the need for a highschool
reuinion and at the same time made it that much easier to organize.

Suddenly I'm invited to 10, 15, 25 events a month that I eagerly RSVP "maybe" to and never show up for. Oh, but what
a socialy butterfly I must be!

And you have made it so easy to stalk people. Former coworkers, acquaintances, maybe that guy you had a colossal crush on
from 1995-2002, minus a 2 month period in 1998 when you had a crush on that other guy. He's there too. And he's
MARRIED! Isn't that grand?

But then we start opening this big ass vat of worms.

Because it's all fine and good to post slightly inappropriate photos of yourself in a variety of inebriated poses,
knowing that your mother can see them. That's called having no shame, by the way, and it sort of feels good, because
who are we kidding, she was there that time you drank six paralyzers and yahonged in your packed suitcase.

And it's just dandy to be able to write cheeky inside jokes for all the world to see on the walls of your friends,
which may or may not include not so thinly veiled stabs and insults at other individuals. You have made it so easy to be
passive aggressive, Facebook, and I sort of love it.

But then there's the danger of clicking on the links that you should just know to leave well alone.

No, you don't need to see those photos.

No, you don't want to know what so-and-so is up to and who they're hanging out with and where they
went for dinner last night. Without you. OR whatever.

And Facebook, I marvel at and shake my fist in resigned anger at your ability to just not forget things.

Like the fact that Amanda and I were briefly wed.

That will haunt me forever, those memories of happiness.

Or the photos posted two, going on two and a half years ago when we thought no one would ever care and it wouldn't matter.
Or, that whoever was in those photos would always be in future photos and so there was no harm, no foul.

Basically, Facebook, what I'm trying to get at is that you really effed with my piece of mind.

Could you please install some kind of feature that would stop me from creeping where I should not creep?

I'm sure that Bill Gates and the Google dudes and Steve Jobs are only months away from being able to just read our
minds, we won't need wireless laser mouses and fancy keystroke shortcut commands.

So get on it, Facebook. Know what I don't want to see and hide it, so that even if I go looking for it, I won't be able
to find it.

Like a good best friend.

You know, the kind where you're like "Please, for the love of god. Take this kitschy metal syphillis propaganda
lunchkit full of painful memorbilia and hide it. And when I ask for it, when I beg you for it, when I threaten
to call your mother and tell her EXACTLY what happened with that Rugby team the night you did eight shots of
tequila... DO NOT GIVE IT TO ME."

Love and kisses,
Meg

7 comments:

Breanne said...

Oh how I miss Scrabulous. That public shaming really tarnished my relationship with it. As for the rest of this post, I don't know what you're talking about.

Jo* said...

Amen!

There are a couple people I wish I could delete off my friends, but the pain of that would be too much. Admitting that we're no longer close and that it hurts to see pictures of them with someone else.

So instead I changed my news feed so that it doesn't update me on their every move, so that when I creep, I'm creeping on my own choice. Rather then having them shoved in my face every time they update.

Oh Facebook, such a love/hate relationship!

Laurel said...

A kitschy metal syphillis propaganda lunchkit! Where can I get one of those?!

Meg said...

I've got one, somewhere. I think it's in a box that is mislabelled in my parent's garage.

They used to have them at Livingston and Cavell in Kensington...

PatZ said...

im pretty sure scrabulous is terrible. but that only makes it funnier that you got yelled at about it at work.
which begs the question, why were you on facebook at work anyway? eeeeeeeveryone knows that you get busted using facebook at work. it's like karma or something.

Meg said...

Ah, that was back during the working for a theatre company days. Not only did we have to ride the train both ways with smelly gross public makeout teenagers, we had nothing to do for 3 months. I read a lot of blogs during that time. Also got my crossword record down to under 5 minutes.

I'd always rather have too much work than not enough work.

Robert said...

I recently had a co-worker call me on the fact that she's on my limited profile. Therein lies the reason that she will never make her way off the limited profile.