X This

I was ever so close last night to shutting down my computer and heading upstairs to eat chips and read.

(I eat chips in bed. No, SA doesn’t mind. He eats chips in bed too. But not my chips. No one eats my chips.)

Anyway, I checked in on The Palinode cause I haven’t in a while and he had written a great post about Facebook, joining a long, illustrious list of people who have written great posts about Facebook since it exploded all over us like a clown cigar.

In reading these many posts about Facebook, I have wondered what I am missing, in that I am no more or less addicted to Facebook than any other aspect of the Internet. All of the Internet is like crack to me. You might as well call it Cracknet except that probably means something else. Facebook is just one more tab in my browser to refresh, one more bottle in a fridge full of beer, one more hit off my hand-carved hashpipe.

It may be that this is because after the intial rush, the woodwork has closed back up and no more ghosts have been forthcoming. Facebook has now de-magicked into a dry hashpipe, an empty bottle, the browser tab I refresh last. Other than providing another convenient way for this phone-phobe to communicate with people she already knows, Facebook is not useful to me.

And I was thinking, yesterday morning, after I did make a new friend; a complete stranger who is a “friend” of a “friend,” (the word “friend” is in quotation marks because the phrase “friend of a friend” usually denotes actual friendship whereas in Facebookland all it means is that the person who is your “friend” has consented to you listing him as such for all to see) that Facebook is panning out just like any other party: First I put on clean jeans and jump in, all excited. Then I have fun for a couple of hours. Finally, I get overstimulated and try to leave without offending anyone.

So last night I read The Palinode’s post and then self-consciously went to my facebook profile page to make sure my profile picture is still cool and noticed I had something called a “X ME” message, from a woman that I met at a mom & baby drop-in. I could not pick her out of a Timmy’s lineup but I don’t mind being her “friend” because she has a cute baby Trombone’s age and I’m cheap like that. I clicked on the “X ME” message and it said, “Would you like to Hug me? You can do anything you want – hug me, tickle me, and more!”

OK. Facebook? You’ve gone too far. You are no longer the party I am thinking about leaving. Now you are the drunk guy at the party who keeps trying to follow me into the bathroom.

“Would you like to Hug me?” No, kind stranger, I would not. Nor would I like to “AND MORE” you. Do I look like I’m trolling for sweet new fish? (we watched a ’50s women-in-prison movie last night on TCM)

I have no issue with the X ME application. I’m sure if I was in high school or college or jail I would be flirting up a storm with friends of friends of friends and omigod I just found the guy we saw last night at the club, remember, he was tall and had messy hair? OMIGOD he just POKED ME!

But I’m not in high school or college or jail. And I think my reaction definitely proves that, as the kids keep trying to tell us, Facebook was not written for me or my ilk. Assuming I have ilk. Neigh if you’re my ilk.