Big Mike: My Slap In The Facebook

It’s ironic. Now that Benny Jay and Milo are circle-jerking over Facebook, I’m quitting the damned thing. Then again, considering that between the two they’re about 73 years behind the times, I’m probably doing the hip thing.

For instance, Benny Jay left a panicky message on my voicemail this morning asking how to get his hifi working. Hang on, buddy, I’ll get back to you.

Benny Jay Goes Hi-Tech

I’d heard of Friendster when it first came out, which I think was during the Protestant Reformation. At that time it was billed as the cutting edge social networking site for college kids. Since college kids and I have nothing to say to each other (and if I found that we did, I’d immediately say something else) I ignored it. Then a year later MySpace came along and it had a broader clientele which included a friend or two of mine, so I signed up. Before I knew it, years had passed and I’d never used it. Then, of course, Facebook exploded like a cross between Lady Gaga and H1N1 and I signed up for it but, again, let long months pass before I did anything on it.

When Benny Jay and I cranked up this site it occurred me that I could use Facebook to advertise it. So I started posting on Facebook. I even started accumulating “friends” which seems the equivalent of calling a glory hole trick your lover.

With terribly rare exceptions, I found nothing of value on Facebook. Yeah, I reconnected with my old high school chum Bronson. I said hello to a couple of dozen other long-lost pals and we all promised each other we’d keep in touch, which we didn’t. And, sure, I was able to keep up with my nieces and nephews. Since I now live in the wilds of southern Indiana, I haven’t been able to see them as much as I’d like. It’s amazing how they’ve grown in the three years since I left Chicago.

My nieces Clark and Chase Finkelstein love to post pix of themselves and their friends. But when Clark’s Facebook photo album hit the magic 2000 figure, I realized it was becoming a chore to keep up. (As an aside, let me state right here and now that you will hear, see, and read about either or both of the Finkelstein gals by the year 2015 — they’re that talented and that driven.)

That’s Clarkie, On The Left, With The Evanston Dance Ensemble.

But the sad truth remains, I don’t now nor did I ever care about the day-to-day activities of most people. And really, that’s what Facebook is all about. Want proof? Okay, here are some sample postings:

• Butter pecan ice cream…. mmmm!
• If this snow doesn’t go away I’m going to scream!
• I love Eric.
• I’ll never understand females.
• Jana, you are the best.
• You have been invited to join Mafia Wars.
• Got tickets for Dave Mathews…. can’t wait!

Holy Christ in heaven, I thought TV was mind-numbing!

I suppose the pedestrian anthropologist in me could use Facebook to study how quickly the human race is hurtling toward oblivion. But I really don’t care.

The thing, though, that pushed me over the line was the use of Facebook for people to show off their proudest consumer possessions — their kids. Since it’s become rather unseemly for people to flaunt their wealth these days, they’re falling back on their progeny to show the world how worthy and wonderful they are.

Men used to take pictures of themselves standing next to their shiny new Buicks to announce that they were hard-working, big-earning machers. Women would turn their heads just so when they had their photos taken at weddings, the better to display their pearl earrings. Now, of course, gas hogs and gaudy jewelry are so passe.

You’ve Made It, Baby!

So, roll out the brats! Anybody of child-bearing age who doesn’t shove his or her kid in front of the camera so the image can be downloadable to everyone up to and including the Tamil people of Sri Lanka is, well, just so out of it.

In the ’80s and ’90s it was the trophy wife. Now it’s the trophy kid.

So, I was thisclose to closing my Facebook account. Then I thought maybe I was being a tad curmudgeonly. Depending on my mood for the day, I’m either proud of or apologetic about my orneriness. Then, The Loved One sent me this link.

Glenn Beck’s Rival

Facebook, some have concluded, has shut down a guy’s page because he poked fun at Glenn Beck. I don’t know if I buy the premise. It’s all so conspiratorial. I do know that the poodle vs. Beck dust-up is the perfect symbol for what’s wrong with Facebook, though. To describe it as a tempest in a teapot is to magnify its meaning and import. If anything, it’s flat out boring.

That’s what Facebook does — it bores me. I’m out of it.

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