OK, so I’ve pretty much abandoned this thing. But let me explain why. When I took a brief break, I asked if anyone who reads this would send me their email so I could notify them when I started up again. I received exactly zero emails. So I inferred that the interest level is not really high. However, every now and then I get a little post asking me when I’ll start up again, so here goes…
Facebook.
This little social networking application has grown from the domain of college and high school kids to the primary tool for coordinating 20 year reunions. I should know, I’m being recruited to facilitate just that. It seems that every week people from my past are crawling out of the woodwork discovering this “new” technology. “Isn’t this great!?!?” “So glad to see you on FB!!!” “Here’s an embarrassing picture of you puking in your underwear in the school bathroom at the Prom 20 years ago… hope your prospective employers see it!”
I won’t deny that there is a small segment of the population that have tracked me down that I actually wanted to hear from, but in the end, they could have much more easily Googled me. I mean, if it’s someone I really wanted to keep in touch with, I would have found them by now or more likely (being anti-social myself) they would have found me. I am, after all, easy to find. So what do I get? Thirty “Friend Requests” from people I don’t know -- or worse, don’t like. It’s getting to the point where I am actually getting “Friend Requests” from people whom I consider enemies.
It’s the online equivalent of a DeLorean fitted with a flux capacitor that is fueled entirely by painful memories. “Hey remember that time when I spray-painted the word ‘FAG!’ on the side of your car? Ha Ha Ha -- will you be my friend?” Fuck You McFly!
The amazing thing is, that for the most part these people haven’t really changed. Instead of taking their senior photo with their 1987 Nissan Sentra and forcing those little wallet-sized photos into my hand, they now post annoying pictures of their kids dressed up for Halloween as a drooling bumble bee. Should I feel bad that I’m only number eleven on the list of coolest people? Jesus, it’s like they all aged backward. It’s the Curious Case of Benjamin Beavis and Butthead.
To all you people new to this whole thing, I’ve got some advice. You see, the rest of us have been living in the 21st century for nine years now. Take your “25 Things I don’t Want to Fucking Know About You” list, shove it up your ass and when you finally pass it back out, use at as fertilizer for your “Little Green Patch“.
Oh and here’s a big FYI for you, if we weren’t actually friends before… we still aren’t.
Facebook.
This little social networking application has grown from the domain of college and high school kids to the primary tool for coordinating 20 year reunions. I should know, I’m being recruited to facilitate just that. It seems that every week people from my past are crawling out of the woodwork discovering this “new” technology. “Isn’t this great!?!?” “So glad to see you on FB!!!” “Here’s an embarrassing picture of you puking in your underwear in the school bathroom at the Prom 20 years ago… hope your prospective employers see it!”
I won’t deny that there is a small segment of the population that have tracked me down that I actually wanted to hear from, but in the end, they could have much more easily Googled me. I mean, if it’s someone I really wanted to keep in touch with, I would have found them by now or more likely (being anti-social myself) they would have found me. I am, after all, easy to find. So what do I get? Thirty “Friend Requests” from people I don’t know -- or worse, don’t like. It’s getting to the point where I am actually getting “Friend Requests” from people whom I consider enemies.
It’s the online equivalent of a DeLorean fitted with a flux capacitor that is fueled entirely by painful memories. “Hey remember that time when I spray-painted the word ‘FAG!’ on the side of your car? Ha Ha Ha -- will you be my friend?” Fuck You McFly!
The amazing thing is, that for the most part these people haven’t really changed. Instead of taking their senior photo with their 1987 Nissan Sentra and forcing those little wallet-sized photos into my hand, they now post annoying pictures of their kids dressed up for Halloween as a drooling bumble bee. Should I feel bad that I’m only number eleven on the list of coolest people? Jesus, it’s like they all aged backward. It’s the Curious Case of Benjamin Beavis and Butthead.
To all you people new to this whole thing, I’ve got some advice. You see, the rest of us have been living in the 21st century for nine years now. Take your “25 Things I don’t Want to Fucking Know About You” list, shove it up your ass and when you finally pass it back out, use at as fertilizer for your “Little Green Patch“.
Oh and here’s a big FYI for you, if we weren’t actually friends before… we still aren’t.
