friends

"I now have 70 friends on Facebook," Wife chirped on what had previously been a nice Sunday morning.

I mumbled something back about how I had perhaps 30, and left the room. For if April is the cruelest month, Wife was making May a close second, rubbing her Facebook in my face.

Facebook, the greatest threat to writers since the invention of distilled whiskey, is, fortunately, summarily ignorable. However, it seems that a lot of people are worried about the number of "friends" they have on Facebook, like your typical blogger obsess on the number of comments on his or her blog.

I tried to like Facebook, I really did. On my Facebook page, you can see a photo of a smiling, ugly fellow (me) holding a smiling, beautiful boy (Baby). It was taken several months ago, and Baby’s toothless grin is so adorable that I’ve been tempted to enter it into a contest, so he can perhaps make a little scratch, considering how much the little brat has already cost me.

Unfortunately, it’s a cute enough picture that I’ve been assaulted by friends, family, and even strangers who want to add me as a "friend." A few weeks ago, I received an e-mail from a stranger who wanted to become "friends," being that she was new to Facebook, and, being a parent herself, thought a dude with a cute kid would be a safe place to start.

I thought it was safe, for me, too. Until the "quizzes" started. And the tidal wave of e-mail, and "sexy applications" that I was asked to "join."

I know some of these people well, some not-so-well, and some, not at all; this latter condition, however, has not stopped these Facebook folk from sending me the following "requests:"

Erik Pervert invites you to the Butt-Sniffing Test!

Suzie Narcissist is giving you FuckedUP Karma!

Terry Strangertoyou wants you to see If You’ll Enjoy Toejam!

Most of these "applications" are far less noxious than the ones above, but I am bombarded with every single change someone makes on their Facebook page (I know, you can change these settings, but still).

I realize that Facebook and MySpace and its ilk were really not designed for 43-year-old curmudgeons, which would be me. But the largest demographic group joining Facebook is — sit down, please — people over 30, making it the MySpace for the generation Mick Jagger said he couldn’t trust (long before the Rolling Stones’ tours were sponsored by Depends).

This makes Facebook an excuse for us older folk to pretend that we’re 16 again. Or to gratify those older folk who enjoy sharing news of every urinary tract infection or enlarged prostate with relative strangers and strange relatives.

stax
Zuckerberg points the way to destruction

I’m sure some of you love Facebook, and that it serves as a convenient way to keep current with friends and family. And I have actually reconnected with a couple of people through Facebook who I had not talked to in years. It’s not that Facebook is inherently evil, like the Yankees, Barnes & Noble, or light beer enthusiasts.

No, Facebook is most like television. In and of itself, there’s nothing wrong with it. But it can become a monster that destroys one’s free time like fate crushes Oedipus (once and crushingly) or like Godzilla destroys Tokyo (repeatedly and often). For a writer, this makes Facebook a dangerous thing indeed.

From the rafters, I can hear the calls: You’re slamming Facebook as a time-wasting activity — and you’re a blogger? How can you condemn it? You’re a hypocrite!

Fair enough. So let’s compare:

Blogger Facebook User
Obsess about number of page views, comments Obsess about the number of "friends"
Spend hours writing, thinking, posting Spend hours trying to nab new "friends"
Worry that your latest post isn’t good Worry that your "friends" are bigger losers than you are — or that you’re a bigger loser than your "friends"
Forces you to think of topics Forces you to rethink your definition of "friends"
Must deal with annoying comment spam, trackback spam, and bloviating, angry commenters Must deal with your annoying "friends" who will post every notice of a nosehair clipping on their Facebook page

This obsession with "friends" is as real as the huge number of horndogs who tried getting this curvy lass back her camera. In fact, as far as I can tell, this might be the main purpose of Facebook. Once you pass 10 or 20 friends, there’s no way to keep up with all the crapola on everybody else’s Facebook page, so getting "friends" becomes a thing onto itself.

Of course, that Wife has 70 such contacts I have less than half that that isn’t surprising, since she’s beautiful, outgoing, and social, whereas I am hatchet-faced, shy, and anti-social. And most of my "friends" are members of her extended family.

stax
But honey, the Barcalounger isn’t just the world’s most comfortable chair, it’s a way of life

But Wife’s sly dig at me soon boomeranged on her — an hour later, she got an e-mail from a long-lost contact who found her on Facebook. Too bad it’s a shrill neurotic Wife’s been avoiding for years.

Popularity, it seems, comes with a price tag.

"You get what you deserve," I said, and for once, she had to agree. Now only if I could get her to agree to that Barcalounger.