I’ve been on Facebook heaps this last wee while, mostly because I’ve been trying to convince my very best friend that she needs to join and because I’ve been leading the case for the defence of Facebook, I felt it necessary to show her just how vital it was to have social networking in your life.
Friends, I have failed.
So far she has conceded to checking her Facebook account once a week. This is because she knows that if she doesn’t check it once a week then I will log on as her and “frape” her account with some ludicrous message about how she really wants Gregg Wallace off Masterchef (she really hates Gregg – no, I don’t know why either…), or how she’s never really liked _______________(Insert name of someone she works with/family member) – you catch my drift. Now, some would take offence at such a thing but as she was forced to join Facebook to avoid my joining on her behalf and using ancient and unflattering photographs for her profile pics, you’d think she’d be well used to my ways by now…But no, she mocks me by occasionally posting wee messages to me or mentioning, in the passing – all casual-like, comments about my status updates. I can sense her mocking me and there is nothing I can do about it. I have created a Social Networking Monster. She is no more a member of Facebook than I am of the local Bridge Club. Pah to her and her lack of love for the power of social network sites. Pah to her and her mockery of me. Pah, indeed.
I think that Facebook is ace. I love the hourly updates that folk give about all the shite they are up to. We have, like most people, family all over the world, and there is something very pleasing about knowing what they have been up to just that morning. Yes, it does mean that we are less likely to pick up the phone (we’ve never been that great for phoning folk anyway so probably no great loss there), but it also means that when the aforementioned family come back to Scotland for a wee visit there is no time wasted in trying to catch up with the last two years of news – we know what everyone has been doing, well at least all the crappy day-to-day stuff. And knowing all the day-to-day just makes everything else seem very familiar…
There is, of course, the issue of being overly familiar with people that you really don’t know all that well…In the hours when I’m not on Facebook, I’m forced, like many others I believe, to go to a place called “work” (it’s dreadful, you wouldn’t like it but I have to go as I have an addiction to buying “stuff” – not “stuff” in a bad sense, just a pile of shite that I probably don’t *really* need. Anyhoo, “work” pays for “stuff” ergo I must work.) So at work there are lots of people who are considerably younger than me and some of them are very cool and interesting and share a very similar outlook on life (minus having three kids and a mortgage). I’m not allowed to be their “friend” at work (no no no, heaven forfend) and I can only be their Facebook friend when they have moved on to pastures new. Superb. This year’s crop of new Facebook friends have been delightful in keeping in touch with all their news, views and spews. I say spews because most of them have just started first year at various universities up and down the country so every post for the last fortnight has been full of tales of Fresher’s Week parties, soirees and gatherings. However, I am aware that as a former role model and moral guardian (ahem) I cannot “like” or really comment very much on their antics – however much I may wish to – and I very much do…I want to tell them that I was young once and crazy, too. Of course, the problem lies in reading too much information about what they young ‘uns have been up to? I know that I do find myself a wee bit shocked about the candid nature of some of the posts and status updates on Facebook, and then I remember that they’re probably not all that conscious that their old teacher might be reading it? God, I hope so.
So bless ya’ Facebook for reuniting families and friends around the globe; for providing us with instant access to all the mindless minutiae of our pals’ lives; for those people who farm vicariously through the crappy games you provide and, of course, for allowing us to poke each other publically without fear of reprimand or reprisal.
Friends, I have failed.
So far she has conceded to checking her Facebook account once a week. This is because she knows that if she doesn’t check it once a week then I will log on as her and “frape” her account with some ludicrous message about how she really wants Gregg Wallace off Masterchef (she really hates Gregg – no, I don’t know why either…), or how she’s never really liked _______________(Insert name of someone she works with/family member) – you catch my drift. Now, some would take offence at such a thing but as she was forced to join Facebook to avoid my joining on her behalf and using ancient and unflattering photographs for her profile pics, you’d think she’d be well used to my ways by now…But no, she mocks me by occasionally posting wee messages to me or mentioning, in the passing – all casual-like, comments about my status updates. I can sense her mocking me and there is nothing I can do about it. I have created a Social Networking Monster. She is no more a member of Facebook than I am of the local Bridge Club. Pah to her and her lack of love for the power of social network sites. Pah to her and her mockery of me. Pah, indeed.
I think that Facebook is ace. I love the hourly updates that folk give about all the shite they are up to. We have, like most people, family all over the world, and there is something very pleasing about knowing what they have been up to just that morning. Yes, it does mean that we are less likely to pick up the phone (we’ve never been that great for phoning folk anyway so probably no great loss there), but it also means that when the aforementioned family come back to Scotland for a wee visit there is no time wasted in trying to catch up with the last two years of news – we know what everyone has been doing, well at least all the crappy day-to-day stuff. And knowing all the day-to-day just makes everything else seem very familiar…
There is, of course, the issue of being overly familiar with people that you really don’t know all that well…In the hours when I’m not on Facebook, I’m forced, like many others I believe, to go to a place called “work” (it’s dreadful, you wouldn’t like it but I have to go as I have an addiction to buying “stuff” – not “stuff” in a bad sense, just a pile of shite that I probably don’t *really* need. Anyhoo, “work” pays for “stuff” ergo I must work.) So at work there are lots of people who are considerably younger than me and some of them are very cool and interesting and share a very similar outlook on life (minus having three kids and a mortgage). I’m not allowed to be their “friend” at work (no no no, heaven forfend) and I can only be their Facebook friend when they have moved on to pastures new. Superb. This year’s crop of new Facebook friends have been delightful in keeping in touch with all their news, views and spews. I say spews because most of them have just started first year at various universities up and down the country so every post for the last fortnight has been full of tales of Fresher’s Week parties, soirees and gatherings. However, I am aware that as a former role model and moral guardian (ahem) I cannot “like” or really comment very much on their antics – however much I may wish to – and I very much do…I want to tell them that I was young once and crazy, too. Of course, the problem lies in reading too much information about what they young ‘uns have been up to? I know that I do find myself a wee bit shocked about the candid nature of some of the posts and status updates on Facebook, and then I remember that they’re probably not all that conscious that their old teacher might be reading it? God, I hope so.
So bless ya’ Facebook for reuniting families and friends around the globe; for providing us with instant access to all the mindless minutiae of our pals’ lives; for those people who farm vicariously through the crappy games you provide and, of course, for allowing us to poke each other publically without fear of reprimand or reprisal.
Hey...what can I say, I'm a slow burner. :-(
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