Refusing To Be A Facebook Friend
Wednesday - October 07, 2009
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If you’ve asked me to be your friend on Facebook and I ignored you and deleted you, please don’t take it as a personal affront.
I don’t participate in Facebook. Neither do I tweet on Twitter, have a fax machine or an iPhone.
I’m not a technology Luddite. I have full computer equipment, several home phone terminals, a printer and a scanner - even a satellite TV setup that gets all the basic stuff, but no special packages - a car and a moped, a smoke alarm in every room.
I just don’t want to know much about what you’re doing and have no need to tell you what I’m doing.
My daughter and my wife are on Facebook, and that seems to please them. I look at it like saying grace at the dinner table. Pretty lame, but you do what you gotta do. I don’t gotta do it.
The Twitter thing seems to have become the height of human ridiculousness. A guy has invented a kind of sensory-activated Twitter that can send a tweet every time a waiting-to-be-born baby makes a kick in the mother’s womb.
There’s a point at which too much information becomes a pain in the okole. People text while watching a movie. They talk on their cell phones while watching a movie. They get hives if they discover they’re in a restaurant and left their cell phone in the car.
I often don’t answer the phone at home. I have an answering machine and can call you back. I’ve never bothered to set the time program on the machine, so many calls seem to have come in at 3 in the morning two days ago.
Maybe there’s something to that Facebook thing. I just can’t see it. If it’s something important and it’s between you and me, you can e-mail me. I get about three “friend” requests a week. Most from somebody I know but rarely contact, and some from people who make me say, “Who dat?”
All of you get deleted. I love great conversation - over drinks or dinner, but not on the Internet. Well, I’ll modify that. I have a Southern California buddy and we love to trade observations by e-mail on life, love and the evils of Republicanism. But that’s between us. Not for you.
That name, F a c e b o o k , comes from those sheets you used to get when you started college with pictures and names of all your classmates. That was helpful.
Now, it’s pure ego. Here’s my face and what I’m doing.
Sort of like this column. Here’s my picture and what I think.
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