I'm writing to you from the library, feeling like a total stalker, as the Library Guy works behind the counter only meters away from me.
Today I wore my red American Apparel "Legalize LA" shirt because I looked at his Facebook profile once (okay, more than once) and saw he owned the same shirt in green. So today I decided to "randomly" wear mine in order to undoubtedly spark up conversation about how he and I so happened to both own the same shirt. The universe gave me a bigger gift because he decided to wear his shirt too! And there was an incredible three seconds in which I nonchalantly said how funny that was, before moving on to another topic.
I know I'm kind of ridiculous but damned if I'm going to show him.
If someone's profile is not set to private, I will click on it because Facebook has made me even a bigger voyeur than I ever was before. But doesn't it feel like such a sense of deceit? Or has it become so normal - to lurk on each other's pages without ever having to say anything - that stalking is just another favorite pass time for everyone?
I was getting sick of Facebook and the way we've allowed it to be our primary source of communication and decided to do something that I had never done in my five years with the social network: I deactivated my account. It doesn't delete it but it does make your profile invisible and prevent you from using it, for as long as you want. Perhaps it was also a way to absolve my guilt. I don't know how long this will last but I'm going to ride it out for now, withdrawals and all.
I spend too much on time on the internet as it is. But instead of soaking up this seemingly endless vessel of knowledge by researching career paths or tutorials about photography or website coding, I mindlessly click on pictures and profiles of people until my eyes hurt and hands are cold. The internet can be such a productive place, vibrant with creative energy as we improve ourselves as thinkers, writers, artists, etc. I know I am a child of the digital generation. And I am also my father's daughter. But the internet should not mean a compromise of the conscious (or the conscience).
Maybe a break from Facebook will help me redefine how and what I use the internet for.
10 February 2009
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1 comment:
Indeed, I know your secret ;). But no worries, my lips are sealed.
I was planning on completely deleting my Facebook this December but decided not to, partly since so many friends from Chile now have it. But the truth is that I use it more to communicate with people that are right around me, so I think I was deceiving myself. I was also a bit worried that I'd lose track of events. I had no idea though that deactivation was a possibility (and that event invitations could still be received via email), so I think I'll do that this weekend.
I too have used Facebook in a voyeuristic fashion. I know certain things about people and people know certain things about me not because we sat and talked over a meal or on a walk but because we took the easy way out--we were bored while during homework and decided to do a little stalking. Most of the findings aren't profound but at the end of the day it's still personal information about a person. And I think it also takes away from keeping in touch with people who are far way; it makes it too easy. Half the time, you don't even feel the need to write a message to someone to see what's going on in their life. Instead, you can look at their pictures, their wall, and the groups they've joined to see what they're up to and what kind of person they're becoming. And who can ignore the huge time-waster it can be. I wish I could have back a lot of the time I spent on Facebook (and trade it for sleep, more attentive reading, or time with people). But alas, all we can do is be more thoughtful of how we use the internet in the present and future.
Thanks for this entry of yours; it reminded me that I should stick to the conviction I started feeling last semester about Facebook. I think I’ll try deactivating it for two to four weeks and then see if I want to stick to it for the semester.
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