Bruce slams the door in the Facebook
I keep getting offers from nice people (I assume they’re nice people. For all I know, they could be pill poppers, panhandlers, and poor drivers) to join them in the Faceosphere-Spacebook, My Face, NerdNet, FaceLoss, etc., etc., etc.—all the social networks that are the rage these days. These offers, on a certain level, are flattering and fine. But please, don’t be hateful when I reject them. For one thing, I have a poor mental image of what takes place on these sites. Do people really want to get updates about me shooting BBs at the squirrels attacking my bird feeders? “Yessiree, I got one of those little farts today! Zinged him right in his fat little flank!” And the other thing is, I’m trying to find ways to REDUCE my time spent in front of the bleeping computer. Joining these socializing networks appears, at least on the surface, to be counter-productive in the attainment of this goal.
I realize I may well be passing up golden opportunities to meet exciting new people, make international contacts, maybe even hook-up with dozens of exotic and sudsy new lovers. I’ll take my chances. I suppose I’m just not willing, at this time anyway, to wade through the vast swamps of the banal that seem to dominate all this chattel chatter in order to find the various pearls that may be lodged deep in the cybermuck. If millions upon millions truly desire to coat the walls of the internet with spitwad bulletins from their daily lives, that’s dandy and swell. I find the prospect resistable, to put it mildly, and guess that my time would generally be better spent organizing the horror that is my garage.
OK, so there’s my uppity, highfalootin’ spin on the whole scene, appropriately filled with a well-blended mixture of hot air and snoot gas. Now for the real reason I’m declining offers to join the latest SlothBook venture to come slurching down the trail. It’s much simpler. I already have an EssFacedBook page going. Sorta. It’s This Space.
In a very real way, I’m already in on this caper. This Space, meaning this column, is basically an old school, analog version of all the fancy, ultra-digital GimmeSomeSpace networks whirling around. I update some claptrap off the top of my head every week, just like some poor moke out there on GetOuttaMyFaceBook who’s posting photos of the new paint job on his pickup truck. Hell, I’ve even got my pic in place, that one you see of the crow’s foot-laden dreamboat there in the corner. (Nice of our staff artist to not leave out even one stinkin’ laugh line!) You get my weekly blab, and, if so moved, you can send me your feedback, just like on YourFaceMyAssBook. And I always write back because that’s what good buddies do. So see? We’re already friends!
So be a nice pal and buzz off already.