According to most social networking sites, I am a failure. I am not only a social wallflower, but I am unworthy of membership on said networks. And how do I know this? By using their own metrics.
For starters, I am woefully behind on answering the various “pokes,” “chug-offs,” quizzes and other invitations I have received on Facebook. They sit there, patiently, waiting to discover whether I am Porky the Pig, Daffy the Duck or Mortimer the Yak. (Okay, I made that last one up; I admit it. I couldn’t resist. Don’t drive yourself crazy Googling it.)
Frankly, I don’t understand how anyone can keep up with all of the relentless Facebook traffic. People have such intricate lives, and now I am privy to all of it. It’s not that I don’t appreciate this gracious gesture. It’s just that I am a chick, and thus I want to make everything better for everyone, right away. Try doing that with Facebook. (Or actually, don’t – please. I don’t want your demise on my conscience.)
SFGate’s wonderful Mark Morford published a fascinating article entitled, ” Me and my 5000 Facebook friends / What happens when you reach the ultimate in cool pointless thresholds?” (Which I heartily recommend, by the way.) I initially found this article very funny, until it finally hit me. Once I have friended all of these people, I will have to remember all of their birthdays, spouses’ names, kids’ names, favorite foods, favorite movies …
I can’t even keep up with all of my friends’ and families’ lives, for Heaven’s sake. My husband routinely lambastes me for not updating my blog and for not keeping up with replying to friends’ comments, checking out their blogs, et cetera. Do you want to know when I visit the blogosphere? Hardly ever. I don’t have the time. I have a family to tend to, and all of my blogging occurs during the free minutes between laundry, cooking, homework-checking, bill paying – you get the idea.
The pressure created by Twitter is even worse. Would my 5,000 best friends like to hear my latest epiphany gleaned on my commute to or from work? Well, let’s find out. “Stalled in MUNI tunnel. This sucks. I’m gonna get laid off. Again …”
Do these social networking sites even realize how much pressure they’re placing on misanthropic introverts like me? Do they even care? Does Mark Zuckerberg stay awake at night worrying about my sad, overwhelmed plight? I doubt it. (Although I worry about his – and endlessly, I might add…)
Further to Twitter: I do not “tweet.” I have been known to squawk, screech, howl, caterwaul, bellow or bark, but I do not “tweet.” I am way too large to “tweet.” Trust me on this. Have a great day, and may all of your “tweets” be melodic, interesting and fun.