The Antisocial Network

In the spirit of my promised semi-predictability in post topics, here's a rant straight outta left field. I hate Facebook. I hate it so much that I check it about a dozen times a day, take pictures specifically thinking they'll be the perfect profile pic, and insist on constantly advertising who I'm spending my time with all over your newsfeed. But I really do hate it, and what it's turned us all into.

I got my Facebook my junior year of high school specifically to keep in touch with the friends i made in Italy and with the idea that it'd be useful when I went to college as well. And I suppose it has served these purposes well, along with keeping me in the loop about what my entire graduating class is having for lunch. But it's also helped to nurture a form of socializing that I'm embarrassed to say I take a part in.

The days of compliments are gone. Real wholehearted vocalized compliments are going to be completely foreign to my children, replaced by liking pictures and statuses on Facebook. Or if what's shared is really good, maybe it'll earn a comment that looks like the bastard child of texting shorthand and my phone number ($w33+ p1c!). Regardless, the next generation will probably never know the unsettled feeling that comes right before you approach a girl at a party to tell her how great she looks. Why bother, just like the picture tomorrow when it hits the book.

I can't pretend to be innocent; I like half the pictures that show up in my feed it feels like. But a few weeks ago I had enough and decided to take a step back, no matter how small. I saw someone I've known posted a picture of herself from some formal occasion, and I thought to myself what a nice picture of her it was. As I was about to click the good old like button, I stopped myself. How would that like come across to her? Would she know that I thought it was a great picture of her or would she think I hit like in the midst of a drunken facebooking frenzy? Likely neither; she would've seen the notification and then clicked on another one that required a response. We've all had that compliment that made our day; mine for her would've gotten buried at the bottom of a pile of notifications.

So I texted her. Not as warm or personal as it could've been, but a step up from a digital thumbs up. And it felt good to take control of the message I was sending again, to not leave my 'like' up for her interpretation. I felt good about it and I hope it brightened her day up a bit too. Maybe every picture deserves a text instead of a like, or maybe only some do, but I do at least know you'll all start seeing my name on your phone screens more and on your notifications tab less.

-kevin