Now that summer’s here and I have lots of time to sit around and do nothing, I often spend more hours on Facebook or Myspace than should be humanly possible. I’m not even sure what I do for so long on these sites. I click, stare, click, stare, click…it’s sort of like an odd addiction, and I’m not proud. Not proud at all.
And sure, there are days when I question the validity of such sites. In the beginning of the Facebook craze, I was totally against it. What the hell do I want an online profile for? I thought in the beginning. What do you do, just stare at people at all day? Initially, I thought it was a completely stupid idea.
Somewhere along the line my thoughts changed, and I became one of the millions who gladly post pictures and contact information for all to see. Isn’t this what our parents warned us about when we started signing on in the 1990’s?
“Don’t you dare put any personal information up on the internet, young lady!” My mom would warn as our modern screamed and coughed and finally signed me on with a computerized You’ve Got Mail! “There are crazy people all over the place.”
I listened to her then, still awed and scared by this new internet superhighway. But as the internet became as familiar and daily as brushing my teeth, something must have changed. I must have decided those scary crazy people weren’t so scary. I must have decided that hitting my Twenties stopped all those creepy child predators from wanting to track me down. I must have decided something.
I just can’t remember what it was.
Not everyone subscribes to the Facebook way of life, and the more I hear about companies checking the drunk birthday pics of their employees and registered sex offenders still finding ways to lure children over Myspace, the more I think about taking a break. How many hours would I gain a day? Two? Three? I don’t even want to do the math, but I’m sure it’s a lot. Someone could probably find a cure for cancer in the amount of pointless hours I’ve spent on both those sites.
And what about those 206 friends I supposedly have? Do any of them come over to hang out? Call me? No. They leave random, noncommittal messages—probably just to see their name on someone else’s profile. Half of these people I don’t even know that well, we’re just “friends” in an attempt to seem popular to…whoever cares.
You know what? I’m taking my mom’s advice and erasing any kind of personal information from my accounts. Oh, and those pictures of me where my eyes are half-closed and I’m dancing with someone’s blow-up doll? Gone forever.
…It’s probably for the best. Wouldn’t want all those weirdo stalkers who have found me through personal tidbits getting the wrong idea.