Facebook Friends: Almost as Real as MySpace Friends

After some people read some of my blogs they think I'm an asshole.

After this blog, everyone's going to think I'm an asshole.

When I first signed up with Facebook I thought it was the greatest thing since slavery (and this isn't even the part I think everyone's going to think I'm an asshole for). When I say 'the greatest thing since slavery', I really mean being able to keep everyone near you. See? It's a nice thing.

All I have to do to find out what all of my family and my friends are up to is log on to one website. No more phone calls, no more birthday cards, no more akward conversations... I can think of a retort to a comment for forty five minutes before I post it and I still manage what appears to be a quick wit.

Now, years later, I have a person who I went to grade school with trying to "befreind" me on Facebook. This leaves me with only one question: Do I really want to add one more person to my activity stream that I'm going to ignore every day?

My Facebook friends list has become somewhat exclusive these days. I don't really like adding people unless I trust them enough to be added. It's like getting to second base. If I like them enough, I'll lift up my shirt.

Some people may think it's nice to reconnect with the past, but I'm not one of those people. I like the present, and I occasionally consider the day robots enslave humanity in the future. I don't really care about what my friends from junior high are eating for dinner. And if this makes me a terrible person, then I suppose I can live with that. But maybe someday we'll all turn away from our computer screens, walk into our backyards, turn our eyes to a beautiful sunset, shed a tear and say to ourselves, "Is that a spaceship full of robots holding mind-control collars? This is truly a beautiful evening."

Cracktown

I recently became a virtual farmer in the farming community of Farmtown on the world wide internet. I should add that I became a farmer against my will. My wife hacked into my facebook account, created a farm in my name, and made me her neighbor so she could gain experience points.

We sit in our backyard and have conversation, but I’m periodically ignored as my wife, with a laptop on her legs, has to buy seeds and sell and harvest crops.

When we go out with our friends, discussion switches to the amount of work they have to do on their farms. I swallow the last of my beer, and hit myself in the head repeatedly with the still-chilled glass.

On the PS3 there is a world within a world. It’s just like this one, except it’s digitalized. You can dance, you can watch movies, and you can even play video games. But it isn’t a video game on your system. It’s the virtual you playing a virtual video game inside another video game.

I had many thoughts at first, such as: “Is there a virtual god in the virtual world?” and “What the f***?”

For a long time I was appalled at the huge number of people wasting their lives and ignoring magnificent things like sunsets, meteor showers, and nachos.

But now I feel happy. I’m happy for the people who’ve found happiness in something like Farmtown. They’re learning how to budget their money. They’re learning about business. They’re becoming environmentally aware. And what’s even more important is that people are becoming distracted so that I can proceed with my invasions of their homes and apartments. After all, who needs a set of Pampered Chef cookery when they have experience points?

Friendship: Virtually Retarded

I was given fried chicken a few days ago. It was imaginary. I’ve also recently been given flowers, beer, and a massage. They were also imaginary.
All of these gifts came to me via Facebook.
When I was three I used to pretend that I was wearing a jetpack and intercepting Russian missiles. When I was seven I would pretend that I was a pirate, lost at sea, who survived on the brains of giant squids. When I was eighteen I went to college. When I was thirty I got some pretend fried chicken.
Now before I recreate yesterday’s tirade in blog form, allow me to deconstruct your criticism.

“It’s just fun.”
No it isn’t. If I have a message that says I’ve been given a virtual Coke, I’d better be able to be virtually refreshed by it.

“It’s a display of friendship.”
No it isn’t. I don’t give my friends pretend gifts unless I’m pretending to be their friend.

“Just relax and go with it.”
I can’t. I’m thirty years old and I’m being asked to pretend I’m thankful for a pretend gift in a pretend world. And if I get one more pretend gift, I’m going to pretend to kill myself. Those of you who enjoy these pretend situations will pretend to be mortified by my pretend suicide. And I’ll pretend to be sorry for any pretend emotional damage I do.