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“Is the world fundamentally a better place because of science and technology? We shop at home, we surf the web, at the same time, we feel emptier, lonelier and more cut off from each other than at any other time in human history.” from the novel (and film) "Contact" by Carl Sagan
Late last night, when I deleted my Facebook account, the captcha (random confirmation) words were "truffles out". I kid you not. If ever there were a sign from the cosmos, this was it. I had to stare at it for a few minutes, completely amused and somewhat mystified.
But,
something crept in. Not what I expected. It wasn't an addiction, as I
know it. It wasn't a fad. It wasn't even vanity. Ok- maybe a
little. But, ultimately, it was a trap. I began to think that the only
way people would listen to me, appreciate me, notice me- was through
Facebook. It makes me feel a little ashamed, now. Posting on FB is
supposed to be like stepping into a virtual town square and screaming,
"HEY! Check out what I'm thinking! 'Listen' to this! 'Watch' that,
'join' us! But, in reality, it was more like doing stand-up at an open
mic, unable to see if anyone is in front of you listening, yawning or
sleeping. You long for a "like" or emoticon of approval.
Since
creating an account last September, I've read some of the most
interesting viewpoints on FB, and been exposed to some of the most
idiotic and ignorant rants at the same time. I met some wonderful new
people and introduced some people to each other. I've laughed my ass
off at some of the most ridiculous videos and comments. And, when there
was nothing interesting going on in my real life, I surfed other
peoples comments, profiles, photos- but, that's the whole point, right?
So, why then did it feel so unsavory? When did it go from being fun to
feeling dirty? It was like being stuck in the mall, but without the
fountains and Cinnabon.
It
was a tremendous platform for advocacy. And lunacy. There were 1.7
million people who "liked" the prayer for Obama to Die, yet only 800,000
(at my last check) to petition FB to remove the page for its blatant
racist and hateful bent. My most memorable experience was watching a
particular page climb in membership from 750,000 fans to just over 1
million in less than a half hour! Each time you hit refresh, it would
climb exponentially. The page was about as harmless and vacuous as you
can imagine: "If I can get 1 million fans, my sister said she will name
her baby 'Megatron'". The site now has 1.7 million "fans". The baby, a
boy, is due in August.
People
would cut and paste "status" updates that advocated awareness for
anything from special education and autism, to spousal abuse, human
rights and cancer. It was the platform for me to create my very own
page condemning the anti-immigration law recently passed in Arizona. It
raised awareness for approximately 70 people who joined. I posted
information and updates daily from articles and websites both
conservative and liberal, mainstream and private, ethnic, domestic and
foreign. I learned a lot on the subject and still feel strongly about
my views. But, it was a bit like preaching to the choir. I knew the
people who joined the page were intelligent, compassionate people who
had a firm grasp on morality and altruism. So, who was I hoping to
convert? The person who would rather feed their virtual guppie than
discover the US Constitution being flouted daily? Not gonna happen.
To
connect with others in my field, it was about as ideal as it could
get. Chefs work a lot. To be able to share ideas, photos, specials,
inside jokes, and gripes while at work or after a shift, was the ideal.
And in many cases, I found myself visiting their establishments to say
"hello" in person and eat their marvelous creations, drink their
spirits. And I'll continue to do so.
I hated high school. It was never a secret. So when I found so many people coming out of the creases of the internet to be FB friends, I did so with caution. Why would these people want to know about my life after all these years? Did I really want to know about theirs? Let's just say that the most ironic part of friending former classmates was that of the 50 or 60 I reconnected with, I found that the same 7 or 8 people I regularly hung out with and genuinely enjoyed being with in school were the same 7 or 8 I shared regular conversations, jokes, stories and photos with on Facebook. I will miss the sarcastic and subversive posts of my friend Steve. Picking up with our friendship in the last six months was like we had never stopped. Yet, we've already decided to get together (with a "new" chef friend, no less!) and reminisce over some good food and cold beer. I'll miss occasional updates from my former art teacher, though it goes without saying that we'll stay in touch through emails and possibly even visits. My buddy and pal, Penny, and I have already met up and shot the breeze, and I've no reason to doubt we will again, after so many years, some shit is still funny!
But,
despite the boundless nature of FB, the ability to connect with people
from all around the world felt the same as connecting with someone I
just saw an hour ago at work. It became soulless.
The fact that most recent comments, messages or posts of interest were
electronically whisked right into my pocket made it even less
interesting. Normally, I'd be bowled over to see photos of food from
the former sous chef I worked for in France; but, something got lost in translation
(and it wasn't the French). At times I would sit and stare at the
screen the same way Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson would look out
their hotel window in the movie of the same name. With millions of
people zipping about in a city that never seems to come down from a neon
buzz, it was about as exciting for them as watching a lava lamp.
Sober.
Keeping
up on how the business of Facebook was evolving and how it was slowly,
incrementally implementing their mission statement to make the business
of information gathering profitable became a daily exercise for me. I
tried to believe that I had the right to my privacy, when at the same
time there were approximately 270 people I was sharing my morning
breakfast with and digital moods. My sister sent me an email about a
site called Spokeo. She explained
that just by typing in your name, email address or phone number, all the
information that you thought was secure on websites like Amazon,
Facebook, blogs, message boards that require sign-in or memberships-
it's all available for anyone to view online. For only $2.95 a month,
you could get a membership for a year that gave you full access to the
personal information of just about anyone who has ever used a computer.
And in some cases, there is information that is shared from sites that
aren't even online (census).
The business model for Spokeo isn't so much to get people to buy access to other people's information. Oh no- that's so 1990's. When people see that someone is pimping their personal and private information online, the immediate response is not "who got it and how did they get it?", it's "how do I get it OFF this site??". And lo and behold, what does Spokeo offer just below the memberships that legalize identity theft?? A product by Reputation Defender called MyPrivacy.
I
suppose I was really never pushed over the edge by something like
Spokeo or that someone could get or would want my credit score. I mean,
really? But, having considered deleting my account and even
threatening to do so a few times on FB (an empty threat if ever there
was one), it seemed the right time to end the Facebook Experiment. It
only required my FB password and typing the randomized phrase "truffles
out". *delete*
And then, there was a virtual silence. A great, glorious silence so golden, it was if all the engines of every car on the information super-highway had stalled, coming to a screeching halt and then- were silenced forever. I stepped away from the computer in the most confident and contented way, toward the front door and walked out into the Spring night. I stopped and took the deepest breath- and then exhaled. And, then I smiled.
I was Bill Murray coming out of the elevator of the hotel and walking into the crowded streets of Tokyo. Hitting "delete" was like chasing Scarlett in that last moment before he might never see her again, and in that instant- as if on cue- I could hear in my head the echoing snare drums and the impudent reverberating guitar from the opening bars of the Jesus and Mary Chain's "Just Like Honey" as the credits rolled:
To
connect with others in my field, it was about as ideal as it could
get. Chefs work a lot. To be able to share ideas, photos, specials,
inside jokes, and gripes while at work or after a shift, was the ideal.
And in many cases, I found myself visiting their establishments to say
"hello" in person and eat their marvelous creations, drink their
spirits. And I'll continue to do so.I hated high school. It was never a secret. So when I found so many people coming out of the creases of the internet to be FB friends, I did so with caution. Why would these people want to know about my life after all these years? Did I really want to know about theirs? Let's just say that the most ironic part of friending former classmates was that of the 50 or 60 I reconnected with, I found that the same 7 or 8 people I regularly hung out with and genuinely enjoyed being with in school were the same 7 or 8 I shared regular conversations, jokes, stories and photos with on Facebook. I will miss the sarcastic and subversive posts of my friend Steve. Picking up with our friendship in the last six months was like we had never stopped. Yet, we've already decided to get together (with a "new" chef friend, no less!) and reminisce over some good food and cold beer. I'll miss occasional updates from my former art teacher, though it goes without saying that we'll stay in touch through emails and possibly even visits. My buddy and pal, Penny, and I have already met up and shot the breeze, and I've no reason to doubt we will again, after so many years, some shit is still funny!
Keeping
up on how the business of Facebook was evolving and how it was slowly,
incrementally implementing their mission statement to make the business
of information gathering profitable became a daily exercise for me. I
tried to believe that I had the right to my privacy, when at the same
time there were approximately 270 people I was sharing my morning
breakfast with and digital moods. My sister sent me an email about a
site called Spokeo. She explained
that just by typing in your name, email address or phone number, all the
information that you thought was secure on websites like Amazon,
Facebook, blogs, message boards that require sign-in or memberships-
it's all available for anyone to view online. For only $2.95 a month,
you could get a membership for a year that gave you full access to the
personal information of just about anyone who has ever used a computer.
And in some cases, there is information that is shared from sites that
aren't even online (census).The business model for Spokeo isn't so much to get people to buy access to other people's information. Oh no- that's so 1990's. When people see that someone is pimping their personal and private information online, the immediate response is not "who got it and how did they get it?", it's "how do I get it OFF this site??". And lo and behold, what does Spokeo offer just below the memberships that legalize identity theft?? A product by Reputation Defender called MyPrivacy.
Talk about good cop, bad cop?!? You can also go to the bottom of that same page and delete yourself from Spokeo for FREE. Just carefully follow the directions. If you still can't do it, Google "how to..."."Delete private information from Spokeo, Peoplefinders, People Search and other online databases using My Privacy."
And then, there was a virtual silence. A great, glorious silence so golden, it was if all the engines of every car on the information super-highway had stalled, coming to a screeching halt and then- were silenced forever. I stepped away from the computer in the most confident and contented way, toward the front door and walked out into the Spring night. I stopped and took the deepest breath- and then exhaled. And, then I smiled.
I was Bill Murray coming out of the elevator of the hotel and walking into the crowded streets of Tokyo. Hitting "delete" was like chasing Scarlett in that last moment before he might never see her again, and in that instant- as if on cue- I could hear in my head the echoing snare drums and the impudent reverberating guitar from the opening bars of the Jesus and Mary Chain's "Just Like Honey" as the credits rolled:
"Listen to the girl
As she takes on half the world
Moving up and so alive
In her honey dripping beehive
Beehive
It's good, so good, it's so good
So good"
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