Mr. Nice Guy

When I poke fun at the foibles of my fellow man, I hope to do it in a spirit of fun. Yes, I may laugh at you. The jibes will be gentle. I hope you will laugh, too, or at the least, forgive me. Should I happen to inadvertantly stick a finger in your eye, I hope the sting will not last long.

It is ridiculously easy to make fun of each other, because we so set ourselves up for it. Often. And regularly. Thus, since it is so easy, I attempt to avoid it for the most part. But sometimes I just can't help myself. Hence, I find myself once again looking at the utilization of "social networking" via Computerland Express. The last time I wrote about Facebook, I was not in an amused state of mind. In fact I was a bit sore. This will be gentler.

Funny (amusing, odd, weird, what-the-heck?) stuff I've seen on Facebook.

1. Facebook games. How you use your time is your prerogative, and I don't fault you. Seriously. But when I play solitaire, I have no need for an announcement of my "score" to appear for all to see. "Farmville" seems to be some sort of let's-pretend-we-are-doing-something-productive thing, wherein weird and unexpected creatures wander in and out of the domain. One "builds" something, begging his friends for parts and pieces, boards, wire and what-not, with which to complete the project. If games are your thing, enjoy. Better yet, come on over! BBBH and I have a board game, Scrabble, Rummikub, or a deck of cards laid out on the dining room table all the time. We can play. We'll visit. It'll be fun!

2. It seems to be a "game" for some participants to see how many "friends" they can get. There are two acquaintances of mine whose "wall" I check each week or so just to see how they are doing. At last count, one led the other 2392 to 1672. Come on, Nellie. I don't even know sixteen hundred people and I had a thirty-plus year career in the public arena.

3. This one really knocks me for a loop. People seem to write whatever pops into their heads, posting their notions unfiltered and unthought. We have developed such a penchant for the protection of our "privacy" that we will receive pages and pages of privacy policy from the organizations with whom we do business, if not on a daily basis, certainly frequently. Then we will post the most intimate details of our day-to-day lives on Facebook? Surely, I will awaken from this nightmare. The ones who are most flagrant about it are the same ones who take umbrage if a "friend" suggests that they might reconsider the sort of thing they post. "It's my page. 'I'll say what I want to say." Pick up the phone, Sweetie. Call your mother.

4. This one is the champion, earning points for categories 1, 2, and 3. This character posts as many as 30 times in a 24-hour period. When does s/he sleep? Oh, wait: "3:12 a. m. I just woke up and hadda go pee." Here's the championship part: the posts are delivered from the subject's HHD. (HHD. I made that up. I think. It means 'hand-held device'. We can't call it a phone, because it is much more, nor can we call it a pda, which is passe; nor can we refer to it as a Blackberry or I-device, for those are brand names. Gooseberry, maybe, since the user is a goose, but I will kindly stick to HHD.) So, anyway, we know where and what s/he eats, how many gallons of fuel went into the tank, blah, blah, blah. No, we don't. We tuned out long ago.

I've got more, but the time/word limit has expired.

Yes, I am aware that I don't have to look at Facebook.
Posted from my Gooseberry.