A Father's Heart: Facebook Fogey

I wish to thank my esteemed editor (in advance) for allowing me to use this month’s column to send a personal message to all of my Facebook “friends”…“Dear Facebook pals, I am an older guy. I have a Facebook…page, site, whatever it is, because all of the marketing gurus say I need one these days to promote my various musical and literary enterprises…and, of course, because I want to check up on what my kids are up to. Period. 

I can use the email/messages thingy and I can comment on my own status - and perhaps your status when I am feeling frisky.

Otherwise, I really do not wish to get involved.

I do not know how to take over the Havana Reconstruction Jobs in Mafia Wars. I do not wish to earn a Green Thumb in Farmville. I certainly do not want to take a poll called “R U in Luv.”

What if I took it and got the wrong answer? Are you gonna explain that to my wife?

I do not care “Which Finding Nemo Character You Are” or that you are “97% Cute.”

How about letting me be the judge of that?

 

I can probably identify all of the Classic Rock LP Covers and NFL Football helmets…but I don’t have the time!

Don’t you people work?

Please don’t “poke” me, “send me a drink” or “throw snowballs” at me. I am not going to respond for two reasons:

  1. Because I don’t know how, and
  1. Because I just don’t understand what is going on!

What is really happening in Roller Coaster World anyway? Is it like you are pretending to work there? All of the people that I know that work at setting up and tearing down roller coasters have many tattoos and questionable dental hygiene. And the men are a little odd as well. Some of you Facebook friends are people I haven’t seen since high school. Is the fact you want me to help you with your roller coaster some indication of your career path since we last saw each other? You went to college for this?

I like the music videos some of you post and I watch them when I can, but who are these amazingly attractive young women that are, according to the ads on the right hand side there, desperately trying to track me down? Do I know you? It says we went to high school together, but I’ll be darned if I can remember you. I mean, I’m flattered and all that you are looking for me, but by my calculations, you weren’t born before I was out of high school for about 20 years. And NO ONE that looks like you ever tried to track me down while I was in high school, unless it was to get help with their science homework.

I guess now is as good a time as any to admit that I also Twitter. Or tweet…or whatever the heck it is called. Again, because the music gurus say I should.

I do not know what this experience is adding to my life.

Now, there are some good Tweeters out there. For example, I follow the fine folks at this magazine, and they tell me cool stuff about local events I should know about and articles of interest. I like that. I like finding out when an artist I like is coming to town.

But, I also follow a supposedly professional music publicist who just last night tweeted me ten times from Australia telling me about every course she had for dinner,

“TAPAS up next. Yippee!!”

Why do I need to know this? What exactly is this information adding to my already overloaded circuits?

In closing, Facebook and other cyberpals…let’s just keep this casual.

I view this whole thing as a kind of never-ending high school or college reunion which allows people who otherwise wouldn’t be in contact to touch base now and then. And, just like at a real, in-the-flesh reunion, I kinda want to circle the group with a drink in my hand, make a few pithy comments, sing a few songs, and move on.

By Ray Weaver