Always a few steps behind the general public, I recently joined Facebook. I am now officially a face. Having been faceless all these many years, it’s good to finally have an identity … you know, something for some criminal cyberweenie to steal. A few years ago, I joined MySpace, for no other reason than that Shauna was doing it and she signed me up as well. I still have a profile somewhere in that labyrinth of MySpace profiles, along with demos of four of my songs, but I don’t think I’ve changed anything on that site since we first put it up. I now understand that MySpace is “so yesterday’s news”. Desperate to free myself from the fetters of complete anonymity, I have therefore joined Facebook, and in so doing have boldly proclaimed: I AM NOT NOBODY! However boldly I proclaim this, it is the subject of some debate.
So now I’m a face, and my anemic profile is out there for all to see. It’s just a picture of me, and no birth date, no special likes and dislikes, no favorite television shows; not even a favorite color. I prefer to cultivate the mystery of my non-existent life … keep ‘em guessing. Do I like Cheerios or Fruit Loops … or neither? I did not realize that so many people I know are also faces, but every day I am greeted by at least three or four new old faces who request that we be “friends”. The odd part about that is that I thought we already were … that is, before I lost touch with just about everybody I knew. Here they all are, coming out of the virtual woodwork to get re-acquainted in cyberspace. I have opened up Pandora’s Email Box. In theory, I am all for sites which promote any kind of non-criminal social interaction, and it’s honestly good to once again make contact with some of these people. On the other hand, it’s just a little spooky how many people, through whatever search engine or networking tool is incorporated by Facebook, have “found” me. I now have a wall, and messages from people with whom I have not spoken in thirty years. It’s a little like the high school reunion I recently attended, absent the angst or the necessity to respond.
So now I’m a face, and my anemic profile is out there for all to see. It’s just a picture of me, and no birth date, no special likes and dislikes, no favorite television shows; not even a favorite color. I prefer to cultivate the mystery of my non-existent life … keep ‘em guessing. Do I like Cheerios or Fruit Loops … or neither? I did not realize that so many people I know are also faces, but every day I am greeted by at least three or four new old faces who request that we be “friends”. The odd part about that is that I thought we already were … that is, before I lost touch with just about everybody I knew. Here they all are, coming out of the virtual woodwork to get re-acquainted in cyberspace. I have opened up Pandora’s Email Box. In theory, I am all for sites which promote any kind of non-criminal social interaction, and it’s honestly good to once again make contact with some of these people. On the other hand, it’s just a little spooky how many people, through whatever search engine or networking tool is incorporated by Facebook, have “found” me. I now have a wall, and messages from people with whom I have not spoken in thirty years. It’s a little like the high school reunion I recently attended, absent the angst or the necessity to respond.
What I was not expecting was the immediacy of current information. No longer do I wonder “what
ever happened to so-and-so”, because whatever happened to him or her is spelled out, in detail, by the hour. By joining Facebook, I have become privy to a whole slew of current (albeit brief) posts I might never have seen otherwise. Apparently, e-mail is a thing of the past, or in any event, not as likely to reach the entire network (read my two or three friends). Somehow, my being friends with a few people has opened me up to the social airwaves of just about everyone I know. One friend is indignant about the recently proposed health care plan, another reports that her husband is having an affair. There’s a photo of my niece holding her sister-in-law’s baby girl. Naturally, I posted a rude and off-color comment. People like me probably shouldn’t be allowed to post comments on Facebook; I suspect the Face Police will soon be on my cyber tail.
Up until a few years ago, my dad was class agent for his Cornell Class ‘32. Recently, when I was sorting through his papers, I came across just about every correspondence he’d had in the past ten years with his classmates. Most were in the form of letters, but some of those codgers were using email. The correspondences were, for the most part, eloquent, well thought out missives, and the stories they told were often entertaining and interesting. I still maintain that there is something more satisfying about receiving a good old-fashioned, carefully written, page-long letter. Facebook is even faster food than email. I haven’t yet become a “twit” or whatever Twitter users are called, but I understand that that is the state-of-the-art medium for brevity and immediacy. I look forward to someday becoming even less communicative, while reporting my every move in an effort to “tell all”. I am sure that, several years after it is out of fashion to do so, I will embrace my inner twit. There is a reason why the phrase “Too much information” has become so overused. Some information is in fact not really information..
I could spend months, maybe years, getting caught up, but the sad fact is, I HAVE lost touch with many of these folks and they have lost touch with me. As much as I would love to keep up with everyone I’ve ever known and liked, the older I get, the shorter has become the list of those I feel are really interested in my life. Likely, many want to know if I disgrace my family and friends by getting caught fooling around with someone named Bambi, who really is a deer, or if my pulpy remains are recovered after I fall into a hotdog making machine, or should I suddenly be rocketed to notoriety when I am viewed on the internet interviewing Bin Bombin’. Short of that, I doubt many but my closest friends really give a flying Walenda about my day to day. Regrettably, I’m just not all that interesting. That said, anyone so bored that he or she wants to spend the next month catching up on my life full of unevents need look no further than The Oppenheimer Report … it’s a real page turner, and available at a blog site near you.
1:11 PM Gone Fishin’. J.W.O. Jr.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
ever happened to so-and-so”, because whatever happened to him or her is spelled out, in detail, by the hour. By joining Facebook, I have become privy to a whole slew of current (albeit brief) posts I might never have seen otherwise. Apparently, e-mail is a thing of the past, or in any event, not as likely to reach the entire network (read my two or three friends). Somehow, my being friends with a few people has opened me up to the social airwaves of just about everyone I know. One friend is indignant about the recently proposed health care plan, another reports that her husband is having an affair. There’s a photo of my niece holding her sister-in-law’s baby girl. Naturally, I posted a rude and off-color comment. People like me probably shouldn’t be allowed to post comments on Facebook; I suspect the Face Police will soon be on my cyber tail.
Up until a few years ago, my dad was class agent for his Cornell Class ‘32. Recently, when I was sorting through his papers, I came across just about every correspondence he’d had in the past ten years with his classmates. Most were in the form of letters, but some of those codgers were using email. The correspondences were, for the most part, eloquent, well thought out missives, and the stories they told were often entertaining and interesting. I still maintain that there is something more satisfying about receiving a good old-fashioned, carefully written, page-long letter. Facebook is even faster food than email. I haven’t yet become a “twit” or whatever Twitter users are called, but I understand that that is the state-of-the-art medium for brevity and immediacy. I look forward to someday becoming even less communicative, while reporting my every move in an effort to “tell all”. I am sure that, several years after it is out of fashion to do so, I will embrace my inner twit. There is a reason why the phrase “Too much information” has become so overused. Some information is in fact not really information..
I could spend months, maybe years, getting caught up, but the sad fact is, I HAVE lost touch with many of these folks and they have lost touch with me. As much as I would love to keep up with everyone I’ve ever known and liked, the older I get, the shorter has become the list of those I feel are really interested in my life. Likely, many want to know if I disgrace my family and friends by getting caught fooling around with someone named Bambi, who really is a deer, or if my pulpy remains are recovered after I fall into a hotdog making machine, or should I suddenly be rocketed to notoriety when I am viewed on the internet interviewing Bin Bombin’. Short of that, I doubt many but my closest friends really give a flying Walenda about my day to day. Regrettably, I’m just not all that interesting. That said, anyone so bored that he or she wants to spend the next month catching up on my life full of unevents need look no further than The Oppenheimer Report … it’s a real page turner, and available at a blog site near you.
1:11 PM Gone Fishin’. J.W.O. Jr.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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