When the Internet’s popularity skyrocketed in the late 90s, social commentators announced that interpersonal relationships would soon die. They predicted people would become so obsessed with virtual online activities, nobody would actually communicate with each other face-to-face. Happily enough, the doomsayers have been proven wrong, much like the premature assertions in the 1980s that written words would become obsolete to explanatory illustrations and audio books. Even though people love their technology, they have also recognized that artificial intelligence is no substitute for real-life friends. Thus, instead of using the Internet only to download music illegally and watch Homestar Runner cartoons, nearly everybody started joining social networking sites like MySpace to share their lives with each other. Facebook, a less trashy and more professional version of MySpace, caught on in college campuses across America and spread to the rest of the world. Everybody’s life was suddenly more important than the technology itself.
The basic tenets of MySpace—blogs, picture sharing, and fan clubs—are staples in all forms of online communication now. Who could live without Rosy O’Donnell’s eloquent blog (apparently everybody, since her new TV show tanked with its first episode), or without the wonderful photos of your worst enemy belting karaoke? Some of the blogging is nothing short of OCD; take Twitter, for example, where members can post single-sentence “miniblogs” every waking second of the day: “Now I’m using the restroom. I’ve left the restroom and I’m going to the mall. I didn’t wash my hands LOL.”
Social sites have also made gift-giving extremely easy. In the past, I had to rely on my deep knowledge of a friend to know what to give him. Now I just have to look up his blog bio and preferences online to know whether he’s a thinking man who would appreciate Beethoven and Dumas, a wild guy who rocks to AC/DC, or a freak obsessed with Star Trek and Japanese vinyl toys.
After being asked (harassed) for my MySpace or Facebook information for years, I finally opened a Facebook account. I chose Facebook over MySpace because the MyStalker stories concerned me. Before the Internet, weirdos could only haunt you at bowling alleys, arcades, grocery stores, movie theaters, schools, libraries, shopping malls, and church functions. Now they can find you almost anywhere.
Anyway, before enjoying a trip to Walt Disney World, I created my Facebook account and started looking for friends. I found people I hadn’t spoken to since fourth grade, and they seemed just as eager to talk to me now as when we discussed the latest episode of Darkwing Duck at the lunch table. Forget that we haven’t acknowledged one another’s existence in over a decade; we’re friends again thanks to the Internet. I also found the Facebook application for my iPhone, and uploaded pictures and status updates every time I waited in line for a ride. Whether I was at Tower of Terror, Spaceship Earth, or Toy Story Midway Mania, my friends knew where I was and what I was doing throughout each day.
Since I was still relatively new to the social networking scene, my sister tried to help me curb my constant updates. “You know, Tim,” she said, “most people use Twitter for that, not Facebook.” What? Get a Twitter account and look like one of those miserably conceited people with nothing better to do than hang out all day on the Internet and post meaningless blurbs online? Why would I do that? Then I updated my status on Facebook to say I was about to ride Splash Mountain. I’d like to believe my friends cared, but they probably didn’t.
© 2009 Timothy Samaha | First published in PoV Magazine.
