Column: Lindy vs. Facebook
I’ve been trying, in my retirement, to become one of those people who put stuff on their Facebook page. Well. Not put. “Post.”
See? There’s the first problem with figuring out something -- not knowing the right words with which to phrase the question that will get you the answer for something about which you know nothing.
Frankly, even I cannot figure out that last sentence, which gives you some idea of how likely it is that Facebook and I will ever become compatible. Excuse me, that we will become friends. Oops, that we will “friend” each other. Whatever.
But I want to be one of those people for whom life is better if it is validated publicly on a social media of some sort. My children want me to be one of those people. My youngest daughter exclaimed publicly on her Facebook page, upon me posting my first photograph to my page, “DAD JUST POSTED!”
This statement is equivalent to: “WE JUST FOUND A LIVE DINOSAUR,” or “PIGS FLEW TODAY,” or “THE MINNESOTA TWINS JUST WON A BASEBALL GAME.”
I spent at least 10 minutes last night trying to change my job description, which is one of the many things one can put (post) on part of their Facebook site (page). I also want to change where I went to college. It turns out that, like many decisions one makes in life, Facebook is like life -- what you do cannot be changed. Once it’s on Facebook, you’re stuck with it. I spent 10 minutes trying and failing to change my college. Look. We’re all running out of time. We all have less left than we had a minute ago. At some point, when I’m down to my last 10 minutes, I’ll want those 10 Facebook minutes back.
So Facebook’s not fun. How can Facebook have gained this much popularity, if you can’t go back on your page, and change your life? Apparently Facebook is something invented by someone much younger than I, someone who hasn’t raced down several long roads in his or her life, only to realize those roads led to places that turned out to be not quite what they were cracked up to be.
For example, I might want to put in there somewhere that Mason City Junior College was the best three years of my life. Not everyone can claim three years of history at a two-year place. Somewhere, someone may be searching the Internet, looking for someone like me to be a friend (wanting to “friend” me), someone else who took three to do two.
Also, I want to change my occupational history, and it won’t let me. I put in all the usual things people normally put in when I was stumbling and fumbling my way through that part the first time, the usual things being what I actually did. Now I realize that I don’t want to have real career information in there. What did I do all those years that are back there? I was a personal happiness explorer, that’s what I was. Like a lot of explorers, I spent most of my time lost, but also like a lot of explorers, I found just enough of what I was looking for to keep going. Only the best parts should go into Facebook. Delete the rest. Personal happiness explorer. Me.
I’m going to invent my own social media site. I think I’ll call it Fakebook. That’s what will put it over the top. Forget what’s really going on. Make up something. Tell whoppers.