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Facebook has had much … well, face time I guess you’d call it … in the media this week, mostly to do with privacy (or, more to the point, lack thereof) settings. I am so down with that I’m practically combat crawling. I nearly closed down my Facebook page a few days ago, after a message from a reader that, among other things, criticised me for going to church on Easter (a fact which is mentioned in passing in The Winter of Our Disconnect).
“Would never have thought that an intelligent, deep thinking broad minded feminist would still be attending church,” she scolded. “Sorry if that is too personal an observation, it was just such a shock to me.”
Well, as a matter of fact, it is WAY too personal an observation, in addition to being atrociously narrow-minded, judgmental and, in its own unpleasant way, fundamentalist. Not to mention badly punctuated. LOL! To be fair, I have to say that this (extremely long) message was mostly positive in its tone. Yet even the strokes were, to my way of thinking, intrusive … and presumptuous really.
The ending, for example: “Please remind me, what is WILF? (In your commandments at the end of the book)”. The reference is to an acronym for What Was I Looking For? – a shorthand way of describing that free-associative wandering we are all given to doing online. But think about it: there my correspondent sat, my book presumably in hand. It was easier (for her) to ask me personally than simply to turn to the last page? As my kids would say, WTF?!
It was Sussy, age 15, who calmed me down and directed my attention to my privacy settings. “Here, Mum,” she cooed. “It’s okay. I’ll do it for you.” Now, only my “friends” can send me messages. Now if only I knew who half of my “friends” actually were, that would be such a comfort …
More from the mailbag today. In fact, have been positively inboxicated of late.
“Do you have a name for pre-boomers in relation to the Digital World?” asks a reader in her 70s.
“We are the silent generation, who play on the very edges. We dream one day of being Digital – not exactly Immigrants, but perhaps taking a more in depth tour of that strange place, like living in the South of France for a few months, speaking French and pretending to be Immigrants. Or Natives. We use computers every day but rely on grandchildren to show us how to use other new gadgets. We’re unlikely to become addicted because it is hard work for us.”
So well expressed – and really so very true even for many in my own age-range. When I was in New York last July, I made a Facebook page for my mother (profile pic: her Yorkie, Daisy) and sent friend requests to all her grandchildren. She was accepted by all six. Good going, I thought, as only one of my children has deigned to allow me friend her …
When I asked Suss how she felt about Grammy being able to access her page, she admitted “I’m a little freaked out about it, actually. But God knows it’s better than friending you.” My mother, who is also in her 70s, loves Facebook – it’s like having constantly updated home-movies of her grandkids, she tells me. And she is not in the slightest bit fazed by their antics, dress or make up, or if she is she is certainly keeping it to herself. Well, that’s what friends do, right?
Must confess am feeling a little like Octomom these days. (Next up: The woman who forced her children to give up their technology!: a real promo for a recent TV segment.) Discussed it with the kids last night, and they agree. We feel like members of a cult.
19-year-old Anni has kept up her Scrabble fetish but now, somewhat disturbingly, plays on Facebook, whipping the sorry asses of partners from around the world. Last night it was a 70ish British man, whom she smote with the word taeniaes (Google it, people!). Pretty sure that qualifies as elder abuse. She often has five or six games on the go at once. Yesterday she admitted she was playing with Sussy, each snuggled up in their own beds. Bizarre but kind of cute. But kind of bizarre. But kind of … oh, forget it. Kirsti, a colleague at work, greeted me this AM with the news that she is introducing SFW (Screen Free Wednesdays) at her house: starting today!
Damn! she cried suddenly. I forget to hide the modem! Seems shed banned her 10-year-old from his computer last week (for some insurrection) and found hed been spending hours playing on his keyboard and has also started sleeping in (rather than up at the crack of dawn to start gaming) … This, and an intense experience reading and tweeting about (!!) The Winter of Our Disconnect – motivated her to give it a try.
Doing media for The Winter of Our Disconnect – essentially, a book about not using media – was always going to have the potential for high comedy. From the TV producer who asked me if I had any video clips of the kids not using technology (“Er, the thing is, we were not using technology …” I stammered as politely as I knew how, which isn’t terribly politely), to the young radio presenter who concluded our interview by telling me “That was amazing. I’m tweeting it right now!” to … well, writing a blog.
But that’s the thing about our electronic media, I guess. In a world where the more connected we are, the more disconnected we become, Paradoxes R Us. I mean, look at me. I’m a pretty unlikely poster child for digital de-tox atm, I can tell you that. I’ve been hunched over my email for the better part of a day now and my Google “history” for the day bespeaks an attention span that would make a grasshopper blush. Maybe tomorrow, if I’m feeling brave, I’ll post it in its entirety. Nevertheless, it seems the message is getting through … and in some unexpected places. An email received yesterday from a 22-year-old male uni student is headed “The Winter of Our Disconnect: Best Impulse Buy Ever!” He tells me, “Last month I cut all ties with Facebook and after reading your book today I pulled the plug on a three year old, 5,700 update, 226 follower Twitter account. It was time to join the real world and repatriate myself back into reality …” I’m hoping we might meet up at Customs.
Today they say the snake
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