#blessed

Well, duh. 

Way to state the obvious, Einstein. Of course we’re blessed. We live in a privileged society with fluoride in our tap water, computers and flat-screens in every home, organic chickens in every pot, access to health care, and Beyonce. We shop at Goodwill because it’s cool.

Adding a hashtag that telegraphs your gratitude and piety wastes 8 characters and clues in your tweeple that you are an unoriginal windbag who’s humblebragging your sweet-ass anointed life (Gwyneth) or trying to cover up the fact that you’re just happy to be here (Lindsay). Either way, it sounds insincere.

Put the #blessed to rest. Swap it out with something that conveys what you’re actually thinking. Instagramming your engagement ring? #couldabeenbigger Tweeting about the French toast your kids surprised you with? #chokingdowngluten Commenting on an unflattering throwback Thursday photo that a childhood friend posted and tagged you in? #paybackisabitch

I guarantee that you’ll get retweeted. #amen 

(photo: puttingonthenew.com)

Buzzfeed quizzes

I thought I was so smart, managing my social network feeds. I opted out of seeing a certain frenemy’s posts (The “Gwyneth Paltrow of Seattle,” you’d hide her updates, too). I turned off all notifications for Oregon Trail, Farmville and every other bullshit Facebook game. I avoid the various name generator tools. I don’t have a burning need to know how John Travolta would mangle my name.

But I can’t seem to shake the quizzes, oh the horror, the quizzes. They started out benignly enough. I took a two-minute break to find out if a Buzzfeed Quiz could deduce, based on my language and pronunciation preferences, which part of the country I’m from (spot on). I was even curious to find out which typeface I was (a super twee handwriting font that nobody’s handwriting actually resembles).

But then, the inanity mounted. The navel gazing went to a microscopic level. Which Breakfast Club character/breed of dog/color/Dr. Who are you? Which Hogwarts house do you belong in? Which Disney cat should be your pet? Are you more Lorelei or Rory Gilmore? Is this sort of self-reflection and self-awareness helpful or necessary? What kind of insight can be gleaned from finding out which celebrity man bun I am?

Admit it, you hate yourself just a TINY bit for taking the bait and taking the quiz (I’m the Leonardo DiCaprio man bun, by the way). That’s two minutes of your life that you can’t get back. It may not sound like much but that shit adds up. Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, how do you measure, measure a year? The creators of Rent weren’t envisioning 262,800 quizzes you’ll forget about as soon as you answer question 10. You could have read a great article, left a loved one a voicemail or told someone off in the library parking lot, worked on a crossword, gone number two. Better alternatives to these quizzes lurk everywhere, even in the john.

(photo: Andrew Peña/Buzzfeed.com)

Facebook's Timeline

While I'm no maverick, I don't want Mark Zuckerberg's programatons dictating my use. I chafe against being herded toward the promised land of social media. But on August 25th, I'll have no choice but to become cyber cattle. And unlike Sarah Palin, I can't go rogue.

As someone farther along on the OCD path than most, I like to organize...a lot. And I don't cotton to some chump developer's idea of organizing and classifying information for my supposed benefit and ease of use. I can work with chronological dumping on my Wall, listing posts and messages with the most recent on top, the way it's been displayed up to now. That makes sense. That should have been called Timeline.

Bitching about Facebook changes is nothing new. But it's new to me. I've figured that Facebook, as a free social network, has the right to do whatever it wants. I still do. But it's finally gotten my goat because, like  multi-line slot machines, Timeline doesn't make sense. I don't understand the logic behind it, and that causes me agita. Why is my friend's comment showing up in the right-hand column? Why are there two columns to begin with? Why are some things and not others listed in my Recent Activity? What if I don't want people to see what I've been listening to on Stitcher? And for the love of Tim Berners-Lee, why is the cover photo taking up so much real estate? Most of us aren't good enough photographers to take really sharp, well-composed photos, let alone ones that are wildly landscape in their dimensions. I'm a words person and I would much prefer that space to be utilized in a more meaningful way than showing one big-ass blurry snapshot that's supposed to sum me up in a glance.

Fuck you, Timeline, and your activity log, too.

Have you liked TIWTPITF on Facebook? There's a lot of good conversation going on there, if you can figure out where to look.

Social media spoilers

Let me let you in on a little secret.

I'm pathetic.

Yep. I'm one of those people who sit on my increasingly fat ass, watching the latest realobotomy TV or awards shows while simultaneously writing on a laptop. Being extremely Caucasian, not to mention cliché, I have an unhealthy relationship with Mad Men, Downton Abbey, and now Girls and The Newsroom. I take these shows seriously, often discussing characters as if they're real people, perhaps even my friends or coworkers.

"Can you believe what Pete said to Joan? And did you get a load of his leisure jacket? 

"Lady Mary and I have so much in common, not the least of which is our ability to bungle every romantic situation that presents itself."

Yes, I really do talk like that. Out loud.

So I'm rather put out (i.e., en-fucking-raged) when some Facebook or Twitter premature e-proclaimator decides to discuss an episode or plot point while it's still airing. In a different time zone! You're not an early adopter; you're a co-opting snot. I can't even imagine how the poor kahunas in Hawaii cope with the likes of loose-lipped or trigger-fingered mainlanders hashtagging #jaguarfail or #phillipphillips while a show is airing on the East Coast. Show some discretion and stop giving away the gasp-worthy moments. If you don't, let me clue you into a spoiler of my own: #iwanttopunchyouintheface.

(This post was inspired by blogger Ryan McRae, who writes Geek in Afghanistan.)

(photo: brandwang.wordpress.com)

Cyber PDA

I think it’s sweet that you love each other, I really do. I’m happy to see status updates, tweets, and blog posts about your courtship, engagement, a trip, a wedding. Not only can I handle it, I’m heartened by it.

But my support of your relationship does not mean I want to be slimed with your cyber makeout sessions, oversharing, and sweet nothings all goddamned day. Tweeting about how much you miss your flaxen-haired beauty—even though you’ve only been apart an hour (which I know because you tweeted that too)—or updating your Facebook status to detail what an incredible night you had with your Sweetpea or Huggy Bear makes me, in this order, 1) roll my eyes, 2) choke back my breakfast, and 3) want to share the love. Specifically, I dream of playing cupid, pulling out a crossbow, and piercing you through the heart, or at least your fingers.

Take a note from Shakespeare: Speak low if you speak love. In other words, keep it in your pants and send your true love an e-mail. We don’t want to see that sap. That’s what porn, Jane Austen novels, and Reese Witherspoon movies are for, duh.

(photo: mywedding.com)

Facebook quizzes

Pop quiz hotshots: Which of following are actual Facebook quizzes?

• 5 Things I Could Grab from Where I’m Sitting
• 5 Things on My Body I Can No Longer Grab
• Top 5 Ways You Want to Kick the Bucket
• Which Michael Jackson Hit Song Are You?
• Things I’ve Used to Wipe My Ass
• Things I’ve Put in my Mouth When Drunk
• Which Texting Emodicon Are You?
• 5 Facebook Quizzes that Will Drive You to the Edge of Insanity and Then Push You Over
  

Which Plastic Army Man Are You? Really? REALLY? Here’s a clue: I’m the one with the big fucking fist aimed in your direction. Plastic or no, I’m going to clock you and your waste-of-time questions. My friends already know 25 things about me. If they don’t, there’s probably a good reason (my police record, random hookups, and late-night refrigerator raids are not for everyone’s eyes).

Navel gazing has been taken up a notch with these quizzes, whose dumbassedness is only rivaled by Jar Jar Binks. Blogging, creating profiles, writing pithy status updates—this is all cyber child’s play when faced with the monumentally feeble attempt to make us believe we are more interesting than we are. I don’t give a rat’s ass what Jane Austen character I am (as long as it’s not Lydia Bennet); I’d rather spend my time reading Miss Austen than imagining myself stuffed into an empire-waist gown in a pre-deodorant era. I love my friends, I really do, but frankly, my dear, when it comes to your 5 favorite cereals, I don’t give a damn.

For the record, here are my top 5 ways I'm going to kick your social networking ass:
1) Shut down Living Social with a nasty virus.
2) Ruin your reputation by spreading a nasty rumor on the men's room wall.
3) Cage fight. I've got my top 14 phalanges right here, ready to inflict some damage to your face, Facebook. Don't even think about tapping out, bitch.
4) Start my own rival quiz network, where I'll ask questions that really matter (such as Top 5 Patrick Swayze quotes and 5 Worst Hangnail Experiences of My Life).
5) Ignore you altogether and watch reruns of Jon & Kate Plus 8. Just kidding. I'll be in the tub re-reading Persuasion.

(photo: bokardo.com/archives/comic-facebook-movie-quiz/)