Tuesday, April 09, 2013

Facebook

Facebook reminds me of a car plastered so thickly with bumper-stickers that you wonder if the driver can see out the rear window.

No, I do not want to play Farmville. You not have my birth date. Accepting those cute little "gifts" requires registration with a third party I've no reason to trust. I can't be bothered to redo my picture. And however persuasive you may find them, your emotional slogans don't seem quite eloquent enough to overthrow my own judgments and rush me to your political/social banner.

On the other hand, I'm sorry to hear about your dog, I hope your daughter does well in the audition, and that looks like a terrible accident and I'll be praying for you. My better half says Facebook is the only way to keep in touch with some remote friends and family, so she endures the political rubbish. I swore off Facebook for Lent on the grounds that it was bad for my temper. Perhaps I should have taken it on daily as a mortification instead.

2 comments:

  1. I have accepted everyone who asked to friend me. I have been to the pages of my wife, my five sons, my daughter-in-law, and four other people out of the 60: an aunt, a sort-of son, and the Romanian brother and sister in-law of my two Romanian sons. I comment there. That's it.

    I have access if I need them.

    There is an old story of a Scotsman who had a telephone installed in his shop in the 1930's. Customers wondered why it rang and rang. "I had it put in for my convenience," he explained.

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  2. Good post. Where is the "like" button in this interface?

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