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 Play
Nice or I'll Defriendster Your Ass!
an emily blunt rant
Pop culture
is weird... many seemingly sane people get hooked, sport silly
fashions, use awful expressions in daily talk, call a pebble a
pet and even give tons of private information freely away in the
name of "belonging" or worse - being "in."
Shudder.
Friendster.com
is this profile based cyber dwelling that lurks upon the net.
It's quickly growing into yet another web induced pop iconism…and
subsequently a person that is "deFriendstered" is almost
the equivelent to being outcast of the hamlet with a scarlet letter
of "L" for loser stitched upon their favorite Paul Frank
shirt's stylish shoulder.
Trend
de Jour is Friendster.com. It's a people connection "service"
that allows you to post a profile, photo(s) invite your friends
and meet new people through the friends' friends by interconnecting
you all. The idea being it's safer to meet or date within a six
degrees arena then a Joe or Jenn Blow off the street scenerio
- and let's face it cyber date services are riddled with too many
snorfing one eyed drooling hand masters that can pen a positive
profile and Photoshop like a professional animator at Disney!
Not that I know - but from what I have heard…
Ultimately
Friendster.com is very much like high school where the most "popular"
kids volley to be a kind of Friendster Queen or King of the Web
by soliciting for "people" among their peers to add
to their profile.
They
seem to be seeking self-approval by adding as many souls, err,
"friends" to their giddy self-loving ego boosting profiles
as possible. And as we all seek approval from the hipsters (me
neither but for the story lets pretend we wanted, nay,
needed to a part of that Darwinian world) you immediately conform
and pony up all your vitals via your keyboard.
If you join you too start to write, what Friendster's navigation
calls, "testimonials" and "recommend" friends
to friends as directed by the site's cyberlords. You're almost
not in control of your own will any longer as the need to be accepted
becomes overwhelming and the judemental eyes of these invisible
- ever present - cyberlords and fellow Friendsters glare - mocking
you and your paultry 12 friends - from your 22 inch flat screen
plasma monitor. Who cares if you really know every one if them!
It's not about friends. It's about the numbers damn it!
Meanwhile
the clock strikes 300am as your eyes ache and your dogs beg for
attention - NO - you're busy feverishly trying to add as many
friends as possible - less someone think you're not actually popular;
you contact old boyfriends, high school friends, college roommates'
tutors, your cousin's exgirlfriend's stepson that you shared a
cab with one year. Heck, even the old lady you cut off at the
light and exchanged emails with for insurance purposes is fair
game -- you can walk her through the sign up process -- it's all
about the numbers...
And
I know I'd much rather be typing all night then throw a swell
soiree and invite these filthy germ ridden human types to gather
in person - face to face for - oh I don't know…conversation?
It's
a "free" service that has more restrictions and rules
then a Nun's Sunday Tearoom! And oddly, the ads that pop up within
my profiles reflect my very own interests…now how'd they
do that?!
The
Friendster.com owner sits in his plush Malibu estate - fingers
steepled eyebrow erect in financial awe - waiting for the right
moment...Free. Ahem. I can see where this little goldmine is heading
in about six months; once the drones are addicted and have assimilated
into the unit.
Already there's at least three techy stories in print about the
CEO's plans for a monthly maintenance fee. He has has everyone's
home address, private email, birthday, hobbies, films - etc etc…See
where I am going? And now my already spam filled mail box now
just bellows a chorus of "Spam, Spam Spam" by Monty
Pyton everytime I open it! Hmm.
I
have a friend who is a rather popular "Friendster" with
count 'em 240 "Friendsters" on his profile. He really
knows three - okay - four. Another friend - who's a self proclaimed
Friendster addict - has made up a new language for "messaging"
amongst the community. It's blatantly obvious; crackSTER - a person
who is always on the community's web; F*ckSTER - a person who
de-Friendstered you from their profile; FraudSTER - a person who
lies (say it aint so) on their profile.
I
joined, naturally. I lasted a whole seventy-two hours.
But, my friends started to message me there - not in my own email…and
there was enormous pressure to add more friends and scribe testimonials.
And
being a baby Friendster I suddenly had all these swanky invites
and blatant briberies from friends, half-friends, strangers, and
outright enemies to join their profiles.
One
gal whom I have not spoken to in months, actually started to semi
cyber stalk me! Upon joining (within sixty seconds) I received
an immediate request to "Friendster" to her profile
- which I promptly deleted believing I should actually be a friend
with a Friendster to rsvp. But she continued - another message
- then email. We actually had a face-to-face blow up and defriended
ourselves in the good old fashion "Fine!" - silence
- followed by, "Fine." Then a telltale friendship ending,
"You suck!!!" long ago. A good old-fashioned cyberless
defriending in its most traditional form; the way our ancestors
and their Mayflower dragging ancestors did before them.
So
what's the plus side of this tree house of cyberworld connections
that hordes your data and seems to sell your email? Loveship.
An out-of-state friend I know (in the real-world) met a handsome
manly man - even visited him - and has started a long distance
friendship based on mutual smittdom. They use the telephone (albeit
a cell phone with picture forwarding and satellite fed stock reports...)
and everything!
Naturally,
she met him perusing photos and hobbies and NOT through
an established "Friendster." But I suppose it is
still slightly better then the on-line dating horrors or an in-person
friend induced blind date from hell.
Maybe
I'll rejoin after all.
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