I hate Facebook for all the usual reasons—the cuteness, the trite messages, the hubris of thinking someone out there cares. While I have found people I’d lost contact with through Facebook—in all honesty, if they were close friends, I wouldn’t have lost contact. And my interest in photos and news of other people’s grandchildren is limited.
Facebook devotees no doubt benefit from features like birthday reminders, but they don’t help me since I don’t log on regularly. Sending “Hope you had a great birthday three weeks ago” does not convey a message that I’m a thoughtful, caring person. Receiving information about friends’ successes on Farmville makes me wonder how they keep their jobs—or if their complaints about their demanding work, family, church, social life, etc. have much substance.
What I hate most, though, are the uninvited friends who show up on my wall. I never friended Desperate Housewives, although I did post it as a favorite TV show on my profile (a profile which needs updating). Until recently there was no way to hide promotional comments from Bree, Gabby and all the Wisteria Lane gang or from government officials I never friended.
My biggest concern with Facebook is privacy. I entered the required amount of personal information when I signed up. The rumor that the Facebook execs plan to sell this info has me worried. Had I thought a bit, I would not have disclosed my actual date of birth.
Many people enjoy contact with their grown children on Facebook. Obviously, I don’t know the rules for family friending. My daughter unfriended me after I made a clever comment on her newsfeed. Despite my gripes, I maintain membership on Facebook. This morning my wall boasts a photo of our gorgeous 6-month-old granddaughter. My son would not think to send us that photo, but he did put it on Facebook for all his friends to enjoy. Hope he doesn’t unfriend me until the baby is old enough to send me her own pictures.