Infiltration, indeed. We all saw it coming. Two years ago, it was asking a friend (generally a new friend) "So, are you on Facebook?". A year ago, it was the new "So, what's your number?". Then it became a verb. Things like "Dude, that was hilarious! I'm so Facebook-ing that" or "Just Facebook me" were suddenly part of the vernacular. It was borderline obscene not to be involved. People who had shunned it were greeted with incredulous replies of "What do you mean, you're not on Facebook? EVERYBODY is on Facebook!" When a socio-cultural phenomenon like that hits a certain point, it becomes a self-fulling prophesy. These days, it's damn near true. Everybody is on Facebook. Your parents, your siblings, your fourth cousins, twice removed. Your third grade gym teacher is probably on Facebook. It's in the news every day, like this is some sort of new development, which is most definitely is not. This is merely a watershed moment. Those of us, the early adopters, we saw this coming a long, long time ago.
We just hoped and prayed we were wrong.
Yet, perversely, take a bit of satisfaction in knowing that we were right.
Of course, all of this is, as the title says, merely stating the obvious. The only reason that I bring it up, is that with popularity comes restraint. I generally post a link to my new blog posts on my Facebook page. However, as I tend to sometimes drift into sensitive topics (like my tenuous mental "health", drug abuse, sexual escapades, etc.. ), the implications of members of my family reading this come into play. As I've been at least moderately successful, so far, in convincing them that I'm not a total fucking loon, the perils of them having a glance at some of what's written down here spells D-O-O-M. Well, that might be a bit melodramatic, but it could most definitely lead to some seriously uncomfortable conversations at Christmas. I say these things having no illusions. One of the grandest things about the interwebs is the duality between complete anonymity and scathing intimacy. Who cares if you release your inner-most thoughts and feelings to the world when no one knows who you are? Ah, but a caveat. As I said earlier, I generally link my new blog posts to my Facebook page, so there are a number of people out there who do know who I am, and can put a voice to these esoteric ramblings and psychopathic babble. Judging my tracker stats, those folks make up an increasingly smaller percentage of my audience (but my love for you hasn't shrunken one bit, kids :) ). It's one thing to have your friends - even your closest, most dear friends - reading about your trials and tribulations in coping with life. It's an entirely different ballpark when your family does. Hell, half the reason that we end up so fucked up in the first place is because of the shenanigans that we were involved in with our friends, while hiding from our psychotic families. And we went to great pains to make sure that, to coin a phrase from Sienfeld, "the worlds stayed separate", thank you very much!
So, as always, the question remains the same. Do I limit myself, "toe the line" as it were, pander to the soft and wholesome? Or do I keep going, balls out, heart firmly attached to sleeve, facing the specter of possible exposure for the narcissistic, severely-in-need-of-medication, borderline sociopath that I am?
Fuck it. Run with the devil. And if I see the men in white coming around the corner, I'm going to run like hell.
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