I will never understand why people apologise for not posting on their Facebook or Instagram pages for a few days or weeks. It’s a photo of your dog giving up carbs, or your breakfast or an opinion on your dog having breakfast without carbs, and God knows the world doesn’t need any more opinions. If Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Insta, MyTwitFace, Snapchat, LookAtMe, SelfiesRus whatever all closed down tonight nothing would actually happen. No one’s life would change if a minor young celebrity missed a few days posting on YouTube and actually went out into the real world and achieved contact with their fellow humans and didn’t document every fart. If Tumblr folded tomorrow that may push a lot of awful angst-filled young poets slash artists slash waiters offline but I can live with that.
Facebook as a platform has become like an old high school friend who keeps sending you invitations to pyramid selling parties disguised as fun-filled reunions. You kind of want to stay in touch but then you remember that the drama and the detail and the requests to buy from their brother’s online vitamin business have become so annoying that you wonder why you bother. I check my news feed and think, yes I’m guilty as charged, I’ve bored people to tears with descriptions of my eating habits, or family or 500 too many photos of a holiday, but some days I can’t face reading about someone I last saw in person four years ago doing the same. In the political sphere, Farcebook has become a redneck wonderland and I just don’t have the energy to deal with it.
Yes, I love the witty people, and the connection with dear ones who live overseas and the camaraderie of groups of people with whom you share a passion or career, but for the love of the goddesses, can we filter out the passive-aggressive questions aimed at god-knows-who, the ill-thought-out spelling of your/youre/Ur, the I’ve lost six kilos today, conspiracy theories and the humble bragging?
We need editing filters on all our social media accounts that say, This post is dull or derived from an uninformed and uneducated view of the world, are you really sure you want to post this? This post will be muted for the good of humanity.
Ah, the irony. Of course, I’ve linked this whinge of a blog post to publish on Facebook and Twitter. Hope to see you living in the real world one year soon.
This week a friend who is not a fan of social media asked me: Why do cute pooches and pussy cats have more social media followers than most humans?
Why? Because we love them. Pooches believe in unconditional love. Aspirational humans do not. Cats have attitude and don’t give a shit. I love dogs of Instagram because dogs are pretty. Dogs on insta don’t have bad plastic surgery, fake boobs and plastic nails. They’re not going to take cheesy selfies with trout pouts at monasteries and mosques. Dogs don’t take photos of themselves doing cartwheels at sacred sites. Dogs don’t pretend to be social media experts, they’re not trying to improve our lives, help us reach unattainable goals, sell us products or help their owners train to be ultra fit marathon runners and brag about it. Dogs just are. I love dogs.
Cats aren’t trying to mary football players, flog baby clothes or inspire us to upgrade to a better lifestyle. Cats hiss and bite when they’re pissed off. Cats are cool.
But I do wish dog owners would post more photos of mutts with fleas, mange and weeping eyes. Cat owners could oblige by sharing their scratch and sniff cat pee in the corner of the living room snaps more often too.
I’ll keep this rant short, I must dash, my cat needs to meet up with her personal trainer.
Because I am a sad lonely old stylish stuck at home single mother I spend far too many nights binge posting on social media until the wee hours. Fuelled by cheap leftover Christmas sherry, one night I posted, ‘used my boobs to get out of a speeding fine’ on Facebook as a joke with a friend who lives in another city. It was my most popular post. Ever. And it was complete bullshit. I was home in my pyjamas sitting on the couch at the time. The only car I’ve driven in recent memory was my mate’s 1995 Daihatsu which couldn’t earn me a speeding fine unless I poured Red Bull into the fuel tank. The comments posted were priceless:
How much did you have to use them and could you go into a lot of detail please?
I did that too. But on CityRail…
Good girl, me too.
Luv it, excellent choice
Very impressed – that would not work for me
Can I borrow them sometime?
My type of gal! Damn I wish I could use my man boobs for anything.
Well done. Excellent work
Well I’m not surprised- they are particularly nice tits
Lucky cop. I’m proud of you
My brother said ‘I can’t believe someone in my family has acted in this way.’ Never worked for me. Not once.
(.) (.) life is good! Go Lou
I’m giving that a go… I tried the ‘trouser” option once…
Well done. Make ’em useful I say!
Noice work. So proud x
Good for you! I do that all the time
Is this your most liked post ever? One of my favourite posts for a long time, you go girl, use it or lose it
Now come on they were paired with your charm and intelligent banter I’m sure they don’t get all the glory. Go Cougar Woman!
As I was feeling the lurve from other Farcebook addicts, I realised us Gen X-ers are very easy to please on the interwebs, a fart joke, a petition to sign, a flash of boobs or a cute cat to watch keeps us happy and bantering for hours. Us old bags don’t need too much digital interference or constant tech updates, we need connection.
Maybe all the upgrades and downloads are a way for young geeks to justify their hours at work? Apparently the young whipper snappers are leaving Facebook in droves, turning the once hot social media site into old fart book, which may lead to a name change. Come to Old Fart Book where dreary status updates about your new vacuum cleaner are not only welcome but encouraged.
Sorry Facebook, it’s been fun, but I do think your popularity has peaked. And I think I’ve found the latest, greatest bit of tech wizardry. The app that’s really hot right now is ‘Tap And Fart’, I use it at work all the time, especially the squeezed fart.