Let's get this out of the way up right up front: I am not, not NOT defending (much less condoning) the two-bit carnival shell game that Mark Zuckerberg & his Facebook goons have been running with their terms and conditions. It's sleazy--period.
But, then, Facebook has always has had a slightly skanky ambience. When I joined in late 2008, the sidebar was carpet-bombed with ads for akai berry and "Sorority Life" and what-not. Only the ads have changed, but FB's explosive growth (presumably matched by revenue) has certainly not brought any "gentrification" in tone.
In a nutshell, it's like that bar. The one where you actually prefer to step on the peanut shells because it allows you to ignore the tackiness of the floor. The one where you developed your reputation as Captain Iron Bladder--because your own bathroom, even on a bad week, is operating-room clean in comparison. But you and your friends from Back In The Day were too poor for tonier venues, so there's a sort of coming-home feel to it that absolves you of having to be higher-rent during the week. Plus, you can bring your newer friends there because the cheese curds are still as legendary as days of yore. Your only concession to adulthood is to shower off the skeeviness, no matter how late it is when you get home.
That kind of place. Yes, maybe it's like Cheers in that "everybody knows your name," but expecting anyone--particularly the proprietors--to watch your back or make sure you don't go home with the wrong person is, quite brutally, a double shot of infantilism with a self-absorption chaser.
With zero exaggeration, it flat-out Blows My Mind that anyone, after fifteen-plus years of mainstream internet usage, expects privacy when they link their real-world and online selves. But, as the relative intangibility of online interaction vs. face-to-face human contact (still!) seems to be a stumbling block, I'll share my secret formula for not sabotaging your career and/or real-world friendships via Facebook:
Step 1: Be born to the sixth of seven children from a tight-knit family started right before the Great Depression and capped a couple years after WWII.
Step 2: Friend up one of your first cousins. Specifically, one who used to babysit you while the 'rents spent their Date Night playing Bingo at the Eagles Club. Bonus points if you were the flower-girl in said cousin's wedding.
Step 3: Wait a couple weeks (or less) until your other cousins (who also baby-sat you at some point and thus had to Set An Example for you) and your second cousins (for whom you baby-sat and likewise provided an example) figure out that you're on Facebook and friend you up, too.
Step 4: Do not run afoul of Dunbar's Law. I don't care how wild-looking their avatars are, they are people, not badges. There is no prize for "friending up" more people than anyone else...not unless you're going for the gold in the Wanker Olympics. By all of which I mean: Do not divide your shouting into the void by the number of people privy to it. The internet can easily amplify as much as it dilutes.
As a formula, it's served me well so far. Yes, I've experienced a bit of of "Wow, you really haven't grown up much since 19--, now have you?" Or, "You keep using that word. I do not think you know what it means." But that's to be expected. And the simple act of blocking those folks' post from your feed basically amounts to embalming fluid for nostalgia: I can't recommend it highly enough. And, in fairness, I also had the highly instructive benefit of a certain lack of...err...discretion by friends who realized too late how public their preferences and pursuits actually were.
But. I cannot, for the life of me, grok why anyone over the age of five cannot get this through their skull: Online life gives you the same hard choice as the real deal. You can fit in and get along and get the gold sticker by your name for playing well with others. Or you can be yourself. There is a cost either way. Which of those two prices turns out to be the most exorbitant...well, that's up to you and your value system. I wouldn't presume to pass judgement on either choice.
Yet what I cannot and will not sympathize with is people who expect to turn their private information over to a purely online company and expect that company to guard it like the Crown Jewels. Nuh-uh. Not in 2000, And certainly not in 2010.
Again, I'm (emphatically) not "blaming the victim." But I am thoroughly sick of the blogosphere's hyperventilating and the naifish expectation of privacy from any company that can make bank pimping your info. to someone else.
