FB follies

As a newspaper columnist, I realize I may be digging my own grave by writing about the Internet, but as an aging hipster, I can’t resist.

To the shock and chagrin of my teenaged children, I joined Facebook about a year ago. My aim, contrary to the fears of lost privacy that my children expressed, was to see what all the noise was about and do a better job of keeping up with old and new friends.

Now, I’m hooked. My Facebook page is my home page. Instead of AOL or Yahoo news, my day begins with me and my 112 friends. If my niece Abby had an audition, I know about it. The news of the day is personal now.

The privacy issue is complex, but it is easy enough for my daughter to edit her settings to keep Mom from viewing the more shocking details of her college life. And I’m all for that. I can see that my daughter has “scandalous things to tell her friend, Nora,” but I will never know what those scandals are, exactly. A shout out for privacy!

Early on I was chastised by my son for adding a “xx, Mom” signature to his FB. (FB is what we afficionados call Facebook.) “It’s kinda like the little notes in my lunch-box in middle school, Mom.” I didn’t know my lunch-box riddles caused such social disgrace. Word to the wise. Now, I send him a private message when I want to contact him.

FB is especially useful for those of us whose eyes are too weak to use their cell phones for texting. Anyway, I need my thumbs for gardening.

Many of my mature friends still eschew the FB. They think they have better ways to communicate, and they may. But what good are those handwritten notes when nobody returns the favor? A special place in heaven is too much pleasure deferred, in my opinion.

Even our President uses FB, but he’s not as easy to reach now that he’s in that White House. The last time he “posted” (FB term for posting an update on your profile page) was January 5. Hey man, get with it. “Change is Coming” is so last year!

A few tips for older FB’ers: Don’t put your birthdate on your profile, only your birthday, i.e., May 9, not May 9, 1929. Nobody needs to know how old you really are and anyway, too much information makes you ripe for identity theft, as much as for cremation.

Be careful, too, what picture you post on your profile. The one I was using for months apparently gave me “raccoon eyes” according to an old college chum, who neglected to mention this until after I changed it.

Of course, you don’t have to post a picture of your face at all. And, knowing some of you, it may be the wise choice. One friend is seen only from the back, portaging a yellow canoe toward the river. Another is represented by a photo of her splayed hand.

When you change your profile picture, your friends are notified, which may remind them of your presence on the planet.

The latest FB craze is the “25.” The “25” is a list of 25 random factoids about yourself that may include facts, dreams, goals or nonsense. As a result, it defies characterization. It does not ask questions, only sets a framework of 25. Some people mention the people in their lives; others, only the pet snails. The rules are that once you have been “tagged” (another FB term) you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things about yourself. At the end, you choose 25 people to be “tagged,” or notified. You have to tag the person who tagged you. Ostensibly, the person who tags you wants to know more about you or, as my son noted, maybe “they only know 25 people.”

My friend with the canoe portage profile photo has taken the “25” to a new level. It is the “25” as an online art installation. The question of randomness has invaded her cerebral cortex and she now writes notes on the theory of randomness when she is not walking her dogs or portaging her canoe across the wilderness.

Maybe I’ll send her a newspaper to jolt her back to reality.

- Cass Collins