Horatio, We Hardly Knew You!

One of my friends recently proclaimed, “I don’t do the Facebook thing.” Trying hard to look suitably stunned, I waited for the inevitable rant of how Facebook/MySpace/Twitter/etc. are no longer what they used to be. Now uncool. For people without a real life. Dominated by lecherous twelve year olds. The last hope of the unloved and unlovable.

Instead, they gave a more nuanced reply. Formerly, he enjoyed the sense of staying connected and of staying in touch with his friends. But, the constant profile updating and other assorted cyber-preening became tiresome. In the end his network’s frequent inquires as to his whereabouts and general good health (since he hadn’t posted anything for, oh, over a week) was what did him in. The shallow demands of his buds drove him to drink … and the pub welcomed him back into its sticky, lubricated womb.

Everyone say humans are communal creatures and that we all crave frequent interaction. We need to feel as though we belong and that we are part of something bigger than our own meager selves. Many folks don the colors and cheer on their favorite corporate enterprise, err team. While others gather together at the nearest railway cross for a tad of train spotting. Both are equally pointless, if but only for the sheer unresponsiveness of the target of attention. But, the inanity is, at least, in the company of fellow besotted. Bracketologists. Whatever.

So, imagine my surprise to find genuine community online. A place to share enthusiasms, for sure. A place to air grievances and seek solace. A place to be real and work through life’s ups and downs. At this place, there’s folks with out-of-control political opinions. There are those who talk too much about sex. And, then there’s the cat fetishists! But, in all of what appears to be the random ravings and just plain I-want-to-be-heard-and-belong, we find real people. Real people who hope, and dream, and cry. Good men and women I now care about, even if I’ve never met their fleshy selves.

And as this online Isle of Misfit Toys becomes part of the backdrop of my life, I wonder what would drive me away. What would it take to be alienated from these people. What perceived slight, what misunderstanding, would lead to my excommunication? Call me perverse, but if this motley collection of strangers are as ever changing and relevant as they seem, then what would it take to piss me off, sufficient to say that I didn’t belong. In this cynical and jaded online world, what would cause one to say that I’m not what I seemed, to make one pause and wonder whether I really knew him at all?