Poliwood and "The Social Network": Will all my Facebook friends come to my funeral?
I was dragged willy-nilly into both them. I didn't want to get involved, but as CEO of Pajamas Media, others "sorta kinda" made it clear to me that I "oughta" have presence in the social media for the sake of the company. So there I went on to Facebook and Twitter with the help of people working for us who knew a lot more about it than I do, still do. I hope it isn't a shock to my Facebook friends that I am not there with an entirely open heart. This is no reflection on them whatsoever -- only on me. In any case, I will shortly hit the 5000 friend max and that will be it.
Twitter, where evidently you can have unlimited "followers," is another matter. I have already crested 5000 over there and it seems even more opaque to me than Facebook -- except during the Iran demonstrations when Twitter was indispensable. During normal times, however, Twitter seems to be about people compelled to tell you about their afternoon trip to Trader Joe's or, at best, Ron Artest's latest adventure at an after hours dance club. Do we need to hear about that? Well, maybe, if it's a good adventure. But only once, thank you.
The bigger problem -- that Sorkin doesn't seem to refer to in the movie, but perhaps I missed it -- is that we are all now living life on overload. There's just too much stimulation and random information, too many data points, too many cable channels. I'm an admittedly high intensity type-A personality and there's even way too much for me. I can't say that I need Facebook and Skype and Twitter and email and text messaging and blogging and iPhone and iPad and Bluetooth and Bluray and Netflix and Flixster and Flickr and a thousand apps and ... Have I left anything out? Well, probably. At any rate, ya basta.... enough already!
Does Zen Buddhism seem appealing? A little raking of the pebbles, a few hours of sitting in the lotus position and that's it? It does to me.
Of course, the last time I was at a Zen monastery the monks were totally wired and we traded email addresses (this was a few years back in Kyoto), so maybe there is no end to this.
We should all just put ourselves in the hands of next Mark Zuckerberg, whoever he or she is (a nine-year old billionaire?), give up on ordinary human contact, and let it ride. Meanwhile, would you be my Facebook friend? I'll love you forever and treat you to a grande soy latte at the Starbucks of your choice. (But better hurry. There are only four hundred and eighty-seven friendships left!)