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Why I Have No Facebook Page
Seacoast History Blog #86
June 6, 2010
A couple of bluejays have placed their nest in the crotch of our patio umbrella. I fear for their lives. The weather report says there is a another big wind coming, maybe hail and even a potential twister. The nest is right outside my office and I cannot collapse the umbrella as I usually do in a heavy rain, because the baby chicks are hatched already. So they will have to weather the storm. This is the kind of trivial personal news for which social networks were designed. But I don’t Twitter or Tweet. I have no Facebook page. I’m not Linked-In. So this small notice will have to do. (Continued below)
People react in one of two ways when you tell them you do not have a Facebook page. Some wince like they do when I tell them I also do not use a cellphone or do not drive a car. Others immediately downplay their own Facebook use. “I actually never look at mine,” they apologize. “I just got it to see what my kids were up to.”
Like I care. I’m not anti-Facebook. I love the Web. I live online up to 12-hours a day. And it is precisely because I’m already on the Internet with hundreds, maybe thousands of Google-linked Web pages that I don’t need any more exposure. Over 6,000 people have opted-into my quarterly emailed newsletter and thousands read this site every day. So for me, having a Facebook page is like a fisherman going fishing in his spare time. Enough is enough.
Fundamentally, that is the crisis of the Web. Because it is limitless and expanding and ubiquitous and never shuts down, we must each learn when to unplug and quit for the day. The Web is not going to set boundaries. That’s up to us.
I’ve been posting content online almost daily since 1996 when this Web site was in development. It was thrilling at first. Not so much now. For those who have never had a personal Web site, Facebook must be a rush, at least at first. You post something. Others read it, then they post something back. It’s like the first time you got email only with pictures, movies, and an audience watching.
I get it. But that’s not my Web. Mine is still the old Web where content is king. I prefer the Internet that is packed deep with useful information and relevant detail, not “How ya beens?” and “What cha doins?” There’s no way I can keep up with the favorite tunes, baby names, heartbreaks, movie picks and medical moans of hundreds of cyber “friends”. Like a broken oil pipe at the bottom of the sea, it’s hard to cap off the flow.
It’s not that I’m uninterested in the birds in your back yard. I’m sure they’re as fascinating as the bluejays in my umbrella. But I’ve only got so many days left on this planet and one has to prioritize. If we never “friend”, then we never have to “unfriend”. If you need me, here I am. But if you’re having pizza for dinner, I’m sure the gang at Facebook can’t wait to read all about it.
Copyright © 2010. All rights reserved.
 Seacoast History Blog #87June 7, 2010
A couple of bluejays have placed their nest in the crotch of our patio umbrella. I fear for their lives. The weather report says there is a another big wind coming, maybe hail and even a potential twister. The nest is right outside my office and I cannot collapse the umbrella as I usually do in a heavy rain, because the baby chicks are hatched already. So they will have to weather the storm. This is the kind of trivial personal news for which social networks were designed. But I don’t Twitter or Tweet. I have no Facebook page. I’m not Linked-In. So this small notice will have to do. (Continued below)
People react in one of two ways when you tell them you do not have a Facebook page. Some wince like they do when I tell them I also do not use a cellphone or do not drive a car. Others immediately downplay their own Facebook use. “I actually never look at mine,” they apologize. “I just got it to see what my kids were up to.”
Like I care. I’m not anti-Facebook. I love the Web. I live online up to 12-hours a day. And it is precisely because I’m already on the Internet with hundreds, maybe thousands of Google-linked Web pages that I don’t need any more exposure. Over 6,000 people have opted-into my quarterly emailed newsletter and thousands read this site every day. So for me, having a Facebook page is like a fisherman going fishing in his spare time. Enough is enough.
Fundamentally, that is the crisis of the Web. Because it is limitless and expanding and ubiquitous and never shuts down, we must each learn when to unplug and quit for the day. The Web is not going to set boundaries. That’s up to us.
I’ve been posting content online almost daily since 1996 when this Web site was in development. It was thrilling at first. Not so much now. For those who have never had a personal Web site, Facebook must be a rush, at least at first. You post something. Others read it, then they post something back. It’s like the first time you got email only with pictures, movies, and an audience watching.
I get it. But that’s not my Web. Mine is still the old Web where content is king. I prefer the Internet that is packed deep with useful information and relevant detail, not “How ya beens?” and “What cha doins?” There’s no way I can keep up with the favorite tunes, baby names, heartbreaks, movie picks and medical moans of hundreds of cyber “friends”. Like a broken oil pipe at the bottom of the sea, it’s hard to cap off the flow.
It’s not that I’m uninterested in the birds in your back yard. I’m sure they’re as fascinating as the bluejays in my umbrella. But I’ve only got so many days left on this planet and one has to prioritize. If we never “friend”, then we never have to “unfriend”. If you need me, here I am. But if you’re having pizza for dinner, I’m sure the gang at Facebook can’t wait to read all about it.
Copyright © 2010. All rights reserved.
(c) SeacoastNH.com, All rights reserved
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