My feelings about Facebook.com have always been mixed. Like many of my peers, I rely on the website for purposes of social research--a fancy phrase for “stalking.”

Time spent on Facebook is an indulgence, a guilty pleasure that, like the occasional cigarette, can quickly spiral into an unhealthy addiction. You start out doing it once in a while, no big deal, because it’s a social thing. And then suddenly you can’t go without an hourly update. Then an hourly update turns into two hours of reading the wall-to-wall communication between your ex boyfriend and the skinny blonde in his econ class.

Such an addiction generates feelings of resentment towards the website, and a good deal of self-loathing. These days, I find myself particularly enraged by Facebook’s latest massive redesign, a new format that makes Facebook stalking impossible to avoid--think smoking without a filter. This new design forces me to reflect upon what the social network has become. Is face time with the Book really worth it anymore?

In a nutshell, the new design turns people’s individual profiles into a combination of a newsfeed and a wall. This stalker sandwich is the first thing you see next to the individual’s profile picture. The newsfeed-wall combo not only updates you on the individual’s activities, but also shows you whom the individual has been communicating with. Full blown stalking extravaganza. The rest of the person’s information: personal favorites, political and religious views, romantic status, tagged pictures, etc., are on other tabs that you can select.

I’ve always had a problem with the newsfeed application, added four years ago. It’s a feed on the homepage that makes announcements about an assortment of personal and group updates. Each person also has his or her personal newsfeed that tracks all activity within the website. The in-your-face, to-the-minute updates of individuals’ activities propelled Facebook stalking to a whole new level. While I admit that Facebook is an investigative tool, the newsfeed made it too easy.

The day that the newsfeed appeared, I quit Facebook cold turkey. It disgusted me. There were moments of yearning, but I also felt reborn and unburdened. However, three months later, a friend snapped a photo of me that was total Facebook profile pic material. Stumbling across a good facebook picture is tantamount to tripping over a dinosaur bone or finding a pearl inside your oyster at dinner. I caved and rejoined.

Meanwhile, Facebook just keeps generating applications and redesigns, most useless and annoying, designed to further the addiction. For instance, besides the newsfeed, the Facebook chat application is my most hated addition to the social network. I don’t go on Facebook to chat. I go on to stalk. How do you think it makes me feel to hear that pop of the chat bubble when I’m on tagged photo 234 of my high school crush? It’s disconcerting and uncomfortable, like someone walking in on you while you’re struggling to pull a control-top undergarment all the way up.

Yet Facebook’s latest facelift completely overshadows my hatred for the chat application. The newsfeed’s takeover continues to perturb me. I’ve always liked the simple, straight-forward page of people’s individual information: A viewer is presented with a profile that the individual has crafted specifically for the eyes of others. It’s a presentation on that person’s own terms. In the new format, the priorities of the individual no longer come first. Instead of displaying what the person wants to show on his or her page, the viewer sees the individual’s activities and interactions with others. It’s like observing someone from a distance rather than looking them in the eye. And here I was thinking Facebook couldn’t get any creepier. As usual, I stand corrected.

Sadly, my outcry against the redesign only speaks to just how big a role Facebook plays in my life. While I ‘m less than thrilled with this new chapter, I just can’t put the Book down.

Yesterday, Bartok and I were Gmail Chat musing about how in a world of endless social networks and rapidly decreasing privacy, people seem to feel more and more comfortable in public. An overshare with a virtual public via anonymous blog, twitter or even facebook status (the worst I ever witnessed is a pregnant friend’s status as “Karen is 2.5 centimeters dilated”) is one thing. Yet this mentality appears to be crossing over into the physical realm as well. How much of this ‘my life is an open book via RSS feeds’ can we take on a face-to-face level?

She and I determined that there are certain activities that should take place in private no matter how exposed technology manages to keep our life. Others, probably categorized as outrageously rude in the seventies, are negotiable in 2008.

Example: Putting on make up in public (public like in the subway) is okay. Brushing hair? Not really. Yet hairstyling is okay.

A public telephonic argument depends on the content. If four letter words are expressed multiple times in every sentence, best if it takes place behind closed doors and not in the sidewalk. If the four letter words are in regard to stock prices, who cares?

Changing clothes in public? Not okay. Yet just changing shoes in public is okay. I’m one of the original founders of the flip-flops to heels switcheroo behind a tree one block from your date.

Eating? Okay. Making food? Not okay.

Flossing teeth? Very not okay.

Filing nails? Okay. Cutting nails? Absolutely not.

Plucking eyebrows? Okay.

Picking at skin? Very not okay.

Reading of religious texts out loud, regardless of faith? Not okay.

Eating anything with strong odor (like my favorite bagel with salmon locks, onions and garlic)? Not okay.

Then there are topics that are just never appropriate for an overshare:

Like any bodily discomfort above foot level and below head.

Or sordid fantasies about things like making out with pigeons.

Or creepy self-written poetry.

When the lamely coined “new facebook” reduced my profile to a stalker-friendly newsfeed about my life, I became cognizant of the fact that we’re all living in our own mini-version of The Truman Show. And what does all this oversharing get us?

An arena to word vomit in?

Perhaps an opportunity to connect with likeminded individuals? These niches are definitely the benefit.

Yet with the overshare comes constant judgment. In fact, I’d posit that technology allows us to judge people faster than ever before because facts are so easily accessible. Photos, histories, schools, educational background, photos of ex-boyfriends, are all just a search and click away. It’s harder to truly get to know someone since we spend so much time getting lost in all the factoids, the Google trackbacks, the facebook albums.

Luckily, or perhaps sadly, we have WikiHow to help us with this shit.

WikiHow: How to Get to Know Someone

These days, it seems the moment you’re privy to a crush’s last name it’s time to metaphorically rape their life on facebook. The fact that Internet stalking is old news and has become routine procedure in dating, doesn’t make it okay.

Is it really appropriate to have access to a relative stranger’s facebook life story? The often hundreds of tagged photos, including “the high school years” (complete with braces), “camping trips,” and worst of all, visuals of each and every ex?

The way I see it, facebook’s like an overflowing dam of information that divulges too much, too soon. The amount you can learn about someone perusing a substantial facebook profile can fill in details on a person’s life that wouldn’t be revealed naturally for weeks, months or in some cases, years (like the photos of you cross-dressing, making out with someone’s pet ferret freshman year of college, Halloween [the fact that it’s Halloween isn’t captioned in the photo]).

On the one hand, maybe we should be grateful and praise the technology Gods. It only takes a search box and a few clicks to determine if someone’s an utter moron rather than sixteen dates. But is judging someone solely off tagged photos and cyber content legit? Maybe Internet stalking will save you from dating an ex-con or criminal, but most likely it’ll just make you privy to a lot of usually unnecessary details about the object of your affection’s life, many of which are out of his control, many of which have the power to make you upset.

Example: The ominous facebook wall. If you’re not fighting about the “relationship status” or “looking for” bars, the wall is the next most likely place for conflict to seed.

Say you’re seeing a guy, but everything’s sort of gray and unclear as we like to keep it in New York. You’re doing your daily (or weekly if you have a lot of self-control) check of their profile page for general updates / evidence of other women / proof of lying / examples of douchery / other things to be concerned about, and see some slut-bag with a profile picture showcasing her boob job has written:

“Heeey SeXy. Soooo g8 Seeing you LasT NiGht. Wild*!;)Fun*#*! SMaCK. Must aGaiN soon XoX”

Last night he’d told you he was at business event with co-workers. Unless he changed jobs yesterday and now works in the porn industry, there’s no reason this chick would be there. You then spend the next half-hour ranting with your closest friend about what a lickwad (liar+dickwad) this guy is and creating a top ten list of most painful ways to castrate him.

A lot of aggression later, you gather the courage to confront him about LaLiesha. You’re hand is poised ready to slap him Gone with the Wind style when he responds:

“Oh my God. That chick is so annoying. We all hate her but have to be nice to her because John slept with her once before he knew he had crabs. Getting out of my cab last night, I bumped into her dressed like prostitute. She took my taxi to head to some club. Boob jobs are just so tacky, don’t you think?”

You’re dumbfounded and still angry, now because you wasted an hour of your day making up a top ten castration list instead of doing things like, oh, your JOB. The entire debacle was draining and a waste of creative energy. The laugh’s on you, and as he goes on to talk about how your boobs are perfect you think, “Thanks facebook. Thanks a freakin’ lot.”

Some say keeping your facebook profile simple, photo free and eliminating the wall is the answer. For people like me, who’ve used facebook for years as a photo sharing and social networking tool with college friends, that’s just not an option. The web of treasured memories is too complex and heartwarming to take down. Plus, how were we as a select group of East Coast colleges supposed to know that one day the entire PLANET would be on facebook?

The opposite answer is to just be okay with the majority of you life being an online open book and hope that people have better things to do than look at the albums from your emo phase. Or you can create separate friends lists, people who can see everything and those who can’t. Since facebook murdered their “Limited Profile” feature, organizing something like this is a fulltime job and practically impossible.

My current solution? I don’t friend boys I like. Because I know I’ll stalk the wall, I know I’ll fine tooth comb the photos, I know I’ll be on the look out for any and all incriminating activity and the fact that it occurred in 1998 won’t matter to me. So if you’re a male I know well and we’re not friends on facebook, I most likely have a crush on you.

Guess that cat’s out of the bag.

Once you’ve lived in New York five years, you think you’ve seen the maximum douchiness this city has to offer. Alas, no. Go here to see the sad insanity I witnessed this past weekend. The party foul was conducted by a promoter; someone you’d think would be classy and know better. This segways into my next topic which is ‘friends who pretend to be promoters but are not.’ For the purposes of this discussion, let’s call them Fromoters (‘F’ standing for both friend and fake.)

Fromoters are concept I fail to understand. You’ll recognize them in your life because they are:

-Guilty of group texting you and your entire posse of friends
-Out and about as if they had a press schedule
-Blowing up your facebook feed like it’s their job and
-Incessantly trying to organize group ‘brunch’

Let’s not confuse the fromoter disease with the generous friend who takes on the burdened role of organizer to help everyone get together. Occasionally taking the hit to play organizer is both selfless and kind. How would everyone ever get together otherwise? The fromoter on the other hand, thrives on being the centerfold of this endless string of group events. It’s the nectar from which their ego suckles. And they will batter you with invites, reminders, and updates until your mobile device explodes.

When promoters harass you, you can let it go. It’s their job. The fromoter on the other hand, doesn’t have the excuse of having to text you to pay their rent. What’s mind boggling to me is that the work of promoting in the city is so cutthroat, exhausting, cruel, and time consuming that I’m amazed anyone would take on such a stressful duty voluntarily. And while working promoters understand that their job is a job and rejection is 99% of the deal, fromoters as your friends have a hard time taking no for an answer.

How to best handle the fromoters in your life? How to stay on good terms while asking them to politely only contact you four times a day?

I don’t have the answer to that yet.

Feel free to leave thoughts.

As a product of my environment, a poster child of today’s “Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs” society, and an undeniable slave to trend of all genres, I spend most of my waking hours connected to, thinking about, and using the internet. One of the most revolutionary developments of my adolescent life was, undoubtedly, wi-fi. No longer were we confined to sitting in front of a computer in a specific and probably parentally monitored location. With Wi-Fi, we could take our heavy and awkward larger-than-normal-desktops-are-today laptops anywhere in the house that we wanted, and chat on IM for hours. Unobserved behind our locked bedroom doors until way past what curfew would have been if we had actually left the house.

So, how have all of these experiences, activities, and technological advancements affected my 20s? I am obsessed, dependent on, and constantly connected to the internet. Thanks, Al Gore, for life as I know it.

When I have a question where do I go – a family friend who happens to be an expert in that field, a book? No, absolutely not. It doesn’t even cross my mind that I could utilize resources like that. I go to what I have come to consider a sort of virtual friend – the site I fondly refer to as Wiki. Wiki, and now her sister sites of wic-tionary, wikibooks, wikiversity, wikinews, wikispecies, wikiquote, wikisource, and meta-wiki pretty much cover the spread of useful and non-useful information. Now, I wont pretend to have any idea what the majority of wiki’s sisters can do for me, or how they really differ or contribute anything to the original protégé website of wikipedia, but they do exist, which reassures me that I will never be at a loss for facts, correct or not. The way I see it, even if I don’t get the right answer from wiki, I may still have gained new cocktail conversation starters. It's a win-win.

As a resource, the nerdnet is invaluable, no question; just as valuable, in fact, as it is as an entertainment venue. I can spend hours bouncing from site to site. My homepage NYtimes.com provides hours of entertainment in and of itself! Should I venture past the maze of the New York Times, I happen to particularly enjoy thesuperficial.com, the Washington Post’s Crossword puzzles Monday-Thursday (other days are a little too challenging and the failure of not completing the puzzle is a day ruin-er every time), my email, facebook, asmallworld, various virtual shopping venues, google searching, and, of course, youtube.

Out of all of those sites, I would like to devote a little bit of extra time and laudation to youtube. As far as the usefulness and entertainment value of the web, google-image, I think, was on to something. Something that youtube took and ran with. The idea of being able to search not only for movies, homemade videos, some TV shows, music videos, and even historical events like the Queen of England's holiday address this year, all in one site….it’s a generation Y’s wet dream.

As a child of the ‘80’s, I take for granted that video killed the radio star. Music videos hold a very special go-to place in my search for motivation during workouts, as well as for entertainment during my work day. My most recent conquest of entertainment is the following:



I was actually searching for one of my personal favorites, Mickey Avalon, and from his song, Jane Fonda, I found this little gem. Obviously, the name of the “artist”, Princess Superstar, attracted me to click and anxiously await the loading of the video. I have to admit that the lyrics were just perplexing, yet catchy/irritating enough to make me watch it again. The Princess’s costumes and her sick-nasty dance moves left me with a feeling of overwhelming confusion mixed, I have to admit, with a little enthusiasm (my typical reaction to any form of overstimulation – in this case, for having seen something so ridiculous); as well as a little contempt for Princess Superstar who 1. has such a cool name, and 2. actually has some kind of contract.

Is it art? Certainly, not. Is it even good? All signs point to no, and yet I watched it, not twice, but three times. Maybe I was searching for some sort of explanation or intrinsic theme. I found none. I did, however, find her on wikipedia.

Again, rather indicative, I think, of my generation's culture.