Diatribes of a Southeastern WASP

Why I Quit Facebook

Being constantly friend-requested by creepy-looking, probable real-life sociopaths; receiving passive-aggressive messages by a grandmother who kept an omniscient presence over the morality of my facebook wall; finding out that people I had never met were sending links of my pictures to one another. The list goes on. The reason behind my facebook self-immolation wasn’t from one reason alone, but a conglomeration of one offense after another. In an effort to ease my conscious from committing social networking suicide, I decidedly wrote this to justify my actions.

For me, there were many positives about social networking sites such as facebook. For example, I could almost effortlessly keep in touch with distant friends, create posts and photo albums to update loved ones on my life, and air my opinions on current political topics. However, if the advantages were put on a two-pan beam balance and the negatives associated with the site were suddenly slammed down on the side opposite, these positives would be catapulted into high heaven.  

First of all, I will discuss what is commonly called the “friends list.” Or, in my case, what would be more accurately referred to as “the 1,200 people list, 10 of whom are my close friends, 50 of whom are my friends, 20 of whom are my relatives, 800 of whom are mere acquaintances who I haven’t talked to in months or years, and 320 of whom I have never actually met but was too spineless to decline their completely random friend requests.” Now, when a friend posts a comment to my wall such as “Hey Kyle! I had a great time at the bar last night! After those six shots, you were hilarious,” I don’t want most people on my friends list to see it. In fact, out of all of the above listed groups, I would only want the 10 close friends to see it, and sometimes not even that. Despite the supposed privacy settings, people always found a way of posting something I didn’t want, the said written or photographed documentation of my activities being promulgated throughout the status updates of all 1200 “friends.” Now, to clarify, I am not doing reprehensible activities which are causing my sense of shame to flare up. However, some comments or photographs, when taken out of context by a random viewer, can easily be misconstrued as something morally amiss. And said random viewer can just as easily spread rumors which are obtained in this manner.

Secondly, as in real life, relatives (regardless of age or relationship) have also managed to cause additional stress in the online world, as they have flocked to facebook in hoards. Soon, I believe that afternoon bingo will be replaced by “stalk your grandchildren online” time in newly installed nursing home computer labs. In my own case, my aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, grandmothers, mother, father, sister, and everything in-between, had access to my site (it isn’t as if I could decline the friend request from my grandmother, who created an account just to keep in touch with me). Older relatives especially, unfamiliar as they are with contemporary lingo and inside jokes between my friends and I, were constantly sending me messages inquiring into my seemingly hell-bound lifestyle. Now, in real-life, I study for four to six hours per day (over twelve hours per day in some medical blocks) on top of classes, exercise for two, read news articles for at least one, and socialize (through phone or facebook) for about one. However, many relatives adulterated whatever information they could in order to come to the conclusion that I wasn’t studying in favor of constantly partying with “slutty girls and men who wore clothes like homosexuals” (in the words of one anonymous relative). At one point, my mother actually created a profile with the rather creatively-named, fictitious woman, Lolita Mannaroli. She tried talking to me with the account in order to find information, but was so abominable at the task that I instantly caught on.

Thirdly, facebook marketing made me feel like a raw piece of consumer meat. Advertisements there are relentless with customizing sources based on your profile information. For example, when I had “Christian” as my religion and “single” as my relationship status, I was constantly harassed by ads for “Christiansingles.net.” When I changed my religious views to the wonderful little poem “Roses are red, violets are bluish, if it weren’t for Jesus, we’d all be Jewish,” the ads instantaneously switched to “Jewishsingles.com.” And when I took “single” off of my relationship status, the ads switched to the services of Jewish rabbis for marital counseling. Smart and profitable marketing? Yes. Made me feel like a nameless, constantly categorized, potential cash cow consumer? Even more so. Created feelings of paranoia at how much of my information was available to companies, the government, and the world at large? Sweet Lord Jesus take me home, yes.

Fourthly, facebook can easily replace normal, in-person relationships with online ones. This can be dangerous. For example, in undergrad, I was constantly meeting new people. When I met girls, they tended to get my name and network information, then go to a computer and add me as a friend on facebook. Instead of getting to know me in person, they would go through my pictures, read my profile information, and develop a sense of who I was through that site alone, right before leaving the ever-so-universal, impersonal, and dreaded “Thanks for the ad; it was nice to meet you” comment. I suppose this could be fine for some people, but the level of detachedness of an online relationship as opposed to the organic realities of an in-person one are second-string in my book.

Fifthly and finally, I will touch on the concept of public image and its potential perils. With all of the criticism from relatives and rumors that were started from misunderstood profile comments and photos, I started treating my facebook more like a publicity machine than what it was intended for (keeping in touch with friends). I only kept select pictures up, severely censored my status updates and comments, and lost almost all concepts of my personality in the process. In addition to this, the whole experience fostered a deep-seeded want of privacy in my life. I realized that I no longer wanted 1000+ people being able to look into my life so easily. These feelings, in tandem with the above mentioned issues, were enough to convince myself to delete my facebook account.

One day, I might learn how to intertwine facebook around my rationality and feelings, but until that day comes, I’ll be content with forming real, in-person relationships, not worrying about an online public image, and knowing that those who really care about me will find other ways of communication (lunch dates, phone conversations, e-mails, letters, etc. ). Thus, I proudly join the 5% minority of the world which does not possess a facebook account.

The Parable of the Prodigal’s Blogging Son

I, after cramming immense amounts of information for medical school into my head this past semester, have emerged unscathed into summer break and have returned to the blogging world. 

Sorry for the lack of posts during the past few months, but understand that I would rather stay in school without an active blog than be living in a homeless shelter with one. Now that I have time, I will be posting frequently throughout the summer…enjoy!

The Forlorn “Facts” of Clinical Nutrition

Tomorrow at 8am is my first exam of 2010…Clinical Nutrition. During the past week, I have read one despairing nutrition article after another, leaving me with the urge to join a vegan organic farm/lesbian commune in one of those Northwestern hippy states. Here is a compendium of what I’ve learned up to now:

Eat dairy products for calcium, but you’ll get cancer if you do. Don’t eat undercooked eggs, but don’t cook them too much; otherwise you’ll oxidize the cholesterol that is very good for you but also very bad for you. Eat beef, but don’t eat beef. Consume flaxseed oil, but just the right amount; otherwise you’ll get prostate cancer.

So…what will I tell my future patients?

“GO TO McDONALDS! You’re freaking screwed anyway! No matter what you put in your mouth, you’re going to get CANCER and DIE.”

Time for more studying… :)

Crouch, Lunge, & Tackle…

I’m skeptically heading out for New York City tomorrow morning. Between bad weather and kamikaze Nigerians strapping explosive powder to the intimate recesses of their inner thigh (note-wouldn’t this be the worst placement? In case of partial failure, your junk gets blown off), I’m a bit apprehensive of the flight.

Thus, in preparation, I am currently running over a plan in my head of how to effectively tackle and subdue a jihadist. If there is a person on my flight tomorrow wearing a turban or burka, I will have my eyes on them at every moment. The second I see them reach in their nether-regions…BAM…they’re going down.

Postscriptum: this is a joke. Partially.

Enough of this. I need to pack.

Belles-Lettres

On the morning before leaving Tampa for my parents in Raleigh, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a note from one of my neighbors. This particular person’s family was amazingly agitating to me while I was preparing for my final exam the day before. What was their offense? The parents allowed their thirteen year-old, obese, mentally-retarded son (and this is understating it) to play with his very loud, very obnoxious remote-controlled car outside of my apartment at all times of the day and night.

On the night before my four-hour-long med exam, I heard the following noise for over twenty minutes straight:

Vrooooooooooooom Vroom Vroooooooooooo *SQUEAK* vrooooooooooom Vroom *SQUEAAAAAK!!!* Vrooooo…

Not that I need to elaborate, but it’s nearly impossible to study EKGs while this mess is going on in the background. After walking outside and seeing who the offender was, I went directly to his parents house and benevolently asked that they control their son for my sake. The mother took offense to this, saying “how dare you try to take joy away from him!” or some bullshit of the sort. After another unsuccessful appeal, I left.

Around 12:30 that same night, I again heard “vroooooooooooom vrooom *SQUEAK* vroo…” and immediately had violent thoughts of getting in my SUV and running that retarded little boy’s retarded little car over. Out of fear of repercussions, however, I decided against it and instead buried my head in several pillows and forced myself to sleep.

Now to the letter which I received the next day. Its words espoused a seemingly apologetic theme, but what the letter was really screaming was “Teach me how to write! Teach me GRAMMAR!!!!” Why? Below is the exact copy, word for horribly misspelled word, of what the family patriarch wrote to me:

“I hop we didnt a fend u yesterday. I would like to meat u and c if we can b friend. If I upset u my bad man. I dont really no u are there one min gone the next but I really feal bad. So hit me back if u can”

There it is in all of its unadulterated glory. I would bitch more about this if it wasn’t so endearing, but for now, suffice it to say that:

1. I am afraid of what the father really means when he mentions that he wants to “meat with me.”

2. The fact that this husband and wife were married ensures me that there is indeed a lid for every pot (yes, thank you Chris).

3. I am now even more apprehensive of the public school system and how on earth this man graduated with a high school degree without learning how to write properly.

4. I am even more concerned that people like this are able to vote…