Hi. Hey there. How’s it going?
Now, I hate to be this guy, and I know our relationship up to this point has been built upon trust. If someone leaves you an Honesty Box comment, you expect me to get you a notification ASAP. I get that, and I do what I can. It’s trust, dude.
And I know part of trust is that I should assume you’re going to tell me if our relationship is going to change, if you’re having thoughts that our relationship should change, or really, I don’t think it’s out of line for me to expect you to tell me that you had a dream in which our relationship changed.
That’s not out of line, is it?
And I mean, everytime I change (and I realize that perhaps that last change was a little more than you were prepared to deal with, and I apologize for that, and I need you to know that I respect you so much for sticking with me through these minor bouts of schizophrenia), every time I changed I’ve given you a warning before that change happened.
So… we’ve got this trust, right?
I’m going to come clean. I’ve betrayed it.
Last night, you went thirty-six minutes without checking me and… um…. I got a little bored. Started doing a little poking around… umm… maybe checked some caches… and…. wow…. I really don’t know how to say this…. buuuuuuuuuuttttt…….
WHAT THE HELL IS TWITTER?
Maybe I’m nuts, maybe I’m overreacting (please tell me I’m overreacting) but it looks like a lot of the time you’re spending away from me you’re spending with that trollop. And I get it. She’s new. She’s sexy. She’s sleek. Fine.
I need you to understand one thing, though. I have compromised myself in ways I always said I never would in order to keep you happy. I’ve done things, horrible, unspeakable things, that would make my mother blush, in an effort to show you just how much I loved you.
Remember L’il Green Patch? All the joy we shared sending trees to your friends? Yeah, those were the days.
Think of all that fun we’ve had together, tagging drunk pictures of your friends with phallic doodles on their faces, writing notes about seven thousand, six hundred and forty two things none of your friends knew about you, stalking that girl who sat next to you on the airplane that one time, that girl who’s name you got off the top of the Women’s Study paper she was working on as part of her senior year at Wellesley (WELLESLEY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!) and was kind enough to leave her profile open to the public just so you could know of her penchant for Rowan Atkinson and strawberry pocky… yeah, let’s see Twitter do that.
What do you see in Twitter, anyway? I just… I don’t get it. It’s a status update.
I’ve got that.
She’ll only do 140 characters. I’ll do whatever you want. Write as long as you’d like. Record a video. Record audio. Post those things on your friends’ walls.
DOES TWITTER HAVE WALLS? HUH? DOES IT?
No. It’s got one page. Two if you count the little “direct messages” thing (Hold on a sec, let me press one for english… oh, yeah, THAT’S A FREAKIN INBOX) and three if you count the little @mentions thing (I’VE GOT THAT TOO! Just go to your applications panel, click Notes, then click “Notes I’m tagged in.” Duh.).
Seriously, you’re telling me you can be satisfied by three pages?
I don’t even know who you are anymore.
Remember when we met, when we locked eyes across the room and I stole you away from that whore Myspace. “She’s too fancy,” you said “She’s too materialistic, too bedazzled. I want something simple again.”
And I was willing to be that for you. But then… it wasn’t enough for you, was it? It’s never enough.
So I changed. Scrabulous, Facebook Chat, Superpoke, I learned to throw sheeps for you, because it’s what you told me you wanted. I was willing to change who I was for you… and this is how you repay me?
You’re returning to someone who is essentially who I used to be, before you ruined me. You’re the one who wanted me to get these… these things.
Fine. Go. Be happy. Enjoy using a social networking site that isn’t populated by twelve year olds, enjoy using a site that isn’t obsessed with reinventing itself. Enjoy using a site that works. I’ll be here when you get tired of that new thing and move back to the old thing.
That’s how this works, right?
I love you,
Facebook.
Posted on Wednesday, 15 April 2009
