We already spend more time socializing on the net than we do in our physical, tangible lives. Experts say that in the future social networking will happen almost entirely in cyber-land.
So imagine, if you will, Facebook is…a big house party.
There are lots of people there – some people you know really well – relatives and close friends, others you met years ago and can barely remember.
One guy you don’t know at all but you felt sorry for him when he asked if he could be your friend, so you accepted. (You regret it now that you’ve got to know him better, some of the stuff he says suggests he may even have voted UKIP, yet still you haven’t got it in you to terminate the friendship. So there he is, lurking in the corner of the room, waiting to speak to you quietly, when no one else is looking).
It has a weird feel to it, this party. Everyone is sucking their cheeks in, tilting their heads up and standing in profile to show everyone their best side. The guests all have a sort of glow about them – as though you’re seeing them through a 1970’s camera lens. A friend of yours who you saw just yesterday has lost inches from her waist overnight.
A girl you knew years ago is passing around a photo of a soldier who lost both his legs in Afghanistan. She doesn’t know him, has never met him. But it means a lot to her, this photo. And everyone else too, by the looks of things. They’re all saying they like it and trying to show it to you. But it’s making you a little uncomfortable.
You walk on. One of your best friends from school is there. Thank God! But when you try to talk to her she gives you a blow by blow account of what she’s doing. ‘Ah! Just opened the wine with the hubby. Holiday booked! Boys are in bed. Loving our new kitchen!’
One woman walks around the party holding up a photo of her child’s face in front of her own. It’s causing problems because no one can remember who this woman holding up the anonymous baby- face is. All you have to go on is her new sir-name. You think maybe you knew her at school…but no, you can’t quite place her because of that photo obscuring her identity.
You carry your glass of wine into the kitchen to escape the awkwardness and a guy you vaguely remember from your travelling days is telling everyone that he believes he’s been blessed: anointed by the hand of God. In fact, he thinks he may be the chosen one. He’s wearing a cardboard halo he made above his head. It’s weird because instead of everyone turning away from him and raising their eyebrows at one another and whispering about how much weed he used to smoke, 51 party guests declare in unison that they LIKE what he’s saying.
Is this a cult?
No, it’s just one messed-up party.
Upstairs is your lovely family. You hope to find some normality (or a more comforting, recognizable form of abnormality there). But your aunt is passing around a picture of a dying child hooked to to a life-support machine and again, everyone is saying how much they like it. Your cousin is even asking for a copy so she can share it around with people in the other rooms.
You feel a bit lost. But you soldier on. I mean, you have to. This is your social life now.
No one told you about the weird competition that’s happening. All the couples at the party stand with their arms interlocked, their bodies joined at the hip, like incestuous Siamese twins, heads turned toward one another like sunflowers to the sun. There must be some immense prizes given out at the end of the night for those who appear the most in love?
On your way into the lounge, a work colleague declares that she’s ‘hatching a no.2!’ You’re horrified that she’s telling everyone about her toilet habits until you realise she’s talking about a baby. You know that now because she’s waving a blurry picture of her womb in front of your face. You feel your past-their-sell-by-date-ovaries start flashing within you like hazard warning lights. Did that clock on the wall just get louder?
You feel your chest get tight.
This party is shit.
Oh wait, there’s lovely Alexis-May! You used to give her singing lessons. Sweet girl. She runs over to you.
‘I’ve got something really exciting to announce!’
‘Oh lovely Alexis! What’s that then?’
She raises an eyebrow enigmatically, and walks away.
Your nephew struts past. He shouts loudly, ‘Well I’ve f..king well had enough of this life…goodbye everyone.’ Oh my God! He’s going to commit suicide! You have to help him! But when you try to reach out to him, to talk to him, he turns and faces the wall with his hands over his ears. You can’t get through to him.
A nice, quiet girl is trying to talk to you but you can barely hear her over other people’s voices. They’ve only gone and given the most popular party guests loud speakers!
A man you met at a gig once is blu-tacking 326 photos of his day in London to the wall.
A girl you auditioned with announces loudly that she ‘got the part! Boom!’ She says something about all the positive thinking and good karma paying off. You’re sure it had more to do with her saying hello to the director’s little friend. You don’t say it though.
You need another drink but on your way to the fridge, your yoga teacher shoves an article about the dangers of alcohol into your hand. You drink that wine and you’ll get cancer. Oh. You pour yourself a glass of tap water instead but an old family friend pokes you and tells you about the chemicals in it. Cancer. Guaranteed. You pour it down the sink. An orange juice then. You smile to yourself. Vitamin C. Can’t argue with that. But what’s that? That poster on the fridge. Sugar causes…what’s that word. It’s not, is it? It is. Cancer. Again.
The fatalistic thoughts start spiralling in your mind. We’re all doomed, you think. You need to escape. This is the worst party ever.
You’re almost out of the door when who’s on his way in but your ex. And he’s so fit! When did that happen? He’s got muscles, he’s grown hair and he’s gone from milkybar-kid- pale to Spanish-waiter-bronzed. He’s actually changed race. And the girl on his arm is a thinner, prettier, taller, younger version of you. She’s you…only airbrushed.
You run out into the street clutching your chest, praying for some good old-fashioned 1980s conversation. But everyone’s still inside at that horrific party.
So the moral of this analogy? Switch your phone off, hide your laptop, throw a party while everyone still remembers what one is, and get f&&ked up with all your friends.
Before Facebook does it for you.
Kelly xx
Ps. Do feel free to share this around the Facebook party. After all, the one good thing is, you can get away with saying almost anything at this party – if you simply wink after you’ve said it 😉.
Welshkelly's Blog 