It’s been several weeks since I last referred to my experiences on social media. November 4, to be exact. Since then, I’ve had other things on my mind.
Nevertheless, my presence on the Widely Omnipresent Disseminator of Largely Useless Distraction (WODLUD, or as you know it, Facebook) has increased dramatically. It is my daughter’s doing. She convinced me from the beginning of Mr. Cope’s Cave last June that the best way to promote the blog would be for me to get on Facebook and rack up as many friends as possible.
At first, I resisted. “But Schnook’ums,” I cried.* “I don’t know crap from crud about this Facebook poop! And how would whatever I write on this blog get over to my Facebook booth, anyhows?”
She told me to leave that to her—that my job was to write this stuff, and hers was to spread it around. I still don’t know what she’s doing, in the technical sense, but whatever it is, she’s doing it well. Why, just yesterday, I picked up a reader in Bangladesh. I kid you not. Bangla-f***ing-desh! And somebody in Brazil has not missed a posting.
So, as you can see, I am well on my way to becoming an international sensation. My immediate goal is to have at least one loyal reader in every country on Earth. That alone would give me 196 loyal readers—not even counting family members and friends whom I pester constantly about whether they’ve read my latest posting.
And as to my efforts to corral friends on Facebook, I am closing in on 1000. One thousand! That is—in Internet-speak—1K worth of friends!
Now, admittedly, I only actually know about twenty of them, and of those twenty, I haven’t spoken with seven of them since college.
And beyond that, I have already clicked “UNFOLLOW” on about a third of the thousand friends. I’m sure they are fine human beings and all, and I have absolutely no ill-will towards them. But egad, there are only so many pictures of holiday baked goods and Xmas tree lightings I can take.
And listen, as long as I’m getting things off my chest, it’s about all those maudlin, mawkish quotations, “inspirational” sentiments and life-affirming homilies that somebody’s pinning up all over the Facebook message board. Know what I mean? They’re usually dressed up in pretty fonts and adorned with flowers and butterflies and kittens and shit. If you ask me, there are way, way too many people out there who think good vibes are going to get us out of this. Think about it: If inspiring sentiments actually made anyone a better person, don’t you think our evangelical neighbors and would be easier to live with?
But back to the matter of my Facebook experience. I figure I’ve added between 400 and 500 friends since I last explained that I am on the damn thing only for the purpose of making sure more and more people read my opinions here in Mr. Cope’s Cave. Now, some of you might think this would imply that I consider my opinions to be of greater worth than … oh, say … just off the top of my head … your opinions.
Certainly not! No person’s opinions are of any greater value than anyone else’s—unless, of course, he happens to be one of those rare individuals who knows what he’s talking about. But what are the chance of you and me running into one of them, right? And on Facebook, no less!
So anyway, I really do value your opinions. Really. It’s just that, see, if I were to waste my time reading your opinions, I wouldn’t have time to get mine written. And if I don’t get mine written, what would there be for you to read? And with all that extra time on your hands, I fear you would end up posting even more of those inspirational messages that aren’t doing anyone any good.
Okay, I believe that catches everyone up on what the purpose of Bill Cope’s Facebook page is. I surely hope I haven’t disappointed any of you who might have thought I was doing it to be part of a larger community, or that I truly am interested in what you are 1) baking for the holidays, 2) catching out of Brownlee Reservoir, 3) showing us some new trick your dog picked up, 4) learning to play on guitar, and/or 5) thinking.
So then, back to the important stuff. You know …
* I have never, ever called my daughter “Schnook’ums.” I made that part up.