The following entry is by friends of mine who write a column for my magazine... you saw it here first!
Is it Me? Or is Everything Just Shit?
If I wanted to be hassled electronically I would have driven to a farm and paid a farmer a fiver to give me a leg up so I could take a ride on his electric fence. But I don’t need to do that do I? No. I just have to exist in this wonderfully advanced modern world of technological wizardry. Call me an old grunter but what happened to good old-fashioned face to face conversation?
Don’t even get me started on becoming a Facebook member. After taking a considerable amount of time selecting a photo of myself that showed my best side, ensuring an agreeable representation of me on my profile, I was truly over the moon to see that ‘friends’ of mine (yes real ‘friends’ not just Facebook ‘friends’) had been kind enough to utilise their time uploading photos of me in a shit faced mess and proceed to rape my profile with them.
And another thing - stalkers must think all their Christmases have come at once. I changed my relationship status to single the other day and then logged on.
“Rosie is now single” it reported, with an icon of a broken heart at the end. Thanks, Facebook. I’m glad you feel the need to print your ‘cute’ little heart icon and announce to the rest of the world through words AND pictures (for the benefit of those who are too retarded to read) about my heartbreak. Seeing as it’s so necessary to print my most intimate details, why not just display my medical conditions? “Rosie has got a yeast infection.” I could even create myself a nice little group “Yeast infection sufferers” where we could all talk openly about the treatments that worked best for us.
Oh and whilst your there, Facebook, my gran’s dead. Here’s a suggestion, why don’t you design an icon for it? I’d say a dinky little gravestone with ‘RIP’ in small letters would be most appropriate to kick me while I’m down. On the other hand, there is the wonderful mixed up world of MySpace, where if you don’t have any other ‘friends’ you can always count on Rupert Murdoch’s bum chum Tom who will always be there if you need him. Did I mention Tommy boy made $580 million by selling MySpace? With that wedge in his bank he can afford to buy all his ‘friends’ a drink – make mine a Bloody Mary and don’t go scrimping on the vodka or I wont be your friend no more, you tight bastard.
And now, thanks Tom, I can’t even go down the pub without popping a Valium or two beforehand, because I can’t remember the last time I spoke to someone to their actual face. What do you propose I do when they say something “funny”? I can’t type ‘lol’ and sit there with an emotionless brain-dead open-mouthed glare like usual, so what do you suggest I actually do...laugh? What happens when a ‘rotfl’ moment happens? My fucking dry cleaning bill is gonna go through the roof. Sweet mother of pearl Tom, why did you not think of this?
It’s this whole ‘communications revolution’ that’s making me rile. Supposedly, with all this new technology, we have the power to communicate more efficiently, but what really happens is that we lock ourselves away in a dark room and avoid human contact like the plague. Mobile phones – wherever you hide, they will find you. When having a conversation with someone you are actually with, we always feel obliged to answer a phone if it’s ringing. To the person standing next to you, you might as well be saying “I’m quite frankly bored of looking at your face, I’d much rather speak to someone who isn’t here.”
And a most strange phenomenon happens when people use mobile phones in public. Users momentarily become convinced that no one can hear what they are saying. I was recently on a National Express bus journey and there was someone in front of me talking about her visit to the STI clinic. By the end of the journey, everyone knew that she had chlamydia and that ‘Mish’ was ‘gonna get a beatings’ because of it.
She was on that thing for over two hours - hopefully long enough for the microwaves to cook her temporal lobes and that important part of the brain that controls her breathing.
Yes, we all love technology, but I’ve been getting increasingly grouchy every time a new one surfaces, and apparently it might not just boil down to me being a cynical twat. Scientists deduce that all the countless gadgets around your home emit an electronic, and therefore magnetic, field; which contributes to an environmental pollution known as electronic smog. This smog can cause depression, miscarriages and, guess what, cancer. Not good news eh? But to be fair, everything causes cancer. Even bananas.
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