Dear Facebook Friends: TMI

I think it’s OK that I’m writing about Facebook again, seeing as the movie The Social Network is all the rage. I saw its edgy, angsty trailer this week and it’s proof that combining images of clear-skinned, moppy-haired college kids and a Radiohead song will make even a middle-aged mom want to spend $10 on a movie.

To see the movie, I’d have to tear myself away from my Facebook page, though. I am probably the quintessential 51-year-old, mom-jeans-wearing, still-stuck-in-the-70s, most annoyingly-cheerful-morning-person that all 590 of my Facebook friends know. Which means that I personify all that has become ruined about Facebook.

Sorry kids. But you knew you couldn’t keep it all to yourselves, didn’t you? Your first mistake was to friend us. And your mom. And your friends’ moms. And your mom's friends.

A former co-worker of mine, Christine, thinks there are a lot of parents who are shocked daily to read about what their kids are doing.  “My son announced to the world that he got ‘shit-canned’ (laid-off would have been a better word, perhaps?) and was looking for another job.” She said she has followed the on-again, off-again, on-again relationship with his girlfriend, and “just today, I see one of his friends asking everyone to ‘Wish me luck for court today people! Ima need it.’ What does her mother think?”

Some of my Facebook friends are my kids’ teenage friends. Some are college kids and 20-somethings who I know independently of my family. Some are high school band kids. Some are my nieces and nephews (although the Laney and Fitzpatrick young people are all seemingly perfect. Either that or they are just keenly aware that their aunt is on Facebook.)

Here’s a quick sampling of a couple of recent posts by my junior friends:

what up nigga? we gotta chill before school

We were so shwasted last night.

F**k school I'm too cool to go back 

Steve is attending Tag a Fag

is never taking my nose ring out that long again. ever.


Talk about your TMI.

Let’s make a deal: We won’t post our bone density test results and The Best of Bread videos, and you won’t post about puking in the back seat of your friend’s car. Even if it is the most interesting thing we’ve done that day and we’re dying to share.

While I’m grateful that they keep me current, sometimes it frightens me to read what’s on the minds of the generation that is supposed to save us all from wallowing in our own filth in substandard nursing homes in the future.

I’ll admit, I hide the youngsters once in a while. And I'm sure it works both ways. They hardly ever comment on my posts on watching the sun rise on the beach. They've either hidden me, don't care, or they're just getting to bed after getting so shwasted.

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