Great Minds Think Alike (Alternately, Why I Hate Tumblr)

I'm not going to rant against the concept of “social media”, so don't worry. I have a Facebook, and moreover, I have a phone that has a specific button that allows me to instantly post anything to my Facebook. At first my only activity was to butt-post “Qqqql7shrfh” a bunch of times, but then I noticed myself snapping a picture and posting it to my wall more and more often. And that is because nothing happens anymore unless you can prove it with a Facebook status.
Carl Jung articulated the idea of a “collective unconscious”. (If you don't get what I'm talking about, Google it. Not only will you learn something, but you will unwittingly tie into my point from here on out.) In the past ten years, however, social media has surpassed that Psychology 101 shit and accelerated into a giant, ever expanding “collective conscious”. Instead of archetypes based on centuries of history and mythology, we have these fleeting cultural vortexes that exist only because a group of people randomly pay attention to them. Ancient cultures all had a god of war, of love, and of the sea. We have Facebook notifications and Antoine Dodsen.
I went to high school before Facebook was popular (possibly before it was invented, although, that seems like an odd choice of words). Pre-FB the only good part of Monday morning was the rumor mill that spread like the clap through a frat house. By third period, I knew exactly what had happened at that party I wasn't invited to. Who threw up after too much Smirnoff, who's, like, a huge stoner now, and who gave a blowjob to a random guy. All the dirt was whispered at lockers between classes. When you were actually at one of those parties, you were constantly surrounded by people interrogating you in the lunch line. This makes you feel important and relevant, which is the fucking best thing a high school student could hope for. That doesn't happen anymore. I know what happened at that party I didn't go to, because I got constant, practically instantaneous updates via my phone and my Facebook throughout the night, usually interrupting my very important plans (Like drinking wine and watching the Millionaire Matchmaker by myself). If there aren't forty pictures of you and your friends holding Busch Light cans viewable to your colleagues, acquaintances and distant relatives mere hours after occurrence, that party may as well have been a figment of your imagination. Before you roll your eyes at me for being overly reactionary, consider this: how many times have you clicked through an album of a party that you were at and have gotten increasingly worried as each picture loaded because you weren't in any of them? If there's no picture, were you even really there? You might as well not have even gone, because the three hundred and fifty assholes who follow you on Twitter don't know you went. Without injecting yourself into the internet dialogue they constantly follow, you're likely to be entirely forgotten in a matter of hours. You should have joined me on the couch for a dinner of salt and vinegar chips and sugar-free pudding (actual dinner I ate last week).
Growing up, I always entertained fantasies of what my high school reunion would be like. Of course, I would have turned out fucking awesome, and I'd be sitting at the table with all the former freaks and nerds who have now turned into swans with six figure incomes, laughing about how the prom queen had really let herself go. The fact that my school didn't have a prom queen is irrelevant. I was going to breeze into the room, worldly and sophisticated, shocking everyone after five years. I had five fucking years between graduation and the reunion to mold myself into the kind of person no one would have guessed I'd turn out to be. Well, fuck you Facebook, for dashing my dreams. We don't need a reunion any more. Logging onto Facebook allows me to instantly see who got married, who's gay now and who is carrying the freshman fifteen well into their twenties. I know where you went to college, and, moreover, I know what your friends at college look like. I am plagued by the fear that I will one day see a supporting actress from someone I know's pictures in real life and say hi to them, mistakenly assuming that I actually know them. Everyone on my friend's list already knows everything about me, from movies to hair cuts to daily activities to preferences of cute animal videos (baby monkeys and kittens). I was totally planning on pulling a Romy and Michelle, and now that is impossible. Even if I lose five pounds before the reunion, it won't matter. Everyone will be like, oh, huh, she lost some weight since last Tuesday when I saw that picture of her posing with that Busch Light can.
It gets worse when you consider all the random “friends” you accrue that you don't actually want to know. Example: I recently saw a post about a “friend” from L.A who I never liked to begin with. She's pregnant (and a hipster), and I looked through all her baby shower pictures, hating myself the whole time (not as much as I hate her for naming her kid Harlon Wilder). I haven't seen her in five years. Before Facebook, I would have never been forced to care about the life of a girl I never really liked to begin with. But there I sat, in a trance, staring at pictures of her with a giant bump, tattoos and a suitably hip boyfriend named Courtney.
Ridiculously enough, I've lost friends because of Facebook. I offended someone for writing too many status updates. Apparently, another one of our mutual friends offended the same person because she posts too many photos (she's a professional photographer....). I told them to just unsubscribe to me and they said they did but “it was really hard”. Like right-clicking is really that difficult, asshole. There was no fight in real life, no perceived slight, no stolen boyfriend, just a collection of intangible thoughts I posted about my life typed on a website. My fucking life offended her. I know a bunch of people who constantly write threatening statuses about “cleaning out my friends list and deleting a bunch of people”. I don't delete anyone based on principle (unless they are a creep, play Farmville or send me invites to their DJ night every hour) . How do you categorically decide someone is no longer worth knowing? Chances are, you met them at least once, when you were drunk at a party. You deemed them worthy of an add at that moment, but two weeks later you're like, fuck it, they're outta here. This philosophy is undoubtedly why my homepage is clogged with tons of shit, but everyone deserves the chance to participate in my internet world. Who am I to play god with your existence?
But at least Facebook is comprised of mostly original things (except for you assholes who post cheesy quotes you found on “Vaguequotedouche.com”). Tumblr is a whole other beast. I've tried to read a Tumblr a couple of times, but then I start trying to figure out where the fuck all this “reblogged” stuff comes from. Is there a ground zero for this shit? People subscribe to you so they can see things that you repost from other people who you follow who repost from other people they follow who,repost things from some Tumblr wizard who, as far as I can tell, churns out pictures of seventies porn, Japanese fashion models and other things I don't want to look at. I miss Live Journal and Myspace, where are you had to do to be popular was write shitty poetry and have good side bangs. I am much more comfortable being judged for how good my angled pictures look in sepia than having to pick out things that actually interest and “represent” me. I think it's a little sad that the things you choose to put on a sort of personality scrapbook are all copied from other people. My status updates may be annoying, but at least they're my own thoughts. I've even heard the phrase “famous on tumblr” thrown around. You should know better. Tila Tequila was a Myspace celebrity, and look how she turned out. At least she was famous for being kind of naked. “Tumblr famous” just means you spend too much time Photoshopping Marilyn Monroe quotes onto pictures of her face.
And I know I'm being slightly hypocritical, because this is going on a blog. Blogging is sometimes like listening to someone sing a capella directly to you in an inappropriate setting. Even though you clicked on the link in the first place, you still want to avert your eyes and pretend you don't know the writer. But even if you are silently judging me while Facebook chatting with five different people, telling them how lame I am, at least you saw this link. The more you talk, the more certain I am that I exist today. #plsretweet2allyrfriends.