Putting the Antisocial in the Social

It might be a minor victory, but I take great comfort in the fact that I have never made a trip to Farmville. I've never engaged in a Mafia War, thought to take the next step toward discovering what Hollywood star I most resemble or felt compelled to let everyone in the universe know where I'm traveling at any given moment. I'm antisocial that way, even in the social realm known as Facebook.

Facebook is a wonderful communication tool for a number of reasons - establishing a new customer base, reconnecting or staying in touch with long lost buddies and just plain sharing a joy or sorrow with online friends. However, in our neverending quest to take good ideas and turn them into absolute dreck, we can't just leave well enough alone and be content to communicate. Instead, we need to complicate, irritate and ultimately alienate.

Who was the cornfed genius who thought it would be a great idea to create an online game that allows you to manage a virtual farm and grow crops? Honest to God, will the losers who spend hours on this brain candy please move out of mom's basement, find a date (even if you have to pay for one on Craigslist) and utilize your time to grow a life rather than fake stringbeans? If you're so into agriculture, swing by my palatial estate and start weeding the postage stamp sized garden I've allowed to morph into a jungle of crabgrass and spiders. And if that doesn't suit you, then slip unnoticed into a day laborer work crew, pick some berries and get loaded onto a flatbed with 125 of your new friends on a non-stop journey to parts unknown.

Similarly, I wonder how many actual wise guys take it as an insult that their murder and mayhem calling card is reduced to a simulated game that is predicated on weakening someone's "health meter." A health meter? When Joseph "the Animal" Barboza gave his victims their angel wings, he didn't need to verify that their health meters were running low, he simply gutted them like fish.

And what's with the deal where everyone even marginally associated with me is trying to attach me to their "cause?" From sickle cell anemia to irritable bowel syndrome to a wounded puppy with a broken paw, everyone is giving me the "brother can you spare a dime" pitch. I'm as sensitive as the next guy but after the 453rd desperate plea to save the whales, I'm like the state trooper who's seen one too many 20 car pileups - still awed by the spectacle but been there, done that.

The latest Facebook rock in my shoe is the "I'm tidying up my friends list" post. It's seems that every third person can't race to the keyboard quick enough to let us know that their friends list has become so unmanageable that they need to separate the wheat from the chaff. Are you kidding me? First of all, you have a choice on who to accept or invite as a friend. If someone's not worthy of that much coveted designation, let them down softly by simply ignoring their request. However, if you deem them worthy of basking in your reflected glow and hit the accept button, then who are you to cast your friends out like lepers? Hiding behind a keyboard is fine when you whisk broom the list, but encountering the unwashed at a later date can provide you with an uncomfortable situation...and trust me, THEY WILL KNOW.

And on a parting note, it isn't necessary for me to know that Friend A or Friend B has checked in at Dunkin' Donuts. I don't care, your therapist doesn't care, your pastor doesn't care, your kids don't care...why is this information that anyone needs to share or possess? Who is sitting in front of their terminal with a bagel and orange juice in the morning saying, "Can you imagine that? Jerry just arrived at Home Depot. Wonder what he's got going on today? A new shed? A project that involves a lug wrench?" Well, WHOOP DE DOO. When you check in at the Gold Club or a seance, then I'll be mildly interested...but probably not.

So congratulations Facebook and its millions of practitioners for your excellent use of reverse psychology. By exhorting me to be more social, you've actually made me long for the comfort of a flat screen tv, some Bruins fight tape compilations and a locked basement door. You probably didn't mean to, but here we are....and by the way, anyone interested in purchasing some Farmville canned beets sold by a gun toting consigliere?

Steve Boucher will never open the link to the post that reads "Father Walks In on Daughter," participate in a virtual sheep toss or send a cyberspace gift to a friend...or enemy.