On Eggbeaters

Dear Facebook Friends,

I've known you for a long time. We go way back. We're about the same age. We have lots in common to celebrate.

Somehow, we met or reconnected, found we had something in common and decided to share an on-line world. And here we are. It's not you. It's me. Well, actually, it is you. You're driving me crazy and I don't know what to do.

Last week, in my news feed, I had three photos of vintage ice-cube trays. A photo of the M*A*S*H staff. Two pictures of Woolworths. Four photos of Corningware casseroles. Fiesta ware. Egg beaters. The Wicked Witch on her bicycle. A sunbeam mixer. A TI-30 calculator. The Brady Bunch house. A View Finder. A zippo lighter. The floor switch for brights.

Please. Stop.

These pictures were put on Facebook by a business. They put it out there with “click like if you remember blah-blah.” and people clicked like. And it showed up in their friends' streams and they clicked like. Pretty soon, 1,000,000 people are liking a picture of an eggbeater. It's a f**king eggbeater. And the business that put it up is getting 1,000,000 exposures, if only by “via Business X” in the stream. It's viral marketing in the undesirable, STD kind of viral marketing way. These are eggbeater herpes, clogging up our Facebook news feeds and keeping us from seeing YouTube clips of actors reading Yelp reviews and snarky e-cards and political tirades. The eggbeater prevents us seeing the pictures from your last cruise, your latest bon mot. It's spam disguised as nostalgia.

The eggbeater is interfering with our relationship.

What is the point of “liking” an eggbeater? To show how old you are? Do you want to advertise this? Because your friends are that old, too. I know you know what an eggbeater is. We probably made french toast in your kitchen when we were kids.

Where's the picture of the sanitary napkin and belt? The button-hook? The Sears' Catalog opened to the girdle page? Garters for mens' socks? I remember all of these things, too. But do they deserve a “like”? Is it something you would turn around and “share” on your page?

Here's the problem. I like you and I want to hear from you. If I “hide” all your likes and comments, I won't see that e-card you liked or the Huffington Post article you commented on. I can take the good with the bad to a degree. I'm sure I've bored and offended you at times and you're still here.

Aren't you? Hello?

If we can just eliminate the mundane manipulation being thrust upon us by businesses trying to get our attention, if we can simply think before “liking,” if we can condomize Facebook and stop the madness...