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They might be friendly but they're not all your friends

I have a Facebook friend named Chelsea Rae Jones. She was married on Sunday, so I'm obliged to extend a big congratulations to her.
opinion_piquen1

I have a Facebook friend named Chelsea Rae Jones. She was married on Sunday, so I'm obliged to extend a big congratulations to her. I wasn't invited to the wedding but the pictures on Facebook indicate that the ceremony was beautiful and everyone had a fabulous time....

I mean no offense to Ms. Jones or whatever her last name is now, but I know far too much about this wedding. Granted, I know very little beyond what I've reported above, but even that's too much. I've known far too much about the engagement and I know too much about Chelsea Rae Jones. She seems like a nice person and if I get the chance to actually meet her, I might benefit from the interaction, but, you see, I don't actually know Chelsea Rae Jones.

I know I've met her before — somewhere, somehow — but the specific details of this meeting are long, long gone. I haven't the faintest clue how we became Face-friends. I do know this much: according to Facebook Timeline (which is great, by the way, and all you haters will see), we've been friends since October 2007 and we have two friends in common, neither of whom I know very well and both of whom exist in vastly different realms of my social life. I'm confounded because I know I know her but can't remember how.

I've considered posting on her wall the great question: "How do I know you?" but reaching out like that, keeping in mind the mutual decision to have no relationship at all, would be weird. The truth is, I'm way past the point of ever finding out how I know Chelsea Rae Jones. There are specific, unnamed rules about Facebook that most of us adhere to, all of which stem from a single Golden Rule: don't engage with Facebook friends that you don't really know anymore.

The very idea of Facebook, and all social media, is the exact opposite: we're meant to engage with different people and connect through dialogue, shared interests, etc. But Facebook for many of us has come to represent a piggy bank of old friends, brief encounters and virtual strangers.

At the time of writing this, I have 487 Facebook friends. Exactly 51 of these are people I see on a regular basis or wish that I could. Seven of these are people that I will call out for a beer, or if I need someone to talk to in a time of need. Two of them are my siblings and the other is my girlfriend. The remaining 436 people I'd probably avoid eye contact with if I saw any of them (or all of them at once!) in the street. I'd be bummed if one of them (or all of them!) died in a plane crash but beyond that I care very little about what's happening in their lives.

Yet, what's fascinating is that I can know so much about these people — particularly the heavy users — without actually knowing them. The fact is, I know more about the current state of Chelsea Rae Jones's social life than I do about that of my cousin Kristin, who I haven't seen in two years and lives in Saskatoon. I know that Mike Wearing loves Brian Jonestown Massacre but haven't a clue what my sister is listening to.

It's beautiful, in some ways: we can keep tabs on old friends and relative strangers. That has always been Mark Zuckerberg's intention. But for me, it's called into question how little I really know about anyone. They're right there, on my screen, getting married and having babies — and by virtue of posting this information to Facebook, and having accepted or initiated my friendship, insisting that I care. But there is so much that I'm supposed to care about — 437 people's lives updated, at least quarter of whom are updated everyday, that I'm finding very little time in the day to care.

That's the bottom line, I guess. I don't care. Instead of connecting on masse, the opposite is taking place: I'm dismissing on masse, frequently and indiscriminately.

So why do I keep all these strangers as friends? Why do I allow these strangers to fill up my feed with all this irrelevant (to me) information?

Two words: Conceit, basically. For example, when I post this column to Facebook, I intend for it to gain more "Likes" and inspire more witty comments than the last column I posted. Two weeks ago, I posted a very ridiculous piece of hate mail that garnered much attention to my Facebook wall. That kind of attention is very satisfying. I've considered proposing to my girlfriend just to rack up the "Likes."

It's the same, to some extent, for all Facebook users. It's a way to impress the world. We want ex-boyfriends to see that we're pregnant, and old travel buddies to see that we're lawyers, and extended family members to see that we're married, and nobody in particular to see that we have great taste in music, or a great senses of humour, or whatever.

When I get married, I'll be sure to post the finest, glossiest photos, and encourage all my friends to post the best shots from the reception. Some of my Face-friends will regard these photographs in a positive way. Some of them will peruse the entire photo album, and maybe check out all my photos to see what I've been up to. Eventually, all of them will check back to their newsfeed, scroll down the page and move on to something else.