Do we really have to be friends?

Not long ago – in my ongoing effort to maintain contact with everyone on the planet via Facebook – I decided to actually click on something my daughter sent me.
Usually, I have a tendency to stay away from these “Twilight” and smiley-face-laden widgets that continue to invade my Facebook facade and plod through my parietal region. (And no Ryan, I don’t really care if “widget” is the correct term here or not. Maybe I just like writing the word “widget.” You got a problem with that?)
Now I’m not saying I couldn’t possibly have anything in common with my 15-year-old daughter. In fact, I’m literally giddy right now at the thought of spending an afternoon shopping and talking about shoes.
I am also not implying that she would intentionally send me some sort of virus that surreptitiously removes the letter “e” from all of my writing.
Or p rhaps that’s just a crumb of l ftov r Pop Tart w dg d in my k yboard.
Much better.
While my weathered wisdom and the sum of my 40-some years of life experience continues to leave me unable to master the subtle nuances of the iPhone, there are still plenty of fun and entertaining things floating out there in Facebook world for us older folk. Whether you’re checking out the YouTube video of the college guys and their dorm-time ping-pong ball antics, whacking folks in Mafia Wars, or simply tending to your herd on Farmville, there’s an app for that.
(I’m not sure if that actual phrase is copyrighted by Macintosh, so just consider this a nod in their way for the use of it. I’m always surprised how some people get so touchy over little things like trademarks. You’d think they owned it or something.)
Innocently enough, my daughter sent me a Facebook application that would allow me to pick out my best friends. (Or BFFs, as we, the socially and fashionably correct “in” crowd like to call them.)
Then, something odd happened. After I picked out my BFFs and posted their cheerful, friendly faces on my wall, the cyber gods apparently became angry with me. They began picking out my best friends for me. Over – and over again.
Normally, this wouldn’t really be a big problem. I mean, what’s wrong with having lots of friends, right? Still, it is with the most tactfulness and thoughtfulness that I offer the following disclaimer to my friends (but not BFFs) on Facebook.
All those Best Friend Forever things you received from me were not actually from me.
Let me explain.
It’s not that I don’t like all of you. In fact, I think I can honestly say that I really like most of you. (Some of you are still a bit questionable, but I reserve the right to suspend my official analysis of your friendliness until a later time – just for the sake of Spiewage brevity.)
Still, I think – if you notice – a couple of those BFF things were sent out to the ACLU and Ethan Berkowitz. I mean, me and Ethan are tight, but BFFs? I don’t think so. And do you really think I’d choose Kellogg’s Pop Tarts to be my best friend on FB? (OK, maybe that was a bad example, considering my affinity for those little pastry pockets of heaven.)
Anyway, for those of you who made the lists, received the notices from FB and sent out little thank you notes to me for being included in my circle of BFFs, please understand that it is not really any kind of honor. In the large majority of societal circles, I am generally known as a “dork.” It’s something I tend to embrace fully. Not because I don’t think I’m ultimately hip, cool and incredibly suave, mind you …
OK. Actually it is because I don’t think I’m ultimately hip, cool and incredibly suave. I was just hoping I could fool everyone else.
And please don’t think I’m removing you from my BFF list because I don’t want to be your Best Friend Forever. Then again, I might be. I mean, I probably don’t want to be your BFF, but heck, I don’t even know you.
And it’s not a personal thing, you know. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who want to be your BFF.
I think there’s even an app for that.

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