We’ve all been there: someone’s fanatical obsession with Farmville and their constant barrage of requests for hammers, cows, or other made-up virtual farm equipment drives you to the point of mania. GODDAMMIT WOMAN - I WILL NOT PARTICIPATE IN YOUR VICTORY GARDEN! IT IS NOT REAL!
And so...you delete them.
Sometimes the delete is more passive. Whilst scrolling through your virtual acquaintances, you happen upon that random 5th grade pal who hasn’t been active on Facebook since late 2008. You delete them, and suddenly feel the urge to delete others who provide no benefit or interaction. It’s like spring cleaning.
And so...you delete a mass quantity of them.
Haha, I’m a goddamn friend list hit man! Take that quasi-strangers! You just got iced and it feels so good. I’m humming that Eminem song about cleaning out my closet as I confirm deletes.
Then there are the more sinister deletes. The intentional fuck you and your profile page. I imagine the bulk of these deletes include ex’s and feuding besties. For one reason or another this person has to go. Hopefully never to be seen or heard from again.
I did this to someone - who ironically is also a reader of this blog, and very likely will enjoy the hell out of where this is going. We had an argument (I was right), and I decided it was time for this person to be digitally dead to me.
And so...I deleted them.
Epic flaw in my plan is that this person and I have to still communicate. So my “You’re Dead to Me,” is fundamentally countered by their, “No, I’m Not.” FIDDLESTICKS!
Of course this person was insulted. I was being immature. So they saw my maturity and raised it by not speaking to me entirely. And we both settled into the honeymoon phase of post-deletion.
We’ve since made up, but haven’t rekindled our Facebook friendship. There isn’t any need to really; it was never even our main method of communication. Just a metaphorical line in the sand, so that digital death could be inflicted.
Now I’m on the other side - the Digital Great Beyond - because someone has deleted me. My list of friends is now one less. Certainly other people have deleted me, just as I have deleted others. Circle of life. Like Wild Kingdom social media.
But this one was a little more personal. I’m digitally dead to them, but I’m very much alive in real life. Worse, this person told me they were going to do it! Like, “No Offense” and then massive amounts of offense ensued!
So why do we sometimes care when someone gets their drawers all twisted and clicks delete? Fuck if I know, but my thesis paper is about this, so I’m starting to explore. Get your backpacks kiddos, we’re going on a walk...
I’m toying with this being the difference:
- That it’s more painful when you know the person because a) at one point in time you knew (or at least thought), they weren’t an immature piece of shit; and, b) you must now reconcile that you somehow had a real or perceived hand in their mutation into said immature piece of shit; and,
- An increased likelihood of happenstance encounters creates a high probability of something salty occurring (i.e. people who know each other well, or in person aren’t expected to delete each other. It’s the social media equivalent of shooting your friend at a house party. Bang, bang - you’re dead to me).
That’s my brainy way of saying: I thought that motherfucker was cool, but they got it all twisted like I did something, and now I’ve gotta be all artful dodger so I don’t accidentally run into them and go all ape shit in their face.
And that’s my hood way of saying something braining. I am diversity in motion. Holla.
So what does it all mean? I don’t know yet. The thesis about Rome not being built in a day wasn’t written in a day. It’s just a theory and I’m about to go all scientific method on this shit.