Hey, don't feel too bad, Lundgren, Myers, Loeber, Helgren, Richter,
Cunningham, Lampert Jones, and others. This New York Times article shows
that even the young Facebook people won't show up for a real fact-to-face
in-person meeting that they have been invited to even after they confirmed
they would attend. We are living in a new and different time now. We
need to adapt and adjust to this new reality and not blame declining user
group meeting attendance entirely on the points you posters submitted.
Enjoy this poignant article and recognize that people are less likely to get
together in person these days. Even with 700 friends, you will drink alone,
just like all of them do.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/26/magazine/26lives-t.html
October 26, 2008
LIVES
Facebook in a CrowdBy HAL NEIDZVIECKI
One day this past summer, I logged on to
Facebook<
http://topics.nytimes.com/top/news/business/companies/facebook_inc/index.html?inline=nyt-org>
and
realized that I was very close to having 700 online "friends." Not bad, I
thought to myself, absurdly proud of how many cyberpals, connections,
acquaintances and even strangers I'd managed to sign up.
But the number made me uneasy as well. I had just fallen out with a friend
I'd spent a lot of time with. I'd disconnected with a few other ones for the
usual reasons — jobs in other cities, family life limiting social time. I
was as much to blame as they were. I had a 2-year-old kid of my own at home.
Add to that my workaholic irritability, my love of being left alone and my
lack of an office environment or mysterious association with the Masons from
which to derive an instant network of cronies. I had fewer friends to hang
out with than I'd ever had before.
So I decided to have a Facebook party. I used Facebook to create an "event"
and invite my digital chums. Some of them, of course, didn't live in
Toronto, but I figured, it's summer and people travel. You never know who
might be in town. If they lived in Buffalo or Vancouver, they could just
click "not attending," and that would be that. Facebook gives people the
option of R.S.V.P.'ing in three categories — "attending," "maybe attending"
and "not attending."
After a week the responses stopped coming in and were ready to be tabulated.
Fifteen people said they were attending, and 60 said maybe. A few hundred
said not, and the rest just ignored the invitation altogether. I figured
that about 20 people would show up. That sounded pretty good to me. Twenty
potential new friends.
On the evening in question I took a shower. I shaved. I splashed on my
tingly man perfume. I put on new pants and a favorite shirt. Brimming with
optimism, I headed over to the neighborhood watering hole and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Eventually, one person showed up.
I chatted with my new potential friend, Paula, doing my best to pretend I
wasn't dismayed and embarrassed. But I was too self-conscious to be genuine.
I kept apologizing for the lack of attendance. I looked over my shoulder
every time the door opened and someone new came in. Paula was nice about it,
assuring me that people probably just felt shy about the idea of making a
new friend. She said she herself had almost decided not to come.
"And now you have me all to yourself," I said, trying to sound beneficent
and unworried. We smiled at each other awkwardly.
We made small talk. I found out about her job, her boyfriend, her soccer
team. Paula became my Facebook friend after noticing I was connected to a
friend of hers. She thought it would be interesting to drop by and meet me.
Eventually we ran out of things to say. Anyway, she had to work in the
morning. I picked up the tab on her Tom Collins and watched as she strode
out into the night, not entirely sure if our friendship would grow.
After she left, I renewed my vigil, waiting for someone to show. It was
getting on 11 o'clock and all my rationalizations — for example, that people
needed time to get home from work, eat dinner, relax a bit — were wearing
out.
I would learn, when I asked some people who didn't show up the next day,
that "definitely attending" on Facebook means "maybe" and "maybe attending"
means "likely not." So I probably shouldn't have taken it personally. But
the combination of alcohol and solitude turned my thoughts to self-pity. Was
I really that big of a loser? Or was it that no one wants to get together in
real life anymore? It wasn't Facebook's fault; all those digital pals were
better than nothing. For chipping away at past friendships and blocking
honest new efforts, you really have to blame the entire modern world. People
want to hang out with you, I assured myself. They just don't have the time.
By now it was nearing midnight. My head was clouded by drink, and it was
finally starting to sink in: no one else was coming. I'd have to think up
some other way to revitalize my social life. I ordered one more drink.
The beer arrived, a British import: Young's Double Chocolate Stout. I raised
my glass in a solitary toast and promised myself I'd spend less time online.
Then I took a gulp: the beer was delicious but bittersweet. Seven hundred
friends, and I was drinking alone.
Hal Niedzviecki lives in Toronto. His book, "The Peep Diaries: How We're
Learning to Love Watching Ourselves and Our Neighbors," will be published
next May.
midrange.com
