Facebook can present a somewhat one-dimensional picture of its habitues.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Take me, for example. Anyone who knows me three-dimensionally will tell you I’m kind, sweet, trusty, diligent, generous, capable, discerning, vivacious, saintly and modest. Sadly, folks who know me only through my occasional Facebook contributions might do me the unwitting injustice of believing me merely heroic. The fact that I don’t take it personally attests to another of my rare qualities, that of clemency.

Did I not mention I’m clement?

Oh, I’m totally clement.

I’m clement because I discern that the reason such a criminally narrow portrait of all that is I could emerge in the first place lies in Human Nature.  I have observed that, over time, most regular posters tend to slide into comfortable themes. Because I have lots of pictures of myself behaving heroically, that’s what I post. Because my frequent acts of saintliness don’t really photograph well, that aspect of my character tends to go unremarked. It’s the same with my Facebook friends.

Often it’s simply an interest – more than one person on my roll appears to spend the bulk of their time online sending me links to bands I’ve never heard of singing songs I don’t like in videos that give me a nervous bowel. Sometimes it’s a hobby, such as Astrology, by which art one regular friend recently divined that I can expect news, that topaz will help me control my lust, and that I should try to be more open to copper.

Yes, the metal.

 

 

Then there are those unimaginative sorts whose principle Facebook involvement is robotically passing along every witty remark, lurid brief, colorful picture and inspirational platitude that pops up on their wall. Not that I’m complaining, necessarily. Sometimes those trite posts really are funny, or fascinating, or pretty, or even encouraging. But distributing somebody else’s day-old tapioca is hardly revealing of oneself, and knowing that a person enjoys cartoons of animals doing people-things tells me nothing about their willingness to float me a Grover Cleveland on a handshake.

 

If the term “friend” was to have any meaning at all, I knew I must tear down the wall and meet the people behind the pap. I accomplished this easily (see “capable” above) by visiting the personal pages of those whose posts I admire – a privilege routinely granted between Facebook friends – and snooping around until my curiosity was satisfied.

In the name of research.

Linda Kirkpatrick publishes the online Evergreen news organ “Just Around Here”, and has been known to post links, tips and tidbits of interest or utility to the scribbling classes. One less diligent than myself might interpret Linda’s fixation on the written word as symptomatic of a bookish and retiring disposition. I am happy to report that such is not the case. There, on her home page, is the glowing blue assurance that she earned her sheepskin at Katharine Gibbs College in Boston, Mass. Now, I don’t know Katharine Gibbs from Andy Gibb, but I do know that Beantown is lousy with persons of Irish extraction, and the wise will appreciate that four years in that peaty melting pot must necessarily have rendered Kirkpatrick drunken, maudlin, truculent, bone-idle, sporatically violent, and prone to spontaneous jigging whenever the English pound dips against the “nicker.”

 

See? She’s more fun already.

 

 

Joe Watt doesn’t post often, but when he does it’s usually a picture of Joe Watt. The uncritical friend might suspect that Joe Watt is either building a modeling portfolio or simply entertains a healthy regard for Joe Watt. Both may be true, but that’s only part of the picture. Truth is, Joe Watt’s page is full of things Joe Watt likes that aren’t Joe Watt. He likes the Beatles, whose music is pleasing to Joe Watt. He likes Yarn West, a business owned by Joe Watt’s wife, Laura, and producing monies that can be spent on Joe Watt. And Joe Watt likes the Alliance for Kids, possibly because the Alliance Against Kids registration line kept Joe Watt on hold for nearly a minute, and Joe Watt doesn’t stand in line for anybody.

 

 

Even Joe Watt.

 

 

 

 

Thus we see that drawing conclusions based solely on the content of a person’s Facebook posts does a disservice to both poster and postee. The lazy surfer might dismiss Kirkpatrick as a bespectacled tome-totaler, but that would be to ignore her dangerous Gaelic idiosyncrasies. And only the indifferent friend would peg Joe Watt as nothing more than a shameless camera hound without taking a moment to explore his many outside (if tangentially related) interests.

So take a moment. Dig a little deeper. You may find that the person you’ve written off as a shallow Johnny One-Note is really a rich symphony of layers, textures and disturbing eccentricities. And the heroic cyber-chum you’ve been marveling over these many months may embody sublime virtues not evident at in their posts.

Modesty prevents me.