It Takes a (Facebook) Village

I’m thinking Mark Zuckerberg got it wrong.

Instead of Facebook, he should’ve called his social media site In-Your-Face-Book.  

We'd all like to pretend we don’t know what I’m talking about.

The family gathers for a holiday celebration, and some artistic genius with a camera starts clicking off shots of anyone and anything that moves. (I’m never the artistic genius, by the way, because I never remember the camera.)

Of course, the person clicking is not in the shots and has no formal photo taking or editing skills, and definitely has no discernment.

But that’s ok, because you can just use your discernment when she’s not looking and delete the photos you don’t like. Oops, now where could that picture have gone?

Wrong!

There’s no time to delete anything. Within seconds of the flash blinding you—shebang—you’re plastered all over Facebook, with a goofy smile, half-closed eyes and a side order of spinach stuck between your teeth.

Bagged, tagged and ready to be commented on.

Oh, the humanity.

Image control was so easy before Wi-Fi and iPads.

All of those wing-haired, bell-bottomed, before-you-knew-better shots—hiding in dusty photo albums and lurking in boxes nestled under the bed—were no threat. In fact, they easily could be “disappeared” when no one was looking.

Now, you never know when you’re going to turn up, or worse yet, in what form.

And things really could go downhill when your mother gets a Facebook account and starts walking down memory lane, with you holding one hand and the rest of the planet holding the other. Yes, you could begin getting the ominous emails, warning that your mother has just tagged you in a photo.

All I can say is thank goodness the 70s are back.

Disclaimer: The part about my mom is a spoof; she’s very good about not posting anything humiliating—of me, anyway. Thanks, Mom. :) 

*And happy 28th birthday to Mark Zuckerberg.