I went to a party last night. I know, I know. That’s completely atypical behavior for your guru. I found out about it on Facebook and decided to RSVP. A friend of mine accepted a job offer and was moving out of town.
Of course, while at the party, which was held in a backyard, I found dog poop on my pants. I no longer bother asking, “Why me?” This sort of thing has become routine for me.
Facebook is something I use quite reluctantly and on a very minimal basis. I keep all of my privacy settings as restrictive as possible. Since new features get rolled out with me automatically opted-in this is an ongoing battle. Fuckers.
Part of maintaining my privacy is managing photographs of me. Controlling my profile is easy. I never upload any. Ever. But what happens when other people upload pictures of me to their Facebook profiles?
That’s when the fuck sets in.
Their settings may not be private. In fact, the pictures they upload may be open to the entire universe. Worse, thanks to Facebook’s “tagging” feature, people may be drawing little boxes around my face, providing a beautiful and convenient trail of breadcrumbs to shit I didn’t want online in the first place.
So I told everyone I knew at the party, “No photos, please. My people believe it steals your spirit.” No, I’m not a member of any tribal population. By “my people” I mean uptight motherfuckers and vengeful passive-aggressive assholes who will end you if you violate my wishes.
The problem? Everyone and their grandmother at the party had fucking devices all over them. Cell phones with cameras, smart phones, iPods, iPads and iPhones were all over the fucking place. Thankfully I saw no cameras, but what good is that when everyone is packing devices that will do the same damn thing?
Worse, they fiddled with these devices continually. They played with them as if they were as fun as their own damn genitals. “Oops. It’s been ten seconds again. Time for my to fondle my iPhone. Stand back! I’m not sure how big this thing gets.”
Disclosure: I also was packing a device. An iPod Touch. But I kept it in my pants while interfacing face-to-face with actual humans. I needed no app for that.
Long story short, this morning I woke up and received “notifications” from Facebook that I had been tagged in two photos.
Yeah, one person at the party (who I had explicitly asked not to take my photograph) had posted images, two of which contained my fearful visage. Then, a different person at the party came along and drew the little motherfucking box around my face, “tagging” me in Facebook parlance.
I wrote the photographer and asked her to edit me out of the pictures or pull the pictures down. She replied, “I have removed the tags.” She didn’t do as I asked. Either she’s dumb or she thinks she knows better. Grrrr.
Yep. The pictures are still on the internet. Completely outside of my control. And I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that some other person can still come along, think they are being helpful, and tag the fuckshit out of them – again.
As a global citizen of this planet, and one not wishing my copyrighted bread and butter (my face) gets on the internet without my consent, there is only one option left to me. I’ll never go to another fucking function where there is anyone I know.
I’m going to get me a lawyer to start sending “cease and desist” letters to my so-called “friends.” Yes, once again, that is Facebook parlance.
Make no mistake about it. If I want a facial, I’ll do it myself.