Journalism in the 21st Century

Looking back at 2008, when I joined Facebook, I remember the following: I was on my way to Prague and Paris, holed up in a hotel the night before my flight. I'd heard Michael Phelps mention something called his Facebook account during an interview from the Olympics. 'Facebook?' what's that? Anything Phelps did, from eating Subway sandwiches to hugging his mother to swimming the butterfly resonated with me. No matter that I was a grown woman, the axiom: If Michael Phelps jumped off a bridge, would you? completely applied to me. So I got a Facebook account. And with it, two friends. Then three. I don't remember who my first FB friends were (sorry) but within the first couple years, I was friends with about five ex-boyfriends I'd dredged up from all points east, west and overseas. I'd found cousins - first, second, third, and I don't know are we related? - and grouped them as "family". I even friended and then unfriended at least three f...

Facebook-speak affords the latest twist on, "It's not me, it's you." Yes, by now it's a cliché to say our "friends" on FB, for the most part, aren't really our friends. Yes, some of them are, but the rest are a mix of distant cousins, former employers you'd be persona non grata to unfriend, (if you're a writer) fans, cute guys in Italy you'd love to meet and the one marginal celebrity who's ever spoken to you (with the Friend request, undoubtedly, having been accepted by his publicist). But what do we make of the volatility of Facebook friendships, the unending desire to defriend followed by, perhaps, the execution of that all-mighty button: "unfriend"? And if we are unfriended, what are we to infer if say, that individual still or chooses to follow us on Twitter or retains a Linkedin relationship? Don't even get me started about the other social networks; believe it or not, I still have a marginal life that does no...