How Shakespeare told me to lay off the Facebook

I have a magnet on our refrigerator from the Stratford Shakespeare Festival (Chaput Adventure – Holla!) that says:

To thine own self be true.

I believe this is a quote from Hamlet, not really sure, never read that one. But I like the quote (or at least what I am taking the quote to mean, seeing as I’ve only ever read it out of context.) Stay with me, though - I’m gonna circle back to this idea in a second - but let me veer for a moment into a discussion about a world with which Shakespeare was wholly unfamiliar: Facebook.

My peers and I were fortunate? unfortunate? enough to be in the very first wave of Facebook users. I remember our friend Katie talking about it at Northwestern and being very excited when “Marquette got Facebook!” What does this mean?? What do we do with this website that is both seemingly fascinating and yet really boring and kind of pointless?? Well, I guess let’s race to see who can get more “Friends”!! And so it began.

We were juniors in college. As Facebook roared in, we were among the last loyal users of AIM and among the first to create “groups,” “re-connect” with people from grade school, check the “profiles” of our friends at far-away colleges. Parents started to become curious, since only people with college email addresses could get an account, and soon enough it boomed again! High school kids could get accounts! Status updates were introduced! Pictures!! Tagging photos!!! Anyone can get an account!!!---

And now here we are.

We all hear the statistics of how many hours of TV an average high school student watches or how many hours of video games the average grade school student plays, but I am beginning to wonder: how many hours (days? months, probably? hopefully not years??) have I devoted to being on Facebook since that day as a junior in Milwaukee?

Here’s the thing. I know some people are very happy without or with very, very minimal Facebook (Dad, Dad-in-law, even Tom… is it guy thing?) and I know I can not use Facebook (I did all of Lent 2010). But there is reason for Facebook. My former co-worker’s babies are sooo cute! I hear about world news I wouldn’t have looked for myself! I’ve connected with distant family who I would otherwise barely know!

I’m starting to think, however, that there might be more reason for me to give Facebook a rest. Cue Shakespeare.

It’s bad as it is that I feel there is reason enough for people to be interested in my life to read our blog that seems to have very little theme beyond letting people see what I (and occasionally Tom) think about day-to-day (and I am waiting for the day when you guys say, Really? That’s what you’re spending a few hours of today thinking about? Decaf, iced mochas? That reminds me, I could really go for one right about now...)

But I’m realizing that I don’t really like knowing all this stuff about all these people on Facebook. And as I realize this, it changes what I want them to know about me. And as that changes, suddenly status updates and pictures I post start to be almost (I hate to say it) competitive.

Back in the days of AIM, when you didn’t have something clever to say, a quote would always suffice for a good “Away Message.” But a quote as a status update? Come on. Don’t waste my time!

On occasion, I have started to feel, upon logging out of Facebook, inadequate. (I admit that this is not all Facebook’s or its users’ faults. It largely stems from my own (perhaps overly-) competitive nature.) But I’ll find myself wrapping up my time on Facebook and thinking, Their wedding pictures are so much artsier than ours… I can’t believe he is able to afford a house at our age… She’s so lucky she gets to be a stay-at-home mom and take her kids to adorable places all day long, I want to do that!…

Ew... I do not like this view of myself. Maybe I should delete this blog post… But clearly if you’re reading this on the blog I didn’t delete it. And I’m typing these words out as I’m thinking them, so unless I’m starting a new diary in Microsoft Word, looks like I’m still leaning towards posting. Ok, I will, because it’s honest. And wouldn’t deleting it be the same as posting a phony Facebook status to make myself look better?

Seriously though... Really? I don’t like that I think that stuff. And before Facebook, if someone showed me their wedding pictures, I would love it! How fun to look at something so sweet and special! And it would mean something for them to share the pictures with me! And I would be really happy to hear that a friend bought a new house! Imagine if they invited me over and I could share in their excitement!! And I would love being able to spend a day off of school with a friend and her kid!!! I would certainly not resent it! Buuuutttt, throw all of these images at me in one giant lump of everyone’s personal lives put on display for everyone else to gawk at and I pretty much just end up feeling … well, like what I described above.

Ok, so. To thine own self be true. I have decided I need a break from the Ffffbook. I am no longer going to spend time out of my day looking into other people’s lives, especially because it isn’t even getting a look into their lives: it’s getting a look at what they want their lives to look like. And for a lot of people, those are not the same thing.

I did give Facebook my most recent email address so that I’ll get messages people send to me. I’ll still get an email if someone tags me in a picture, then I’ll check it out and remember how fun that was. And from time to time I might log in just to see updated pictures of the adorable babies I mentioned earlier. But mostly I’m going to avoid it, no longer “check it,” and think more about being true to myself and what kind of real life I want to be leading. Plus, maybe with my newly found free time I’ll finally have a chance to pick up Hamlet.

The Summer of the Decaf, Iced Mocha or Coffee-Flavored Sugar-Chocolate Milk

(Post by Tracy)

I had another one today. Another decaf, iced mocha. Delicious, like yesterday's. Actually, I suppose I had 2 yesterday, come to think of it.

Let me just say, I am not a coffee-drinker.

Really, I'm not. At least that is what I say... I guess, maybe, that's now not so true. I don't even recognize myself anymore.

I think coffee is gross! The only way I'll drink it is loaded up with milk and sugar so that really it's a child's version of coffee-flavored sugar-milk (or I guess what I have discovered this summer: coffee-flavored sugar-chocolate milk).

I couldn't even make coffee for myself if I was interested in trying. I was a barista for 5 years, yet I don't know how to work a regular Mr. Coffee coffee maker. I only have a vague idea of how a French press works. I am not really clear on how to brew another pot at school in the fancy industrial coffee machine. I have never had my own Keurig one-cup cup of coffee. I'm just not a coffee drinker, and the only situation in which I have ever been considered a Coffee Person at all is from behind the back of the espresso machine, foaming your milk and handing you your grande vanilla latte.

It's a little scary to think that this is changing.

And now, really, it's bad enough that the coffee drinker I'm turning into is the one who relies on the chocolate-infused version of the original. But then add to that the D-word.

Ignoring for a moment the icky bitter taste of coffee, what about its abundance of caffeine? That, I simply physically cannot handle. Ask poor Tom who has had to witness me coming down (and going up! and coming down!) from an accidental caffeine trip. 30 minutes after finishing the black iced tea or coca-cola, I start to feel very jittery inside. My heart starts to beat a little faster. I get warm, sometimes even sweaty. I'm not exaggerating this, people. And it's downhill from there! Fast forward to find an adult woman, who normally falls asleep on any movie started after 8:30 pm, bouncing off the proverbial walls at 2 in the morning, alternately feeling the rush of adrenaline and the slamming impact of sleep deprivation. It is not a pretty sight.

And yes, I am that customer who orders decaf, doesn't trust the competence of the cashier, and, as the barista hands me my cup, asks ever-so-nonchalantly, "Oh, did I remember to order decaf?" (Are you kidding? Yeah, of course I did. I know I did. But better than saying, "This better be decaf or I will physically lose it in 30 minutes!") And as long as the barista doesn't show more than 2 seconds of hesitation before saying, "Yeah, decaf!" I go on my merry way.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, somehow I got to where I am today. I have been drinking decaf, iced mochas semi-regularly for a few weeks. Kind of everywhere we go where beverages are sold. And I'm craving them, too. The worst part about the whole situation is when I most crave a decaf, iced mocha: immediately after finishing a decaf, iced mocha. I told Tom that I am officially going to limit myself to one a day, tops. (I told him that today. Yesterday doesn't count.)

And so here I am. Drinking herbal, caffeine-free iced tea, remembering the tasty mocha I had earlier today and imaging the taste of the mocha that I will likely have tomorrow.