Hey, Internet. Thanks for stopping by. Look, before we get into all of this, I just want you to know: It’s not me, it’s you. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’ve changed. While I still get a giggle when I see a newspaper that included Pedobear as an Olympic mascot, I must confess absolute bewilderment in regards to the Tom Selleck Waterfall Sandwich. Maybe I’ve become too old and set in my ways, or maybe you Family Guy‘d yourself with one arcane reference too many. It doesn’t matter.
I think we need a break.
I’m not talking a permanent split, mind you, just a trial separation. Spend some time away from each other and see how things work out. Because, to be perfectly honest, Internet, I don’t agree with the life choices you’ve been making lately. You’re headed down a dark and lonely path, and I just don’t think I can be with someone like that.
Remember what it used to be like, back when we first met? You’d take me to the library and let me reserve dozens of books at a time over the 26400 baud modem (when you felt up to it – usually we went at the much slower 14400). Then we tried AOL- and CompuServe-branded training wheels (because mom and dad were still pretty afraid of it at that point), before we finally got unfettered high-speed access with cable about three years before anyone else even thought about it.
Those were simpler times, weren’t they? I know nostalgic remembrances tend to place a rose-colored filter over the lens of history, but there undoubtedly were good times. Back when you could log on to the AOL chatrooms and actually have conversations with people without having the Unabomber-to-normal ratio hold fast at 1:1. Sure, you could find an old-fashioned political discussion, but it was an actual discussion, with opinions supported by facts that were themselves not just made up to support the original opinion. Life sure was grand.
But then a funny thing happened, Internet. You got popular. And, like all newly minted members of the popular clique, you shunned your old nerdy friends. After all, we wouldn’t you to be seen hanging around the loser geeks, right?
And that was okay. We accepted it. We ate lunch at our own table, spent our free time hanging around the A/V lounge and playing video games. Heck, when you get wooed by some of the glitziest names in showbusiness, regular business, and just about every kind of commerce in the world, who’s not going to go sample the high life? We probably would have – in fact, a lot of us did, when geek became geek chic and the dot-com bubble was swelling.
And in the midst of all that, regular people began to get in our action. Suddenly, it wasn’t just a few groups you were hanging out with, it was everybody. Your possibility of infinite expression of viewpoints gave rise to sites like LiveJournal, DeadJournal, InsaneJournal, and so on. Essentially, at that early point in the game (circa 2001), they gave exactly what everyone would claim the Internet would eventually bring – a sense of community. Most journalers kept a relatively small group of friends, and were active in groups that matched up with their interests. Even though there were only ten people in the world who wanted CareBearotica, Internet, damned if you didn’t bring them together.
And we loved you for it. Though you were once our bestest friend, the very things we saw in you made you appealing to everyone else. From afar, we looked on you with a mixture of love, awe and respect. We were able to keep our sense of superiority by scoffing at terrible web designs, bad coding practices and GeoCities hosting, but for the most part the sites that just allowed people to express themselves (the aforementioned journaling services and earliest Weblogs) seemed like the right kind of crowd.
Then came the money.
I don’t know if you thought your looks were slipping, or if you weren’t getting enough mack-time with the quarterback, but you whored yourself out, Internet. You dressed yourself in the Flashiest glitz, glamor, and tarted it up so the corporations could start making their money. You looked just fine in your business attire when you were just holding hands with respectable folk (e-commerce like Amazon, Wal-Mart, et al.), but apparently your insatiable lust drove you to the seedier parts of town. All of a sudden you’re out there palling around with scam sites, infomercial-level rip-offs, and pyramid schemes galore. Your best asset, your willingness to hang out with everyone, became your worst trait.
It’s probably not all your fault, Internet. Peer pressure’s a big deal for everyone. Out in the real world, marketing and branding trumped ideas and thinking. Having a concise message became more important than having a factually accurate one. And you got swept up in all of it. Idealogues and bigots used you to reinforce backwards and downright irrational ideas in people who weren’t properly equipped (or simply didn’t care) to judge the veracity of information. Corporations realized they could have their way with you by masquerading as ordinary people, or even flat-out lying. Everything led back into one giant feedback loop; everyone’s in it to make money, you make money by having the most viewers, and you get the largest number of eyeballs by whatever means necessary.
You know the saying they taught us in school to encourage abstinence: Every time you sleep with someone, you’re sleeping with everyone they’ve ever slept with, too. And frankly, Internet, that makes for quite a crowded bed. Your near infinite promiscuity meant that this marketability virus spread and infected nearly everyone. Instead of using the Internet to connect with old friends or make new ones, instead we’re treated to everyone pimping themselves and trying to get the largest number of followers/friends/twits attached to their name. That’s how you win at life now, Internet. You go for the high score.
Internet? Hello? Are you even listening to me? Fine. I know you have a short attention span, so maybe this will help you understand what I’m trying to say:
What I want out of our relationship simply isn’t possible anymore. I want a healthy, vibrant community that encourages discussion and debate that doesn’t reduce everything to the most extreme and simplistic. I want real people to make connections with other real people, and no corporations can take a peek unless they a) have something of actual value to offer, and b) are invited by the other participants. Your willingness to encourage orgies between people and corporations when the two people only want to connect to each other is disgusting on every moral level, Internet. Even Facebook, originally conceived as a sort of mini-Internet that would allow people to connect with one another, has instead become an actual Internet. Now it’s chock-full of spam, games, and (of course) corporations. Why does ShopKo need a damn Facebook, Internet? Do I really need to stay that in the freaking know with ShopKo?
Deep breaths. I need to get through this, Internet. It’s for the best.
That’s why we can’t be together anymore. I just can’t trust you anymore, Internet. Once that trust is lost, it takes a lot of work to get it back – and you don’t seem too interested in doing so. Sure, we’ll still pass each other in the halls, and I’ll probably see you when I hang out with some of my groups of friends. But other than that, Internet, it’s over. You’re just not worth it.