Every day that passes I hate Facebook and Twitter more. There, I said it. I think they are monsters that have grown way out of anyone’s control. It used to be I was being obstinate for the sake of being obstinate, but lately I suspect a principle has emerged, which makes me feel so much more justified (here it comes, the moral high ground!).

It’s a complicated situation here, livin’ in the ol’ 21^st century. On one hand the massive abundance of information the internet has brought has made our lives a hundred times easier, yep, it has to be said. Anything I could possibly want to know is within a few clicks away, the time saved is invaluable, yes, etc. I just hate what it has made everyone, ie., narcissistic to the point of perversion, voyeuristic like wolves, superficial and judgemental because that’s what the virtual environment promotes, detached and cold because nobody has real friends anymore. It’s grotesque, it’s Less Than Zero gone viral. Commentating on your every action, like you’re on a reality show. Your breakfast becomes a headline.

I’m a stupid nostalgic hypocrite but for all the benefits that I’ve got out of this hyper-information glut, I’d gladly trade a little of it in for the benefits of, well, ignorance. Of not knowing everything all the freaking time. Like mystery, and the ability to keep our own secrets, and the sense and style of the enigmatic, and learning about other people from scratch. Giving them the basic right to be who they want to be from time to time, and not who Facebook holds them accountable to be every single day. Like innocence. I hate when I see 6 year-old kids commenting on Youtube (thank you Nicolette for showing me that Backstreet Boys video). That’s almost a toddler! What kind of Youtube trash could they be potentially filling their minds with? Being 6 is for fairy tales and Lion King and for building stuff with lego in your garden!

Like romance, and not as in love, as in awe and hope and imagination. As in teenagers who thought such-and-such rock star was the be-all and end-all of cool, as in the capacity to even have heroes at some stage in your life, instead of reading on Twitter about how such-and-such celebrity does a hundred crunches and eats five healthy small meals a day.

Aren't these things important to anyone?

Our lives have been robbed of everything that makes them, well, magical, to be slightly cheesy about it. Fitzgerald wouldn’t be able to write The Great Gatsby now, that story would be totally bogus. Gatsby’d just follow Daisy’s blog and leave a party invitation on her Facebook wall. And gone would be the suspense and the longing and the hoping-against-hope and the sheer impossibility that made that novel beautiful.

It’s been said before, and by much more eloquent and cleverer people. I'm not done thinking about this and will regret writing this all in an angry fit, but whatever. I want to do a Chris McCandless, head into the damn wild and forsake my computer forever. At some point during the past few months I tried to face up to the necessity of getting Facebook for college, but it made me too sad. I’ve decided to struggle along without it and see if I’m not dead by Christmas. Yuck.