To begin with I'm going to give you a shot of reality. One word of advice; don't put anything anywhere on the web that you don't want to be read by strangers. There IS no privacy. If you don't believe that just put a threat up against a public official as a private message to yourself, start walking down the street, and we'll all start a betting pool on how far you'll make it. Oh, and the delete button doesn't work either. Just tell someone you've got a cheerleader handcuffed, and gagged in your bathroom, and immediately delete it. See you in five years. If you will note I dodged all key words, didn't name any names, nor the type of threat needed to be made. The NSA looks for that, and I have a beer party to go to tonight. The cheerleader got away.
Information on the net is a bunch of little atoms charging around in the air and no one can count all of them. Not to mention share, reshare, and copy and paste. That's what makes the net cool, but it also makes it a whore. Facebook isn't a whore, it's a MADAM! It's Dear Abby on steroids. What makes you think in your wildest dreams it's not going to capitalize on every sort of mass media trick in the book? If you put it up, they're a gonna use it.
Now, let's talk legality. The old days of copyright are gone. I know, I know, you're going to try to educate me about rights, and registration and all that, but I've been to Nashville. They taught me a more . . .refined understanding. When you sign up for Facebook you sign what's called a "Terms of Service." It would labor this article to try to articulate that formidable document here so I'll paraphrase it for you. Uh, you're their bitch. Yeah, that just about covers it. No amount of fancy worded disclaimers will alter that any more than a pre-nup written after the nup. Once you nup, you're nupped. And you have to click that little square or you will not get a Facebook account.
Accept Facebook for what it is. Use it for that. I use it for a handy ramp. Write an article, push a few buttons, and London to LA, I'm a STAR! Well, at least I THINK I'm a star. My dog thinks I'm a star. With the right amount of alcohol I can convince the cheerleader I'm a star. I haven't convinced Facebook I'm a star yet, however. Before you start calling me a perv she's a UT cheerleader in her second year of law school. Thought I'd just clear that up for you. (Whew!)
While I respect the intent of my friends trying to purify the medium I, myself, have a slightly different approach.
*****NOTICE TO FACEBOOK*****
I use your service in an effort to promote what I write into fame and fortune. After years of paying promoters ungodly sums of money, who screwed me running, I welcome you plagiarizing, copying, and outright STEALING my stuff, because even the crumbs that fall from the Master's table beats an empty plate. Should your efforts cause me to generate income by pushing something I wrote one night over a beer I promise you I will kiss your butt until it's soda cracker white! Thank you so much for being stupid enough to offer an old pirate like me a chance to sneak in through your back door. You have a blessed day! *****
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