Friends in the Facebook age

"Friend me," someone said to me, as I left a party a few weeks ago.

When it comes to Facebook, to "friend" someone has become a verb, just like to "google" something. And who wouldn't want "friend" to be a verb? The act of becoming friends -- the war-torn, weary world needs more of this, no?

Well, being friends on Facebook has its advantages and drawbacks.

In the advantages column: Instant connection to a network of friends and relatives. A way to catch up with people you've been out of touch with for years, and vice versa. Schmoozing with bosses who can help your career. An easy method for inviting people to events and groups. And, honestly, it's just cool to learn about people's interests, hobbies and tastes.

The drawbacks? Oh, I don't know. People you hardly know suddenly have access to your e-mail address, your work information, the identities of your other friends, the ability to read what they say about you on your Facebook wall and follow every virtual move you make. Plus, the boy from eighth grade who had a crush on you may want to, say, visit you from four states away.

Many companies encourage social networking among their employees, meaning everyone -- the secretaries, the salespeople, the suits -- has a Facebook page. It's very Web 2.0 to be ...

... ever so connected. However, in an online arena where the executive vice president of your company and the dude you met last night at the bar end up in the same corral, well, that could be a recipe for disaster.

I have had acquaintances I hardly know ask me about the tiniest details of my Facebook page. And between Facebook, instant messenger and Twitter, it is easy to track where and when someone is online, at any given moment.

I am sure Mark Zuckerberg, Facebook's young chief executive, would tell me to change my privacy settings if I am so concerned with being private. But beyond the settings, the rules of engagement on Facebook can sometimes surprise and confuse you.

Is it appropriate to ask a co-worker why his or her status went from "married" to "single" over the long weekend?

If you notice that someone is no longer listed as "single," is OK to ask about whom they hooked up with?

If someone leaves an ominous or just plain funky Facebook status message, and it piques your curiosity or concern for them, do you ask about it?

For that matter, are Facebook status messages becoming cries for help from some users? "John Doe is barely hanging on." "Jane Doe is really, really hurting and could use a phone call."

As social networking continues to connect and consume our lives, I am waiting to see the next incarnation of this trend. And while I watch it all evolve, I'll continue to contemplate whether to let the boy from eighth grade come for a visit.

-- Lori Kozlowski

Kozlowski is a Times staff writer.

Photo by Luc Legay via Flickr.

Comments

[misterarthur]

You know, of course, that you can control what your friends - or colleagues - can see on your Facebook page. The CEO and the boyfriends can have completely different levels of access.

[are u insane]

hey, u said u can control who see that, who see this !! but what if a friend of yours (complete access) decide to show to another friend of yours who do have limited access ?????
YOU CANT CONTROL INFORMATION OVER INTERNET !! information that you put on facebook are not and never will be private !!

check out on google news this :

facebook + virgin
facebook + teacher
facebook + what ever....

[Dave Wilson]

Amusingly, I just last week changed my status to "married" on facebook for the simple reason that being less than clear on facebook appears to be an invitation for people to send you, um, invitations. A friend who was actually invited to the wedding some years ago posted ironic congratulations, which were immediately followed by congratulations from folks who are, I guess, more distant friends and hadn't heard that I'd gotten married. Like, a long time ago. Awkward.

But I'm still one of those people who doesn't post any significant amounts of personal info on Facebook. Even my date of birth (apparently required) is inaccurate (which has led to a change in that as well, so now at least the day part is correct, since I grew tired of explaining to cheery well-wishers that it was not in fact my birthday). Why so skittish? Because I frankly think it's weird for people to post what used to be fairly intimate details about themselves and invite people who they aren't, um, intimate with to engage them in conversation about those details. It's the 21st century equivalent of grandma's T-shirt declaring, "Ask me about my grandchildren!" OK, got it, everyone you actually know is bored to death with you prattling about your grandchildren, so now you're begging strangers to look at your pictures. This sort of thing isn't a cry for help, it's a white flag of surrender, a public acknowledgment that *you do not have intimate friendships.* I used to wonder how famous people dealt with yahoos knowing every detail of their lives, with strangers walking up to them in restaurants and offering tearful encouragement in their ongoing struggle against adversity, or a stern rebuke about that speeding ticket. Fame seemed like a pretty crappy deal given that you had to put up with never ending tidal wave of strangers commenting on every aspect of your life, walking up to you in public and treating you like you were old college roomies. But with technologies like Facebook, we've all cheerfully chosen the worst parts of fame -- false intimacy -- without even demanding the good stuff.

There are parts of facebook I enjoy, or I wouldn't be on it. And there is a certain utility in people who I'm not exactly close to being about to post a note about an ongoing issue in their lives, allowing people to offer encouragement and support. But I worry about the people who post incredibly detailed details of themselves in this medium; I think when the whole world knows all your secrets, it doesn't mean the whole world is your good friend. I think it really means you can't ever have any good friends. Because you've given every bit of yourself away to strangers.