Bar Belle: Saving face
Have you ever known someone who did it? They just up and quit without telling a soul? Oh, I’ve seen the ones who announce they’re going to do it, and then they’re back to it within a month. I’m not talking about sobriety, nor giving up smokes. I’m talking about saying goodbye to Facebook and never looking back. My girlfriend has taken a leave of absence from the Book of Face, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
There have been several studies on social media and how it’s affecting our life, liberty and pursuit of happiness — and the results aren’t positive. One study at the University of Michigan found that the more a person uses Facebook, the more unhappy they become. That’s not surprising, considering all the bullshit status updates people post on a daily basis that depict their lives as happy and wonderful and how they shit rainbows — even in the rain or on a train. Facebook promotes vanity and narcissism more than growing up a Kardashian.
“On the surface, Facebook provides an invaluable resource for fulfilling the basic human need for social connection,” says Ethan Kross, U-M social psychologist and the lead researcher on the study. “But rather than enhance well-being, we found that Facebook use predicts the opposite result — it undermines it.”
As my girlfriend puts it, being on Facebook “is like being hit with the braggart Christmas letter every single day — Johnny is doing this, Jane is doing that — thereby making you feel bad about all the things you’re not doing. It’s pushing you to participate in a game you don’t really want to play — posting self-indulgent selfies and glossing over all of the facts in your life to make it seem amazing.”
(That one has a way with words. And she’s a therapist. I have no chance of winning arguments. Ever.)
Being in the line of work I’m in and relying on social media to help spread the word, I can’t imagine life without it. Who would I show all those handsome photos of my dog to? How else could I round up a happy hour crew in 20 minutes? Why would I ever have a reason to take a picture of a plate of nachos again?
I can certainly enjoy my Facebooking in moderation — my mom would surely appreciate it. But I’m just dying to let the world know how I’m going to spend Cinco de Mayo. Must. Go. Post. I just can’t help it. Wi-Fi must stand for “Why Fight It?” Let me see that taco! Let me see that baby in a pumpkin! Let me see that selfie of you going through that new White Castle drive-thru! Happy Birthday! Happy Breakup! Sorry your kid got Ds on his report card!
Facebook, I dislike you.
The last thing anyone wants to talk about the week after Derby is Derby. Your money is gone, your mood is low and your liver is spent. All the hopeful anticipation you had for the big race and its festivities left Sunday with the hungover out-of-towners. And all you have left are throbbing feet, a blistering sunburn, a winning $2 ticket stub for California Chrome, and a strange rash down there that might require antibiotics. So I’ll leave my recap to a paragraph:
The Great Steamboat Race was once again a lesson on how much bourbon is too much. I tangoed with the insidious spirit so much that I could barely touch it the rest of the weekend. Don’t get me wrong — a good time was had by all atop the Belle of Louisville, which won the race because it’s the old broad’s 100th birthday, dammit! Thursday I stalked celebs in the form of U of L basketball players at Ferdinand’s Ball and continued to nurse a hangover that overhung way too long. Friday was Oaks, where I observed the intricate and advanced skill set needed to pee between cars without peeing on oneself — which I’m still learning. And Derby was spent with strangers, friends and strange friends who cooked all kinds of delectable dishes, but I mostly ate cheese and impressed everyone with my ability to conjure up simple syrup.
Derby, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.
Drunk Texts of the Week
• Im not going — I wore a tight bra today and my tits are killing me
• Quit ruining cool things with first dates
• Put your mouth off that!
• Don’t twerk and pee at the same time