Here's my final paper for Apple, Google, Facebook. It's about my experience using Facebook over the past several years, and the effect it has not only on our ability to communicate, but also on our identity. Enjoy!

Facebook and Popular Opinion.

Although I don't find You Are Not A Gadget to be a particularly organized argument, I do agree with some of the things that Jaron Lanier poses within the book (and therefore wish it was better phrased and expressed). On the subject of individualism on the internet, I do agree that I think that we lose a certain about of our identity and become part of a larger voice on the internet - especially because, much like in life, sometimes people can succumb to peer pressure on the web and join the popular opinion on an issue. Granted, anonymity on the web is one the things that keeps this from happening, but on sites like Facebook, and in some cases Twitter and Tumblr, your name is attached to what you write, and at times you may say something you don't actually believe, because it's what other people are saying online. And example of this is when Osama Bin Laden died - and I'll most likely talk about this in my paper as well - but I remember when it was announced that he had been killed, people took to Facebook to celebrate his death. This was something that I couldn't believe, and a lot of people I knew couldn't either - and yet we found ourselves liking those statuses, and in some cases perhaps even posting them ourselves. I didn't, but I know I liked at least one (my friend Michael posted a clip from the Simpsons of Homer Simpson yelling, "USA! USA!").

Although there is something inherently problematic about celebrating someone's death, this provides an example of a situation in which perhaps that belief gets suppressed in order to find yourself part of a larger group celebrating something like that. Sure, you could post a status saying that although you are happy that Osama's reign of terror is over, you don't support celebration of death - but that's only drawing attention to yourself, and it's much easier to just post a video of Homer Simpson. For people who already perhaps don't feel courageous enough to share their own voice, the internet can provide a digital record of that, and as I will state in my paper, further blurs the line people personal self and online self. I think that Lanier discusses indivualism on the internet in his book, but this was a point that I thought of while reading in relation to my musings on Facebook.

Myspace vs. Facebook vs. Google

I tried my hand at this site Neocities with a very, very dumb idea - but it's kind of fun. Check it out: anyone can use the web!

When the trailer for The Social Network came out, I was completely blown away. I remember thinking, "This looks like an incredibly fascinating movie," and I ended up being right. But moreover, and trailer does a great job of getting to the core of what Facebook is about, and what Smith talks about in her article: "I want you to notice, when I'm not around," a choir sings, covering Radiohead's "Creep" - and that's really what Facebook is all about in the end. You want to share your world so people see it, because we all want to be seen. The trailer also brings the paradox of The Social Network into the foreground: in the beginning we see Facebook at work, photos of families, people in hospitals, comments about missing people, etc. - and then we get the movie, the story of betrayal, love, backstabbing, and getting left behind. Facebook presents a world full of objectivism, when the real story is a lot more complicated, much like the second half of that trailer - it's messy, it's quick, and there are no easy answers, not like on Facebook. It's not very often that I see a trailer that I love as much as the movie, or a movie I love as much as the trailer. But this one captures the movie, and its essence so perfectly, and I continue to watch it even though I've seen the movie multiple times now. And it has me listening to that cover of "Creep." What the hell am I doing here?

Give Me a Like.

I greatly enjoyed Zadie Smith's article "Generation Why?" - so much so that I kind of feel like deleting my Facebook, and even not being on Blogger right now (alas, homework permits it). Smith comes from a different kind of mindset: I've read her work in the New Yorker, and an essay about her appreciation for Joni Mitchell - and from the article it seems as though she worked at Harvard for some amount of time. To me, though, Smith represents the type of person I want to be, rather than the type of person that I am: although I like the idea of reading the New Yorker and listening to Joni Mitchell on vinyl, I'm a lot more likely to be on Tumblr listening to Pharrell. Thus, enter Facebook.

I've heard a lot of people say things like, "I hate Facebook," and I'm one of them - and I truly do hate Facebook. It's a device that forces you not only into a box, but forces you to construct that box as well: how do you want to be viewed? Recently, someone uploaded photos of me swimming a breaststroke race at our Conference Championships, and I had to hold myself back from removing the photos. First of all, breaststroke isn't exactly an attractive stroke, and any photos of you taken during it are of you with your mouth agape, suffering through the disastrous yardage. Second of all, it alerted old friends that I was swimming again, after years off from the sport - and I could only picture the wields of their minds turning, thinking about my now less-than-fit body working through the water and laughing about it - because people think about me that much. Finally, the pictures aren't taken very well.

This is only a small example of how Facebook forces you to think about yourself. The fact of the matter is, I'm proud that I'm swimming again, and even though I'm slower than I was, and have a bit more a tummy, I like telling people it - it's essentially saying, "Hey, I'm doing something active again." In my real life, I'm proud of it - and yet on Facebook, I'm horribly embarrassed. Just like in real life I like the Fast and Furious movies, and will talk about them with anyone who will listen, but on Facebook I have There Will Be Blood and The Royal Tenenbaums listed under my movies, because those make me sound smarter. But I don't want to come off too smart: I only have The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen (my favorite book) and David Sedaris listed under authors - when my true literary loves are D.H. Lawrence and Joyce and all the other modernist greats - but I don't want people to think I'm that pretentious.

Smith brings up an interesting idea: as of now, I can draw the line between my Facebook self and my real self - and I'm able to fully appreciate that my Facebook self is a construction based on my own insecurities and overall narcissism. But with that being said, will I always know that? And do other people know that? If I'm on Facebook for long enough, will I forget that that's not me? Smith also has an intriguing read on Zuckerburg: He's a boring dude, who in order to make himself seem liked, created a system in which you're judging based on your choices instead of your character - it doesn't matter if you can talk about something, but if you like Breaking Bad, you're probably an alright person. It's a sad realization, and you can see it in Zuckerburg when he talks. I always thought there was something off about his interviews, but Smith threw it into the light: the sweating, bland answers, and little laughs - he's putting on a show, and the message is that we should like him. And I guess we kind of do. We like him more than Steve Jobs, because he's not an outward dick to everyone. But on the other hand, I'd much rather hang out with Steve Jobs. Because he's not afraid of what people think about him - and Zuckerburg does belong to a generation of people who are desperately afraid of what people think of them.

So the final question is: why remain on Facebook? Why not quit? Is it futile anyway, considering they most likely hold onto your information anyway? Well, I tell myself that I stay on Facebook because I have a radio show, and other things going on, and I want to be able to tell people about it. Also, I don't like the idea of losing people, and never hearing about them again - even if it's people from grade school. But maybe there's something deeper. A fear of having to exist outside of a screen, and only outside of a screen. I don't know, maybe I'll quit. That'd be nice. Because I hate Facebook.

The Dreaded Self-Google.

There have been a lot of moments in my life where - the boredom that comes out of too much time spent on the internet - I've Googled myself. This is probably something everyone has done, either on their own, or with friends, to see what comes up. If you Google my dad, an article comes up that was in the Chicago Tribune about how a budget he'd submitted to the city council (he's an architect for a suburb of Chicago) was rejected - the picture has a caption that says "Raffel looks dejected." It's good for a laugh.

But there's more to be said about Google self-searches than simply "it's good for a laugh." It's a little scary as well. If you look above, you can find myself self-search, which features my Twitter account, my Vimeo account, a interview I did when I was published in a book in high school, and a Facebook page (a different Peter Raffel). If you go further, you find my Instagram, my Youtube account, my Tumblr, and even a podcast I uploaded in middle school that I attempted to do with my friends. That, in itself, is a little scary: when you put something on the web, there's an expectation that you're okay with everyone seeing it, but that's not necessarily the case. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want people listening to that old podcast or looking at my old Youtube videos - they're probably both pretty embarrassing. This issue also comes up when applying for a job: all a company has to do is Google you and see what's out there - and if it's anything that they don't like, you're not getting that job. The immediate access we can have to anyone is something new within the last twenty years: even if you stay off the web, there's still a chance there's something about you on there. That might not be that big of a deal, but still - the idea that anyone can access you anytime is definitely something to consider. Especially when your mom finds your Twitter and sees that you use a lot more dirty language than she ever expected.

Doing A Bunch of Things, Kind of Well.

On Google's "philosophy" page, there's a statement that is pretty bold to make given their current situation: "It's best to do one thing really, really well." In class, it has been argued that Google's "one thing" is search: not only to search the internet for information, but to search for innovation as well - to search for answers in a larger sense. To me, though, this is kind of contradictory: sure, you could argue that products like Google Glass and the like are ways of giving us more "answers" and continuing this search, but on the other hand, it feels a little excessive. To me, Larry and Sergey seem to be guys who come from a background much different than the majority of well-established businessmen: they are interested in technology, in moving the world forward, and in making some awesome stuff. That's what a lot of the Silicon Valley start-ups are like - it's definitely what Steve Jobs would like. But with that mentality comes a lot more than simply doing one thing really, really well - it means that in success, there is the ability to try and fail, and try and fail, and then try and fail again. That kind of mentality comes from a company with means, that in the past did do one thing really well (a search engine) and now has the ability and the money to do pretty much anything they want.

I'm speaking, in a lot of ways, about the Glass Barge. It's been proposed that one day Google will have a store of its own - much like Apple eventually had stores - that would exist on a glass boat, which, to be honest, would be incredibly awesome. But when you really think about it, that sounds like an idea thought up by some mad scientist, bent on doing things just so that they can be done. I'm not necessarily against this, but if that is the way you want to run your company, don't say that you do one thing. Say that you do one thing well, and are trying to do some other stuff and you'll see what sticks. After all, that's how great ideas come about - trying things and seeing what sticks. Maybe I'm just being picky here (considering I said that no one reads the "about" page anyway), but it seems a little off for a company that claims to do one thing to also make glass boats.