Facebook Follies

I guess I’m now inadvertently a member of Facebook.
My responding to an e-mail from Facebook about Anmari (“anne-mah-REEE”) Linardi (“lynn-arr-DEE”) making me a friend seemed to sign me up.
The process seemed furtive, but requiring a password and e-mail address looked like a sign-up.
At least, as Sue says, it was free. If they had wanted money I would have deferred.
Well, now what?
My e-mail is deluged with a blizzard of communications from Facebook, one being that Marcy has written on my so-called “wall.”
I tried to get to it with a supplied link, but got presented with a log-in page.
That bombed; probably using the wrong password. I had set up another because it wouldn’t crunch my old Transit badge-number, the password I’ve used hundreds of times.
I’m sure this will prompt a torrent of noisy blustering, but Facebook seems a lot like FlagOut. (If it’s better, that’s a way of picking people’s brains. I sure endured enough noisy put-downs learning Quark. —Ask questions about Excel and I’m told I’m stupid and inferior. But I’m driving it!)
Like FlagOut, it’s post stuff and then “friends” (family members) can comment (rant) about it.
It’s just FlagOut costs me $6 per year, and Facebook is free.
Plus FlagOut limits access to only FlagOut members — although Facebook is limiting to “friends.”
LA-DEE-DAH!
To me, FlagOut is worth the piddling six bucks just to set off the Bluster-Boy.
I suppose I could do that on Facebook too; assuming he invites me as a “friend.” (??????????)
But he seems to be reading FlagOut at work — on the man’s nickel — while his beloved Porta-Johns gush raw sewage all over Crapo St.
I’ve never been much turned on by technology for technology’s sake.
But if we must now transfer to Facebook, so be it.
Doesn’t matter that much to me. I don’t post much to FlagOut any more anyway — just stuff to set off the Bluster-Boy, or get everyone else a-nattering.

I deleted a slew of Facebook e-mails the other night regarding people making me their “friends,” or agreeing to my confirmations.
Looks like there’s a way of getting Facebook to not deluge you with all this stuff; which to me is just clutter to dump.
Responding about Linardi I was also presented with a slew of people who apparently already had Facebook accounts.
My clicking them leads me to think I too now had an account, and was thereby making them “friends.”

“Anmari Linardi” was a coworker and friend long ago at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired three years ago. —She was a photographer. She is one of my vaunted Ne’er-do-Wells, an e-mail list of everyone I e-mail my stuff to.

“Sue” is the wife of my younger brother Bill in northern Delaware.

“Marcy” is my number-one Ne’er-do-Well — she was the first I was e-mailing stuff to. Marcy and I worked in adjacent cubicles at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired. A picture of her is in this blog at Conclave of Ne’er-do-Wells.

“Transit” equals Regional Transit Service, the transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY, where I drove transit-bus for 16&1/2 years (1977-1993).

RE: “old Transit badge-number......” —My “badge-number” was my employee-number.

“I’m sure this will prompt a torrent of noisy blustering.........” refers to the fact all my siblings (which are younger; I’m the oldest) will tell me I’m old and stupid, particularly the almighty Bluster-King (the “Bluster-Boy”), my all-knowing, blowhard brother-from-Boston (13 years younger), the macho ad-hominem king, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say.

“FlagOut” is our family’s web-site, named that because I had a mentally-retarded kid-brother (Down Syndrome) who lived at home, and loudly insisted the flag be flown every day. “Flag-Out! Sun comes up, the flag goes up! Sun goes down, the flag comes down.” I fly the flag partly in his honor. (He died at 14 in 1968.)

“Quark” is an elaborate word-processing and paginating computer software program we used at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper to computer-generate newspaper pages. “Excel” is Microsoft’s spreadsheet software.

RE: “While his beloved Porta-Johns gush raw sewage all over Crapo St. ........” —We all say my brother-in-Boston’s main job is to police the Porta-Johns on his job-site, but they were shot out by al-Qaeda while he fiddled our family’s web-site “on the man’s nickel.” His daughter lives on Crapo St.