#214 – Complaining about Facebook

18 02 2011

To suggest that Facebook is important to the bogan is akin to suggesting that it has only a touch of Chlamydia. Facebook has rapidly become the Alpha and Omega of the bogan’s universe. It is the first thing a bogan engages with in the morning, and the last thing it gazes upon before it lays its head to rest. Within Facebook’s innocent-seeming blue layout and unassuming fonts lies a panopticon of bogan self-satisfaction, passive aggression, shattered relationships, blurry photos and shame. There is little grammar or syntax.

The bogan’s dependence on Facebook has grown so great in the brief few years that it has been aware of the site’s existence, that it now views it as a publicly available, publicly funded service, much like electricity or water provision. Without any serious consideration, and purely on the basis of its now entrenched reliance on the site’s validation portals, the bogan now knows it has as much of a right to Facebook as it does to freedom of speech and its fifth amendment rights.

The bogan does not like change. Facebook, however, like any growing company, is obliged to continually adapt its service offering to ensure its widening market is properly catered to. One of the consequences of this is that Facebook will periodically tweak the presentation of the site, subtly altering the ways its users interact with it and each other; a decision most likely based on the near infinite amount of data the company collects on user habits. Ergo, it stands to reason that any change to Facebook’s layout comes in an effort to enhance the bogan’s user experience.

That the changes are for the bogan’s ultimate benefit matters not to the bogan, for the bogan was comfortably ensconced in the nourishing cocoon that was Facebook’s old layout, seeing no need to go changing what is already a perfectly excellent site. Upon logging in to Facebook recently, the bogan discovered that Facebook’s photos feature had been changed. It spent several seconds staring blankly at the now-unfamiliar method of viewing photographs, before reacting like a toddler that woke to find itself on a distant planet. It cried. All over the book of faces, it cried. On its status, it cried. On the comments section of its assortment of duckfaced photos, it cried. It cried by joining a group of other bogans who were also crying about these changes.

It will furiously make a comment on the wall of that bogan-rage-collective, effectively re-working the group’s thesis statement, sans correct grammar and with at least one superfluous apostrophe, then proceed to familiarise itself with the new layout so it can efficiently upload photos of the previous night’s clubbing and post passive aggressive status updates about whichever friend it got into a fight with that night. Fifteen minutes later, the bogan forgets that the layout has changed.





#89 – Their Children on Facebook

19 02 2010

The internet has achieved a number of momentous leaps forward: culturally, socially, technologically. However, none have enjoyed the benefits of the growing reach of the intertubes as the bogan. Through the power of the net, the bogan now has the capacity to broadcast every aspect of its life to everyone. This brings the bogan one step closer to achieving nirvana – celebrity status –appearances on reality television acting as an interim step notwithstanding.

For you see, the bogan believes – doesn’t think, but truly believes – that you care about them, their family and absolutely everything that occurs therein. While later installments will deal with the bogan’s love of posting every blurry, homogeneous photograph from Saturday night at X Bar, it is the use of photographs of boganinity’s next generation on their Facebook page that is perhaps THE defining bogan characteristic.

None of this takes into account that Facebook ‘friends’ are hardly friends in the sense that friends tend to actually have a role to play in a person’s life. A bogan’s Facebook friends, by contrast, often have only a peripheral connection to the owner of an account. The bogan, in their effort to do everything to the x-treme, managed to rack up a ‘friend’ count approaching 1,400 within two weeks of signing up, having assiduously requested a connection with every single person their lives have tangentially brushed up against. At this point, the bogan considers it an ideal opportunity to ensure that all images of all things about their life are available to the broadest audience they have access to.

Hence, their offspring. Their offspring dancing, playing, vomiting, laughing, crying, crawling, walking, shitting, eating and looking cute. All. Over. Facebook. Even better is when these children hit the age of about seven or eight, and are then photographed in semi-alluring poses, with makeup, and posted on Facebook.

But it gets better. There is a small, but growing, niche of bogans who, in prototypical bogan fashion, take this trend to its most extreme conclusion. They use the photo of their child as their own profile picture on Facebook. Because, clearly, they ARE their children. Because the importance of their children, the sheer glowing awesomeness of their spawn, is so great that it eclipses the existence of the bogan. Because you might not click on their latest album, “Breeyanahs’ first poo!”, to view their progeny’s tentative expulsive efforts. Because you care.





#59 – Joining Moronic Facebook Groups

7 01 2010

The bogan likes to belong. It also craves a sense of order and purpose. The emergence of social networking spaces such as Facebook has given the bogan the means to indulge this higher order need to a spectacular degree. It can now proudly pledge its allegiance to a dizzying array of asinine interests, as long as it is worded in bad grammar and has at least two misplaced apostrophes.

Inexorably, the bogan will gravitate towards groups that have in excess of 10,000 members, a reassuring sign that the majority is on board its Titanic of dreams. The flotsam ranges anywhere from uninformed social/political causes (“Save Schapelle Corby/Don’t Let Sudanese Refugees In/In australia we eat meat, drink beer and speak FUCKIN ENGLISH), to harebrained irony (“I have joined way too many groups since the layout has changed“), to stationery (I love bubble wrap“) or to a simple expression of the will to live (“I do not want to be eaten by sharks/I love not being on fire“). There is also the non-political cause – such as “I will name my son <insert stupid comic book name> if this group reaches 10,000“.

Even more, the bogan will join groups that simply state something utterly banal, but allows the bogan to feel better that they are not the only one who appreciates the cool touch of unused pillow case on hot summer skin. Here is a brief list (please assume that the bulk of these are followed by (sic)):

“I hate stupid people”

Sitting in your towel after a shower because you’re too lazy to get dressed

NO HAT, NO PLAY… ruined my lunchtime!

deliberately driving slower when being tailgated

Hot Showers

Throwing paper balls in the bin

The Sound & Smell of Rain

scribbling the pen untill it works

I Use My Cell Phone To See In The Dark

Going to the Footy.

I Hate Private Number Calls

I ♥ THE WEEKEND

Using the laptop in bed

I need a vacation!!!

A Warm, Cosy Bed

TEXTING!

Sleeping with one leg out of the covers

I Flip My Pillow Over to Get To The Cold Side

Not being on fire

Looking in the fridge, then the cupboard, then the fridge, then giving up.

I Hate When I Wake Up And Realise My Dream Wasn’t Real.

Blasting music when you’re home alone

Drunk texting

The bogan will then use this space to post one comment, generally in fervent agreement with the page’s thrust, then proceed to completely forget that they ever signed up. This leads to a new, sure-fire bogan-identification method, thanks to the good folk at Facebook and their new Orwellian ‘privacy’ settings. Simply click on the profile of a suspected bogan. Check for the number of groups the person is a member of, or pages they are a ‘fan’ of. There is, of course, a clear correlation between the number of pages listed, their inanity, and the individual’s level of web-savvy boganinity.

Eventually, the bogan is member of a critical mass of pointless groups that allow the discerning observer to accurately define the particular type of fuckwit they are dealing with. Thus, an individual that is a part of the “I responded to your text in two seconds, stop taking two hours to answer group should be avoided just like that pesky backpacker hawking Dolphin safety. Like a dirty fingerprint, the bogan swipes an attempt at uniqueness, only to signal to the world which types of ignorance and stupidity it cherishes the most.

Another option is joining the Facebook group for a blog about Things Bogans Like, proceeding to ignore the blog that the Facebook page was created to promote, then posting inane comments on the Facebook page that fundamentally revolve around the fact that bogans are, in their estimation, poor people.

However, its highly limited attention span will ensure the transience of its affiliations. One minute it joins “I Like Playing Farmville, and just as it ponders signing up to “Hot showers are awesome“, it has decided that it now belongs to “I Don’t Like Playing Farmville” – all in the space of 15 minutes. It will then get bored with joining groups, and resume its game of Farmville.