My So-Called Life

Unfortunately for Generation MTV (I'm revoking the title X here), we, at the vulnerable 'tween age witnessed the roaring success of The Real World.  This planted the seed of reality television and how cool it was to watch "ordinary" people in their late teens and early twenties live in mansions, and throw each others toothbrushes into toilets.  We weren't exactly alloted the greatest material as you can see, so you'll have to excuse us later in life when some yahoo connects every college together allowing us all to network.

MTV didn't provide us with individual documentary cameras, so, left to our own devices, we reached for the latest and most affordable technology: the digital camera.  We utilized this gift to make our very own episodes on Facebook: The College Years.  In our defense, while documenting our lives, we were reassured that having a college email was mandatory for participation. Until the face of worlds creator, Tom or Justin Timberlake, whoever it was... betrayed us all and let any yahoo sign up.  Literally, all you needed was an email to allow access into the fairytale land of tequila shots and crude gestures.  

What our world creator didn't realize (or maybe he did, but was looking for a quick buck and sold us out) is that, OUR PARENTS, you know, the people that are funding this documentary, have email accounts.  I know parents aren't internet savvy, but word of mouth spreads, and well, duh Justin, your "big" hair brained idea wouldn't have taken off if word of mouth didn't exist! So our betrayer, the creator of face world, is to blame for this mess, not our content.

We thought we were safe in the secure walls of privacy settings and friend confirmations while making this world of one too many tequila shots. The result and the proof: our own college lingo on display for all. Having the personal belief that one shouldn't censor themselves for the benefit of others, I wasn't worried if the girl that sat next to me in language history that I was only really friends with in face world, understood that my real life friend Jill and I decided to speak only in Russian.  Jill would laugh, so it wouldn't matter if classmates would wonder if I believed myself to be a Russian rap star in real life, or question my sanity or spelling abilities.  I was a comical genius. The show must go on.

In early world face world, I would view it as vanity or an insult to said photographer if I removed my name form the bottom of their pictures.  Being a social girl, and finally owning my own digital camera, this led to many pictures.  As I began to accept the outsiders into our once safe world, I started to speak in English for the masses to understand and grew up (well, at least from riding in the trunks of cars, and beer bongs) a little bit.  Having newer picture albums of drinking beer while hiking a mountain, or drinking a beer with a statue. Things toned down a bit from the age of 22, and I boringly stopped letting real life friends spike my hair straight in the air with gel for my face world friends to see. 

The evidence of foul language, and spiky hair, became buried under layers of new and improved photography with beer and my own native country's language, allowing me to forget those little gems tucked away.  Time moves on, real life becomes more interesting than face life, you stop spending as much time in make-believe land, Justin keeps changing his mind on who can view what, so your upkeep isn't  what is was once.  Soon, you start getting excited to see your nieces, favorite aunt, and other relatives join.  Because, at this stage in your life, you are more interested in your niece's dance recital pictures than you are of letting the stranger sitting next to you in math class know how much fun you have every weekend with your Russian rap star friends.  

I suppose our generation of little documenting fools got us into this world of face mess and I'm no longer blaming Justin Timberlake.  In our defense, though: to the older generations, what if technology presented itself to you, and you vainly accepted at the age of 21?