I was perusing my Facebook “News Feed” the other day, and came upon the status from one of my friends warning of some internet search website that is capable of displaying one’s name, address, phone number, and email address along with a picture of your house, your credit score, your profession, your age, and the number people living in your home, among other things. Her status was one of those that exhort readers to copy, paste and repost it as your own status.
As a rule, I refuse to participate in the copy, paste, repost method of setting one’s social media status. I won’t be bullied into peer pressure posting. It’s my status, I’ll do what I want with it, but that’s an entirely different rant.
Anyway, so I see this status and while I want to go on about my day, I begin to feel the first few tendrils of an expected good chuckle caress my brain. Come on, they whisper to me¸ you know you want to check out what it says about you. The wispy tendrils know how to push my buttons pretty well. Thirty seconds later I’m at the site’s main page, which suggests that it’s “not my grandma’s phonebook.” Grandma’s phone book was in the top shelf of the coat closet, weighed approximately 742 pounds, and opened automatically to the TV repairman’s number. So, on that point we can agree, this is clearly not her phonebook.
Undeterred, I start clacking my name into the appropriate entry box on the site’s People Search page. It finds 44 such matches in the United States. Not Canada, though. I’m not sure why there isn’t anyone with my name in Canada, but I’m planning to write my Congressman about that.
Canadian non-participation aside, I located the name in the list that’s actually supposed to be me, and clicked it for more information. I’m immediately shown the detailed view of my footprint in the world, and let me tell you that the experience was very enlightening. I found out more about myself in the space of the next 45 seconds than I did in all of puberty.
For instance, I apparently live in a home worth more than a million dollars, but for some reason, it’s in a depressed neighborhood where the average home value is only $120,000. I think the neighbors and their hovels are bringing down my property value! Then again, I suppose that’s what I get for living the in ghetto.
Continuing, I’m apparently living with 5-7 people, one of whom may or may not be my mother, although they misspelled her name by a letter. They did accurately identify that my Zodiac sign is Pisces and that I have a college degree. Unfortunately, it seems I’m a Cleric/Service Worker, so I’m probably not getting the most out of my dual degree in Computer Science and Mathematics. I’m excited that I evidently own an RV, and I suggested that the Puddinette and I should pack up the brood this weekend and head out on the road; that is, as soon as I remember exactly where it is that I keep that pesky RV when I’m not using it. Seems I must have misplaced it since it’s not the driveway.
Oh well, if we can’t go on a road trip in style this weekend, we can damn sure do some Home Decorating. It’s apparently one of my hobbies. Yep, Saturday afternoon, I’m gonna throw my trusty dog (that I don’t really have) in the truck (that I don’t actually drive), and head to craft store for some, you know, crafty stuff: needles and thread, maybe, or a glue gun. You need a glue gun to be crafty, right? Afterward, I’ll return to the house, which hopefully hasn’t been vandalized in my bad neighborhood, and spend the afternoon putting together a shadow-box with my lovely wife and mother, who lives with us.
Hmmm…maybe Grandma’s phonebook knew a little bit more about me; this website doesn’t know jack. On the other hand, all you alarmists out there can relax. See title above.