The Social Network Not-Review

I've just finished watching The Social Network. The credits are rolling at the moment and there's a very soothing kind of ambient music playing as the text rolls by. The credits are over now though, because I checked a few facts on Wikipedia and Google (Mark's birthday and proper italicization (that's a word?) rules respectively) so the following blog entry will be 'correct.'

I'm halfway tempted to play it again from the beginning just so I can have it playing as background noise while I write this, but the menu screen is a few minutes long and is surprisingly conducive to my writing. Anyway. The one thought that popped into my head within the last few minutes of the movie was this, 'This is my generation's Catcher In The Rye.'

Granted, my generation's Catcher In The Rye already is Catcher In The Rye, but The Social Network comes damn close to echoing what makes that story so powerful: I hate this world, but I want to belong.

The Mark Zuckerberg we see in the movie, which isn't the real one, is attending Harvard. He's in an exclusive club with back doors that lead to lucrative and powerful positions all over the world, but that's not what he wants. He just wants to have access to them. To know that should he ever decide to use them, he can. But he can't. They're not listed among his Membership Benefits. He's got a Silver Account instead of a Gold or Platinum. To counter this, he starts his own club and succeeds wildly. He's now the youngest billionaire in history, but he's still the guy who just wants to belong somewhere.

I can relate to that. Not the billionaire thing, but the desperation to feel like I belong. I have friends, and if you scroll down you'll see a lovely piece I wrote about how much they mean to me, but I just feel like it isn't enough sometimes. Of "friends" on Facebook, I have 79 while other's number in the hundreds. There's nothing wrong with that, but that doesn't make me feel any less secure when I think about it. I've been told I'm a great guy, but there's that number staring me in the face. It's not even committed enough to laugh at me.

I've also been told that I have this amazing talent for writing, and though I've seen it for myself, I sometimes can't help but think I'm being lied to. If it was there, I should have already written reams upon reams of poetry, fiction and essays. But I haven't. The ideas are there, rattling in my head, fresh as the day they cropped up, but they're stuck there. They want desperately to be put to paper, even if it's digital, but they can't get out. I want them to come out perfect, but that's not going to happen unless they come out. Even this rant is having a hard time finding its way onto the screen and it's not even fiction!

I want to write, but I can't. I tell myself I will when I have time, but I already have it! I sit on my couch with the TV on and Facebook open, hoping people read what I post and comment on or even Like it. I post song lyrics and YouTube videos in vain attempts to grab somebody's attention, forgetting how well it went the last time. I'll post those, but I won't post how miserable, lonely and disappointed in my life I am because I think it's a petty grab at attention towards my too small audience.

I hate my life at the moment. I say 'at the moment' because I can't see (or stand to bear for that matter) how this life could last into my 30's, 40's and beyond. Yes, I'm in school, but not the one I want to be in. I still live at home, and though I'm surrounded by all my possessions, it all seems so meaningless. I hate my job that I can't quit and something else I deleted though it's no secret what it was I'm sure. I'm scared because I have no idea what I'm supposed to do next, but I refuse to accept help because that's what weak people do. I'm a walking Catch-22 if ever there were one. I'm only happy when I'm miserable, but I'm always miserable so why aren't I happy?

I just wanted to write about how much I loved The Social Network. I wanted to say that Mark isn't an asshole. He's awkward, smart and a good guy, but damn if the good guy part doesn't get lost in the shuffle. I know what it's like to not fit in when by all accounts you should, and to then go about being alone with a stiff upper lip. It sucks. It's soul crushing work that goes unrewarded as long as it goes.

The film ends with Mark tapping F5 intermittently, silently waiting for the reason he's there to respond to his friend request. This blog entry ends with me posting a link to Facebook, warning people not to read it for how dreary and depressing it is. Then I'll be going to sleep. When I wake up I'll wring whatever joy I can from those few fleeting seconds where I can't remember what drove me to write all of this in the first place.

Good night.