In my seemingly incessant quest to find something about which I should be outraged (admittedly, it’s not terribly difficult; Between NPR and other drivers I’m usually spitting blood by the time I get to work), here’s “my” latest aneurism-inducing discovery:
According to a ValleyWag report, U.K.-based Faceparty, home of “the biggest party on earth” (and, in all likelihood, winner of every “worst site name in the world” trophy since its inception – nice work, blokes!), has, in an effort to exclude potential sex offenders from the ranks of, erm, facepartiers, has deleted the accounts of the majority of users age 36 and up.
Let me repeat that while you put your dentures back in your mouth, old timer: according to Faceparty, you can’t Faceparty because you’re probably going to sex offend someone, you dirty old geezer.
An admission: this is the year I turn 40. The big four-oh. Yep, I’m almost officially “over the hill”. Har har har! I sure hope someone gets me a birthday card telling me how funny it is that I’m old now. Yay! Maybe I’ll have a party (but not a Faceparty) with black balloons. Wheeee! It’s all downhill from here!
So this is of special significance. To me.
Not that I’d Faceparty anyway, but this is maybe the most blatantly monkey-brained adherence to questionable statistics that’s been forced down my craw in a long time. This, my friends, is pure and total ageism.
Which is why, right now, I’m signing up for a Faceparty account. While I apply, please hum to yourselves the theme music from Logan’s Run. Foiled! You need to be invited.
Keep humming, though. Because here’s the best part:
According to a Wikipedia entry Faceparty CEO Dave Bamforth, is, are you ready? 35. He started Faceparty in 1998 (or, in Internet years, 520 AD) , with a jolly good chap named Phineas Kibbey, as “Captain Miracle.” Yes, Captain Miracle. Faceparty is actually an improvement.
So, enjoy your little Internet playpen as you, um, age. Sparky. You got one year until you have to make your own Logan’s Run away from your own “biggest party on earth.” I’ve got an “over the hill/you’re not kewl anymore/no Faceparty for you, pops!” card all picked out. It’ll come with black balloons. Har har har! Meanwhile, I’ll be sitting here with my pants pulled up to my armpits, eating Texas toast and telling neighborhood hoodlums to git off’n my property.
PS – I will donate a whole, unopened bottle of Geritol to anyone who invites me to Faceparty.