It's Good to be Stopped in your Tracks

“Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep out alone under the stars. Learn how to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back. Say no when you don’t want to do something. Say yes if your instincts are strong, even if everyone around you disagrees. Decide whether you want to be liked or admired. Decide if fitting in is more important than finding out what you’re doing here. Believe in kissing.”
― Eve Ensler

I Tweet Therefore I Am

'Who controls the past' ran the Party slogan, 'controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.'" - George Orwell, 1984.

During Adam Ostrow's TED talk 'After your final status update', he mentions a website that predicts your next tweet by analysing your previous tweets. All you have to do is enter your username, and it will automatically generate what your next tweet will be. I find this idea of data analysis within social networking equally fascinating and terrifying in an 'Orwellian Nightmare' kinda way, so I figured I'd try it out.

And here it is, my 'next tweet' prediction:
Talaga? Tala GaGa!!!! Biggest Rickroll ever read. Pinkola Estes Who Run With TED.

Well, what can I say... the likelihood that that would've been my next tweet is probably about 79%. Keep hitting that 'get your next tweet' button for endless hilarity. Be careful, you could lose a few hours in the blink of an eye.

Some other notable 'next tweet' results:

Jeremy Paxman
Does anyone find me a pineapple? Back from the content of this sandwich.

Stephen Fry
A cunning new recruit: Bowels working? "Haven't been issued with a child, despite the FB Instagram!

Mark Zuckerberg
Never thought I'd be on Facebook soon! So many interesting people can have unlimited connections on FB.

Some of my other favourite predictions:

Today, my life is getting educated. drive-through daquiris?! oh yes. could go for your reply, Opteka?

Jeremy Paxman staring at a unique Galician-Portuguese word - Shelina is a thing.

You will have zebras, jumping off at things. Anyone been updated since 2009. Collective denial.

This one is deep... 
The moment you expect to feel jaded. it's really hard. but I got all up in my soul.

And this one might be my favourite... 
Oh instagram, I don't care if I like! tres moody and lemon slices on Mark Zuckerberg.

Especially liking the part about lemon slices on Mark Zuckerberg.

Well, after all that, I'm 100% fifty-fifty that modern technology is just a hairs-breadth away from destroying the human race entirely.

Dull is the eye that will not weep to see 
Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed 
By British hands, which it had best behoved 
To guard those relics ne'er to be restored. 
Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved, 
And once again thy hapless bosom gored, 
And snatch'd thy shrinking gods to northern climes abhorred!

From "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" by Byron.

Optimism, Pessimism and Neutralism

Me
...it was a disaster, but its better than repeating the old mistakes.

Paul
But you feel better for it, right?

Me
better, and worse.

Paul
A no win situation

Kim
on the contrary, a no lose situation.

Paul
I admire your optimism [:-)]

Me
its not optimism, its... neutralism.

Paul
Haha im not sure if it's a good thing or not

Me
...it's neither good nor bad.



I'm starting to annoy myself.

Odd Things in My Inbox

This is probably one of the strangest emails I've ever found lurking in my Junk folder...

Hello my friend,

It is nice and joyful to found you on the Internet search. I thought is beautiful to make you a friend in this regard. My name is Luise Brown; Well I am a Canadian female. My friends tell me that I am a quiet person with a good sense of humor. I am always fair, straightforward, honest and easy going and I seek trust worthy friendship. I believe in giving and taking on both sides and I value faithfulness.

I like people for what they are and not for what they are not.

Find my profile; I will be detailed in my consequential mails and expecting same from you:

AGE: 27
Height: 174 cm 5' 6?
Weight: 60 kg 148 lbs
Waist: 24"
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Blond
City: Toronto.
Country: Canada.
Occupation: Admin.
Education: Ba. Management
Religion: Catholic
Marital Status: Single
Kids: No kids
Languages spoken: Fluent English & little Spanish.
Yours truly.
Luise.


Maybe I should reply? We're practically the same person afterall, except for the Catholicism.

Hm.

Fragments of a Ravenous Youth

Today, I went walking around the place I grew up. The fields, streets, and the parks close to the house I lived in for my entire childhood, right up until I went to university. I've been staying here a while now, but I've barely ventured out into the area immediately around the house, usually going further afield into town or to the gym.

I walked past a shop that I used to go to as a kid to buy a bag of penny sweets. A girl who lived across the street from me and I used to find copper coins and walk to the shop, sometimes sneaking an 11th penny sweet into a bag of ten. We would buy ice-pops in the summer that turned our tongues blue. I walked uphill along a road to a bridge. This was further than I ever went as a child, taking photos of the bare branches and the berries against the blue sky as I went. Cars passed by and people were walking their dogs, and a dual carriage way lay underneath the bridge.

I watched the cars for a few minutes and turned back, heading to the park behind my house. It has been repainted several times since I played there, it's now bright green and blue, but it was cherry red many years ago. I used to swing across the monkey bars until my hands calloused, and I could turn upside down easily. There was a girl (nicknamed the Kraken) I used to see there who would always try to stamp on my feet, so I stayed on top of the bars so she couldn't get me.

I remember running around the field in lime green cycling shorts with dirty hands, I must've been no older than 5 or 6. I remember playing cricket with some boys and a bat that was just too heavy, I remember waiting at the park with a girl called Janine and a boy called James for my dad to come and pick me up on a Friday night in the summer to take me to Cheshire for the weekend. Another girls brother had once fallen and hit his head on a bench there and was taken to A&E, and I often climbed the thick trunk of a tree behind the swings, only once slipping and falling out. I remember being older; sitting there with some high school friends, with older boys who smoked and looked down my top as they stood over me. We spent summer nights there and weekend afternoons, groups of boys on bikes, drinking beer and watching older kids smoke and flirting.

I sat on a bench, trying to adjust the manual mode of my Nikon so I could photograph the sun glaring out from behind the clouds. The same bench I'd sat on, holding hands with my first boyfriend. I'd once sat there at about 7am with tear-stained cheeks and blood soaking through my sleeves. The sun was bright but the air cold and I was about to leave, deciding at last minute to take a quick walk through the little forest area called the dell before heading home.



A flood of emotion hit me surprisingly hard as I walked down the sloping path between the trees, and so many memories over so many years came back to me in flashes. The time I'd borrowed a friends bike and the brakes failed and sent me headfirst into the bushes at the bottom of the slope. The time I'd met a friends ex-boyfriend there in the darkness, and we kissed up against a tree as a man with a torch walked his dog nearby, it was pitch dark and thrilling. The time when I was just a girl and I pushed a friend off the fallen log we were sitting on into some stinging nettles. A game of kiss chase, and one of the boys told me to only ever let him catch me, not the other boys. Countless treks to the end of this wooded area to climb through a hole in the hedge, to walk across the farmers fields and reach the stream, first with my sister when I was only 3 or 4. She still wore her school uniform and drank a can of Woodpecker and tapped a cow pat with her polished black shoe and impressively managed to escape the mess oozing from the crack. One summer, a group of four of us, two girls and two guys, playing on the rope swing over the stream. The swing came to a standstill away from the bank, hanging over the stream, and I had to climb up the rope to lift myself off it and lower myself down into the shallow water. The other girl stepped into a muddy bank and instantly sank up to her knee, and almost lost her shoe. We spent hours there in the sun, and went home in the evening filthy and tanned and weary in the way that only sunshine and physical exertion can make you feel. One of those boys was my boyfriend that summer, he was a year younger than me and cute and we broke up once the autumn came.

All of these fragments floated back into my mind. Whole summers distilled down and remembered in a single image, or several feelings lightly strung together with a fragile thread, much of the information drained away, blown away by Time like a fine gold dust. These brightly coloured fragments were all crowding into this tiny little place of nothing more than a few trees and muddy paths. Fragments of a life lived, almost identical to so many other childhoods across the world and yet completely unique, untold by the silent trees and the houses that watched behind garden fences. I felt so overwhelmed, tears sprang to my eyes behind my sunglasses.

And as so many times before, I walked away from the dell, heading for home. So many summer evenings heading home hungrily for tea. And all those people and myself, we came and went from each others lives. Some of them I know have children now, some of them I can barely remember their names. Most of them I'll probably never see again. I wonder if they ever remember those times, or think of this place?

I found myself wondering when I had last come down here. And what I was doing, thinking, and who I was with. I couldn't have known it would be the last time I'd be there, the last time I'd feel truly a part of that place, the last time I'd feel the interconnectedness of the people, experiences we shared, however insignificant, and the trees themselves who have stood there all that time and watched us, and stayed there when we went home for tea and the sun set orange against the bricks of our houses, and have been standing there quietly growing ever since, and have never said a thing. I don't recall the exact moment when those connection ceased to exist. But after that last time, the people left, and the place became empty, filled only with the invisible memories, crowding quietly and brightly between the trees in the sunlight, tugging at my heart.

the snow falling faintly through the universe

"A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
From The Dead, Dubliners by James Joyce

Do It In The Dark

...lights on or off?

At various points in our lives, we've probably all worn glow-in-the-dark, dined by candlelight, or played Blindman's bluff; but until recently I was totally in the dark about an intriguing conceptual dining experience called Dans Le Noir.

For those equally unaware, it's a restaurant where customers dine in total darkness. And we're talking 'pitch black' here, not just 'lights out'. Despite the obvious practical problems (soup, table corners, do they turn the lights on if someone starts choking?), the franchise seems to be doing pretty well - Dans Le Noir has restaurants in Paris, London, New York, Barcelona, St. Petersburg and Kiev.

Before entering the darkness, guests order from a menu at the bar, and personal items (including lighters and phones) are stowed in lockers. Diners are not told exactly what they will be eating, instead selecting one of four general menus: meat, seafood, vegetarian, and no holds barred - past menus have included kangaroo, crocodile and veal. The waiting staff are all blind or visually impaired. Handling cutlery is supposed to be tricky-verging-on-impossible, and several reviewers have mentioned pouring wine over their fingers, so make sure you wash your hands before going in.

I can't decide if this is an awesome philosophically enlightening experience or a ridiculous gimmick, but they do say that seeing is believing; so I've decided to try and visit Dans Le Noir when I'm in New York in May. I'm hitting up the NY branch not in the least because of a vast body of scathing reviews of the food in the London branch - lavender ice-cream with blue-cheese gnocchi? We're blind, not stupid.

Horizons

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." - Mark Twain

I Hate Valentines Day

The weather's shit, it's nearly Valentine's day, which, if you're single, means only one thing. You want to kill yourself. (Don't.)

Valentines day sucks. It sucks if you're single, because you can't risk even going outside in case you're seen by someone you know and deemed a sad case for being alone on the most romantic day of the year, or even worse, being seen with a single friend and wrongly labelled as lesbian (awkward), or the worst of all; being seen with a group of single friends and being labelled ringleader of a tragic man-hating coven of pint-drinking ladettes, with eyes rolling and 'no surprises she's single again this year' looks.

Complete lack of spontaneity, over-priced set menus, being single... there's plenty of reasons to hate Valentines day, but what you really need to know is how to escape this rose-weilding shame parade.

The Budget Option
Stay in and watch American Psycho. For those who are in the dark, it's a comedy. It's funny when he's chasing her down the stairs completely starkers except for his pristine white running shoes. With a chainsaw. Don't forget to laugh. Bitterly.

Nothing Says 'You're Special' Like a Mass Produced Sentiment Written by Someone Else.
Send yourself flowers (only if you work in an office, doesn't really apply if you're working from home). Then go home, put on a mask, and stand outside a love-sick restaurant giving these cards to strangers.

Leave the Country
Go and haggle for carpets in Istanbul. Call into work sick for two days - you can get a return flight to Istanbul for £76 with EasyJet. Except it'll probably get canceled, so you'll spend two days camping in an airport. But you might meet a hot guy there.

Alternatively, you could just check into a mental institute. Just remember you can't check out quite so easily.

Are British People Really As Emotionally Repressed As The World Thinks They Are?

"As we move around the streets, we tend - women especially and understandably - to give away little that might draw unwanted attention to us. In the Tube, we sit facing each other like zombies. Whatever we're feeling and thinking, we keep our faces muscles firmly under control. How anxious we are in case the 'nutter' talking to himself in the corner might come and sit next to us! We've taught our bodies to disconnect the expression from the emotion."

Mike Alfreds, I. N. (2007). Different Every Night. London: Nick Hern Books Limited.

Casual Fired Day

How To Get Fired

Hate your job but having a hard time finding a way to quit? Leaving a job is in many ways like breaking up with a bad lover, or cutting loose a friend you've grown apart from. It's about as easy as smacking a puppy in the face. Do you ever feel like.... a plastic bag? No seriously, do you ever feel like it'd be a lot easier if they ended things first? Then you wouldn't have to feel guilty, and you would be the one who spends all day in your pajamas eating Ben and Jerry's Cake Batter ice-cream.

Wouldn't it be easier if they just fired you? Well, yes, it would. Then you wouldn't have to explain that your colleagues' vomit-inducing B.O problem is making you feel like you're going through the early stages of pregnancy, or that you think your boss might have forged his degree certificate.

Yes, it'd be much easier if they ditched you first. So here's how to say 'it's not you, it's me' to your job without saying a word.



Leave raw meat on your desk.
Casually press it to your face every now and again. If anyone asks you about it, pretend you have no idea what they're talking about.






Insist on always speaking through a mega-phone.
And find lots of reasons to speak. Ask permission to go to the toilet, narrate your own stream of consciousness, recite the lords prayer every time someone enters or leaves the room.





Have a screaming match with your laptop.
Re-enact a break-up scene with your Mac. Tell it that you hate the way it looks at other Macs.







Take your dog to work.
Leave every hour to take it for a walk. If anyone complains, cry inconsolably. Like this. :-D









Naked Friday.
Simply forget to wear clothes. Actually, this might not work. If your pervy boss decides it's a good idea, then you're still working a job you hate, in a naked office.





Wear an lycra leopard print body suit.
Refuse to do anything except lean on an imaginary filing cabinet.









Only thing worse than wearing a bad outfit? Sharing a bad outfit. Team up with a few equally unhappy colleagues (or better still, someone who doesn't work there at all). You can just use tinfoil if you can't find a dress big enough. Use sparingly, and don't forget to top it all off with a look of utter disapproval.

Enter the Dragon

Celebrating Chinese New Year, Dragon-style, Far from the East: A Crash Course in Chinese Culture

Whether you're a homesick Hong-konger or someone whose experience of China begins and ends with the sweet and sour pork from the local Chinese-chippy, it's time to don something red and celebrate the arrival of the Year of the Dragon. If you're 24, 36, 48, or 60 this year it’s lucky for you, but fortunately, everyone else is allowed to celebrate too (that's called Communism).

The Parade
The year of the Dragon officially begins tomorrow, Monday 23rd of January, but the celebrations in London will commence a week later on the 29th of January.
The parade starts at 10.15am on Rupert Street (nearest tube Piccadilly Circus) and finishes at 11.30am. At noon, the opening ceremony will commence on the main stage at Trafalgar Square with Boris Johnson and Stanley Tse, who will perform the Dotting of the Eye ceremony, which will bring the dragons and lions to life (obviously). More than 100 performers will take part, including the Chen Brothers (who, somewhat obscurely, hold the Guinness World Record for the highest pole jump in flying lion dance). The event culminates in the fireworks finale at 5.40pm.
A second stage in Shaftesbury Avenue will host performances from a range of local community groups and schools. You'll also find a parade of lion dancers and a range of stalls selling traditional produce in Chinatown.



The Culture
If you know next to nothing about Chinese culture, this is a good place to start. Watch 'Love in a Puff', read 'The World of Suzie Wong', or book yourself a ticket to see Cantopop sensation Eason Chan as he brings his concert to the O2 Arena London on the 23rd April 2012.
Alternatively, you could just go and sit in the Cafe de Hong Kong near Leicester Square tube station and yell 'diu lei' into a mobile phone, or perhaps say a cheery 'kung hei fat choi' to an actual Chinese person. Note: I wouldn't suggest saying this to any waiters in Chinatown, you're likely to receive a response along the lines of 'what that fuck are you talking about mate?' in a strong Essex accent.

But in all seriousness, here are some of my favourite things to do around CNY.

Fresh Flowers
Walking through the rainy Victoria park, squeezing amongst the crowds of people and the stalls selling hello kitty trinkets, and of course bunches of flowers. The crowd peaks at a few hours before and after midnight of the New Year's Day. In London, take your camera and check out the New Covent Garden Market.

Orange Throwing
Do it like they do in Lam Tsuen Village; Write down your wish, attach it to an orange, wind up and lob it into the branches of one of the specially provided wishing trees. Any tree in or near China town will do. In Hong Kong, this practice was discouraged by the authorities when one of the branches gave way and injured two people. Exercise due caution.

Fish Lantern
Filling your apartment with Chinese lanterns is preferable to setting off fireworks indoors. So, construct your very own Ang Pow Fish Lantern! This is supposed to mark the end of the New Year celebrations. In some region and countries, this festival is also regarded as the Chinese version of St. Valentine's Day.



The Food
The food is perhaps the most important element of this celebration, and of Chinese culture itself. Self-induced food comas are a past-time that many Hong Kongers spend a good deal of time exploring and perfecting. So, screw your New Years diet Resolution and check out the following for classic Cantonese, fiery Sichuan and delicious dim sum.

The Royal China Club
40-42 Baker Street, W1U 7AJ

The best dim-sum in town. Classic Cantonese cuisine; don't miss the Xiao Long Bao. Book ahead on a Sunday afternoon.

Bar Shu
28 Frith Street, W1D 5LF

The pinnacle of Sichuan cooking. As Mao said, 'If you don't eat chillies, you won't be a revolutionary.' - many of the items on this menu are marked as very hot.

Princess Garden
8-10 North Audley Street, W1K 6ZD

Beggar's Chicken (advanced notice required), abalone, and seaweed. Cantonese classics and modern inventions by Leading Hong Kong Head Chef, Mr Wai Ming Chow.



This is a great opportunity to experience the best elements of another culture, try new food, and throw oranges at trees. Whilst CNBC claimed that China will never rule the world, I'm going to hedge my bets and take sides with MC Jin, when he uttered the immortal lyrics: "Ya'll gonna learn Chinese, ya'll gonna wanna be Chinese, ya'll gonna learn Chinese, when the pumps go off, ya'll gon' speak Chinese". So maybe it's about time you shoved a pork bun in your mouth and made friends with the dragon.

Kung Hei Fat Choi, bitches.

The Plastic Surgery Bubble

is it finally about to burst?

Everyone's talking about breasts. No change there then. From the recent exploding breast implant panic to the tit-parade that is Big Brother, all those horrendous scripted-reality shows about people in Essex, and pretty much everything else on TV except a few cookery shows and QI, you can't channel-hop without being confronted by a parade of giant skin-covered fishbowl-shaped mammaries.

I heard them discussing the topic of implants on ITV's Loose Women yesterday, right before Jennifer Ellison came on (who surprisingly had nothing to say about the issue, but then I guess she probably doesn't care since she doesn't need the NHS to foot her bill).


They were discussing the issue of private companies refusing to offer free removals in light of the fact that the implants are thought to not be as safe as first indicated. Carol Mcgiffin said something to the effect of 'asking them to replace your implants is like getting contractors in to renovate your house, and when they've finished, saying "I don't like it!", and expecting the government to fix it.' Actually, it's a bit more like getting your house renovated then finding out afterwards the paint is loaded with asbestos, but I do agree with the point that it's not exactly a great idea to put industrial-strength silicone into your body in the first place.

End of an Era?

So does this amount to the beginning of the end for the golden age of going under the knife? The first breast-implant operation happened exactly 50 years ago, but has this fashion finally filtered down to the tragic clearance bins of cosmetic alterations? One day, perhaps very soon, will we look back on this phenomenon as one of those awful things we did to our collective selves, like public executions and 80's synth pop?

I'd like to agree with Harriet Walker and say yes, boobs are over, but honestly, I think it's a trend that's here to stay for quite some time yet. It's far more than just a ghastly aesthetic choice; it has roots in far deeper social and psychological problems. On a surface level, it's ultimately a question of taste: if scripted reality, the obsession with z-list celebrities, and the fact that more people are getting breast implants today than ten years ago are any indication, perhaps ours is somewhat lacking.

According to this article, "Emotional Chantelle Houghton has broken down again in the Big Brother house, saying she should have had therapy instead of plastic surgery after her split from Preston."
Now I don't have a clue who either of these people are, but a quick Facebook search reveals dozens of groups, each with hundreds of members, claiming things like 'We Love Chantelle Houghton'.
In a society where women like this are revered and few people have heard of women like Ellen Johnson Sirleaf and Jill Abramson, is it really surprising that breast size is often valued over brains?

But maybe I'm completely wrong, and this Chantelle chick is a charity-supporting future Nobel prize winner.

Supply and Demand

Verdict? This trend is here to stay, at least until there is a substantial value shift in personal and cultural spheres (2013?). As long as we continue to idolize these silicone carriers, put them on TV and in magazines, and create groups in their honour, they will continue to multiply.

But why the hell do we do this? One word: Shadenfreude. We simply love watching dumb celebrities get fat, get thin, and get fucked up. In front of cameras. That's why Jodie Marsh isn't stacking shelves in Tesco, and this video of Amy Winehouse at Belgrade has had more than six million views. And also why not a single person, onstage, or off, stopped her from doing this. We enjoy watching people crash and burn, so we put unbalanced people on pedestals and wait for them to fall off. I guess they're more like to topple over if they're front heavy and can't see their own feet.

So it looks like bad taste boobs and bad taste entertainment are here to stay. But it's really not that bad - I mean, it's not like there's a woman giving her daughter a $9,850 voucher for a boob job as a seventh birthday present, or horror-stories of breasts exploding at altitude. Right?

Virtual Addictions Are Very Real

"...people don't know what they want until you show it to them." -- Steve Jobs, BusinessWeek, May 25 1998

I was chatting to a friend on Facebook last night, and he threw me this quote as an idea for an article. This got me thinking about those things which we consider essential, and that there was in fact a time when we managed to live perfectly well without them.
To start with, we never would have even been having that conversation if sites like Facebook didn't exist, and as I sit here, typing at my mac, I start to think of the olden days, when writers sat under trees with notebooks (the ones made from actual paper) and pencils. What did they even write about? How did they research anything?! The mind boggles. Today a friend admitted he went cold turkey when his last iPhone broke, and lasted an inglorious total of two weeks. The benefits of modern technology and social media are fairly well-documented, but are we becoming too reliant?

The things you didn't realise you couldn't live without

Plenty of us have developed a way of living that makes us truly believe that we couldn't function without Facebook, Twitter and Google, but what would happen if, overnight, these companies decided to start charging for their services?
Would you quit, or would you pay?

I think that I'd quit on principle, but in reality, that might not be as easy as it sounds. You'd instantly lose your friends, followers, and your main information source - it'd be the media equivalent of getting expelled from school, becoming a social outcast, and getting ditched by your boyfriend, all in one day.

Support groups would probably spring up everywhere, packed with addicts.
There's no DSM criteria for being a social media addict, but maybe there seriously needs to be. Have you ever counted how many times a day you check facebook? Do you tweet more than 50 times a day? Are you still stalking your ex from 2009 on a daily basis? Perhaps we need a social media Rehab ( though god knows what the hell people would do there).

"Extraordinary thing, the internet. Possibility of genuine global communication, the first great democratic medium.... Two guys wanking in cyberspace." 18 years ago, Anna from Closer by Patric Marber notes a disappointing reality of technological advancement. Unfortunately, for every news-sharing networking professional, there's going to be at least twice as many securing overseas wives, checking into 'bed', or blasting racist comments out of their asses. Perhaps some of these indispensable applications are proving more trouble than they're worth.

Virtual trouble is indeed leaking into the real world. Wikipedia claims that 'In the UK, between 20 to 33 percents of divorce petitions cite Facebook as a cause'. The same page also cites 'envy' and 'stress' as negative psychological impacts that affect users. This might sounds ridiculous, but ask yourself; have you ever been slightly offended that someone removed you from their friends list, or felt inadequate when reading a friends status update about their fabulous life?

An application called 'Take This Lollipop' that recently went viral is another indication of our fascination over privacy and boundaries. Despite being warned by public service messages about privacy such as this, I still see many of my Facebook friends listing their addresses (even the floor and apartment number), and their current location. Sandra checked in at the Gas Station at 2am. Do you really want 687 people to know you're in a deserted place, alone, in the middle of the night?!

It's partly a question of moderation on our part. Facebook stalkers are only able to access information that we have put there in the first place. This isn't something that people would necessarily be concerned about, not before you find yourself the victim of a malevolent cyber-being who stalks you through dozens of fake profiles, sends slanderous messages to your co-workers, your boss, and your family, harasses and verbally abuses you on a daily basis, and turns up at your boyfriends apartment on your birthday, for example.

Kicking the Habit

We've always been aware that drug addicts will do almost anything to feed their habit, and as social media moves from the realms of 'want' into the dungeon of 'need', we could be walking into a not-so-cleverly-concealed trap.

But how do you know if you're in too deep?

Have you ever declined a social invitation (like, going for a drink with friends) in favour of sitting in front of facebook for the evening?
It's a given that you occasionally stalk your ex, but do you have a fake profile for the purpose, and have you ever sent anonymous messages to him?
Have you ever updated your status with something like "is going to bed" or "is watching the dog sleep"?

Is you answered yes to the above, you may need professional help. If you answered 'yes' to number three, please delete yourself immediately and permanently from Facebook, everybody hates you.

With the future of the internet as unstable as it is, maybe it's wise to prepare for the possibility of a social media apocalypse. In the spirit of half-hearted New Year's resolutions, here are three offerings I am prepared to give up to the internet gods (who I believe to be working at The Huffington Post (#shamelessflattery):

1. Twitter. As much as I enjoy the twitterings of Charlie Brooker and Steven Fry, the majority of tweeters are twits, and I recognise that it is basically the internet equivalent of the lidless eye of Sauron.

2. LinkedIn. I'm convinced that no one in the entire world uses this site, despite the emails I keep getting informing me that so-and-so has invited me to join. It must be some sort of evil conspiracy.

(Did I really agree to cull three internet habits?)

3. Facebook. Yes, really. It's basically a glorified email-platform these days, and I could surely just use email for that, right? The only reason I'm not going to delete myself is because I can't be bothered copying all my photos and contact details down, it'd take forever. The only reason.