My Games Manifesto.  Although I am tolerant of people’s Mafia and Farmville addictions, if you add me although we never talked in high school for the sole purpose of trying to recruit me to your Farm, I’ll annul our virtual coupling faster than Charlie Sheen can say “Another court subpoena?”

My Stalker Manifesto. Yes, I will continue to drop in on your profile every now and then. Yes, it’s because we did that one thing that one time.  And I do realize that you could de-friend me at any time--although if you do, I’ll simply worm my way back into your network by pretending to be your long-lost cousin Olaf.  By the way, like that dress in your profile pic.

My Stalkee Manifesto.  Feast your eyes, Glenn Close. It’s my treat.

My Don’t-be-So-Literal Manifesto.  Yes, I know that every time you log in, Facebook asks “What’s on your mind?” Think of it as Facebook making polite conversation. This doesn’t necessarily mean that Facebook wants to know how much you need coffee, or a nap, or a way to get the lint out of your clothes.  If you keep it up, Facebook is going to run away from you--just like everyone at the office.

My Picture Tagging Manifesto. Okay, look, I know you have that pic of me and the aardvark.  Please don’t upload it and tag me for everyone to see.

My 2nd Picture Tagging Manifesto. Or the one of me and the mongoose.

My 3rd Picture Tagging Manifesto. The one with the ferret is okay, though, because I’m pretty sure I was wearing a Groucho Marx mask and rainbow wig at the time.

My Ignore-the-Luddite Manifesto. Whatever, so you don’t want to “risk your personal information,” or “compromise your privacy” or something and that’s why you refuse to join Facebook. Fine, that’s your choice.  Just don’t expect me to respond to your emails and texts. Do you know how much energy it is to hit “reply” and type something?  I would much rather simply click the “Like” button and enjoy the fulfillment of a genuine moment of human interaction.

My Arms-Reach-is-Close-Enough Manifesto.  I like being your Facebook friend because it allows me to see your life with my peripheral vision--not straight on, but crooked, like peering through slanted blinds.  And I may occasionally leave a comment. But if you leave a post on my Wall saying we should get together some time, I’ll simply leave a non-committal “that sounds good.” Because really, that person you’re with--not so great.  And that thing you do, not so hot.

I wish you well, though. Perhaps you’d like to join my Farm?

I knew it would be a change to go from a large company, where I oversaw a team of six, to a startup with an annual operating budget that’s only slightly higher than the average budget for a junior high presentation of My Fair Lady.  But it really has been a learning experience.  By the end of my long tenure at my last company, I was ordering my employees to go out and get haircuts on my behalf. Now?  I have to do everything myself.

ME: We’re launching our new site in two weeks!  We need to record videos of our high-tech widget!

THEY: Great.  What’s your plan?

ME: I know several vendors who can do the job!

THEY: Do they work for free?

ME: ....no.

(THEY drop a video recording and editing software package on my desk.)

THEY: Congratulations, Spielberg.

(LATER)

ME: The videos are done!  Now we need voice talent to record the audio tracks!

THEY: Great. What’s your plan?

ME: I’ll hire Kate Beckinsale!  She has the sultry, sensuous style that’s needed to truly differentiate our high-tech widget in the marketplace.

THEY: And how much does Kate Beckinsale cost?

ME: I think I can negotiate her down to two mil.  Actually, I hear she’ll do it for one mil if you don’t force her to wear her leather jumpsuit from the Underworld movies during the recording.

THEY: Given that our budget for voice talent is zero, we advise you to start doing diaphragm exercises.

ME: Me?  Do the voice work? I’m not a professional voice artist.

THEY: Just do your normal speaking voice.

ME: But my normal speaking voice is a falsetto that intermittently breaks out into the chorus of “No You Girls” by Franz Ferdinand.

THEY: Perfect!  Just be sure to enunciate.

This is going to take some getting used to.