You May Not Leave Gawker

It couldn't have happened to a more deserving group. Gawker, the flagship blog of the Gawker media empire, was hacked, with hundreds of thousands of emails and passwords made available to the public. Maybe it's millions, I don't know. But mine was among them and I've been changing most passwords this week just to be safe. I hadn't logged into Gawker in probably two years, the level of cynicism and sarcasm beyond what even an ass like myself was willing to engage in too often. I could not play with those kids. It is the Big Leagues of Dickishness, and I am only a farm-club player. I can't live in full-time snark. It's fun as a hobby and something I dabble in out of my own frustration with not being able to rule the world as its benevolent dictator, but it can get into your soul if you play with it too seriously. Kind of like Satanism. It's fine on the weekends, but once you start drawing pentagrams in the kitchen on a Wednesday morning, well, you're only a couple steps from sacrificing virgins. 

The commenter community at Gawker is nothing like the YouTube comment community. On YouTube you expect little more than name calling, insults, blatant spam and expletives, all usually spelled poorly or typed in Middle School Text Speech. On Gawker, it's more like a giant convention hall of would-be comedians who also happen to be the most smug, snarky and snide group you will ever encounter. In fact, Gawker states, "You need to audition to become a commenter." That was half the fun of dropping in on a Gawker thread. Some of the comments were hilarious one-liners and rapid-fire jabs just dripping with the kind of cruel comedy usually reserved for celebrity roasts. And I'm pretty sure it was that attitude of superiority that caused the hacker collective Gnosis to attack them.

So I thought now would be a good time to renounce the Church of Gawker. I got my "You'd better change your password" email from the administrators of the site, and I complied. But then I wanted out. Hang up my black robe and turn in my goblet of goat's blood. No such luck. From Gawker's recently modified FAQ:

How can I delete my account?
We understand how important trust is on the web, and some of you may wish to delete your Gawker Media account. Currently account deletion is not available. We will, however, give you this option as soon as possible.

That is the biggest load of corporate bullshit I have ever read. I know because I often write it. What Gawker is saying between the lines here is:

Look, if we let everyone bail right now we'd be in a world of hurt. We know you're pissed and we understand you want to leave, but we're not going to let you. We covet this list of users as our lifeblood. It is one of the things that tells advertisers how valuable we are. A mass exodus right now would screw us bad. You may not leave. Maybe later, but not now.

I tried to look at this from an IT standpoint and I still think it's bullshit. OK, maybe Gawker is afraid that some of the hacked emails and passwords will cause other crafty types to just start deleting Gawker accounts willy-nilly. Yeah, I could see that. But if I've already changed my password and confirmed I am the account-holder, why can't I get out now? Are we waiting for EVERYONE in the Gawker community to change their passwords before we are allowed to opt out? That'll take a while. Gawker's true hope here is that when they finally announce you are allowed to opt out, you will have forgotten or forgiven the Hack Heard Round the World. And they'll bury the announcement somewhere deep on the site if and when that time comes.

If an IT guru knows differently, please let me know, but my own consultations with a few skilled coders have confirmed for me that this is a giant load of shit on Gawker's part. The time it would take to write and test a code allowing confirmed users out of Gawker would be minimal.

Addendum: THIS is How You Do Social Media

In my last post, I lambasted local car dealer David Maus for his Star Trek outfit. I alerted my Twitter followers to that post. Someone at David Maus caught wind of that and responded.

Now, they could've gone the corporate route of, "@Jetpacks, sorry you didn't like our commercials. Please DM me and let's see if we can resolve this situation."

Instead they went with humor. Detractor de-fanged and diffused, slightly amused. Observe:

Now, if I'd been an actual customer with a legitimate complaint like, "David Maus screwed me on my trade-in," or "David Maus sold me a lemon," then I've no doubt that the social media team would've dealt with me differently, but  THAT, businesses, is how to handle the random rabble on Twitter and Facebook and in the commentariat of YouTube. There's no need to "engage" us. You don't need to provide a solution to the assholes like me who are only out to mock you. Joke with us (while getting a plug in for your product) and we're far more likely to forgive your goofy attempts at marketing and, who knows, maybe consider you the next time we need a new or used car.

You and 3 Other People Like This

We don't have to be bothered anymore leaving a comment. We don't even need to look at it that closely. We just have to let the person know that it meets our approval.

Jenny ran out of gas in front of a crack house and is being stared at by scary people.

Jim's dog died.

Erin is no longer in a relationship with Matt.


We're now casual observers, but we're all friends. And whatever you just said on Twitter or Facebook has already been buried by other updates from other people. You thought your comment was witty or wise, but you only got three "Likes" from your 746 "Friends". Or you shared a link with the world and hoped that your passion for miniature horses or naked hang-gliding would catch on. A few friends "liked" what you posted, but it's no big sensation. They're on to liking other things now. Here's my local NBC affiliate, hoping I will like them on Facebook or follow them on Twitter. 

I actually do follow WESH on Twitter, but only because they tweet the dumbest things a local "news" organization has ever tweeted and I like to make fun of them. I'm not about to "like" them on Facebook.

"Like" is so easy. It means you came, you saw, you clicked. But comments mean a whole lot more and convey at least that you took a moment to investigate the post, link, comment or thought. But who has time for that anymore? We've all got a feed overflowing with updates to catch up on and clicking "Like" will get us to the end faster. Until it fills up again.

What am I saying? I don't know. Maybe, "Slow down some," but that's like the out-of-touch newspaper columnist who bemoans all this texting and gadgetry and pines for the old days of telegrams and handwritten letters and sipping lemonade on the porch as we gather in the evening to reflect, recollect and connect. But I think the superficiality of Facebook is getting near a tipping point and a lot of those 500 million people are going to have had enough of it before long.