![tesslynch:
Last night, at a zillion o’clock, I spent a bit of time exploring areas of the internet I had previously missed. Among those areas: nudist colony reviews and FAQs, recipes for sauces and purées, and, finally, the Facebook community of gang members and murder suspects. I lighted on that last flower for a really long time. Myspace, years ago, provided me the same capability — a view into the lives of people who were now in a room with a detective saying for the seven thousandth time that their Monday night consisted of watching Family Guy, and then pounding their fists in frustration saying “I don’t remember which episode!”
Gang life in Los Angeles is totally fascinating to me. It’s very difficult to get a comprehensive view of all of the gang territory that’s decipherable by the average curious person. There are maps, sure, and message boards that require registration (too scary to join?), but for obvious reasons gangs seem to avoid winding up on websites in a helpful way to people who are just wondering what’s going on there. And I am one of those people: gangs are such a complicated social faction, and they often form out of necessity. I’m not in any position to judge what anybody does. I take no stance on any of it, because all I can be is intrigued by what it would be like to be the person whose Facebook profile I gawked at all night, who is suspected of a serious crime, and who was disappointed by his trip to Magic Mountain (I initially screen-grabbed his status, where he first invites his friends to meet him at Magic Mountain, then updates from the park to say that he was “just now realizin I hated here [sic]! Fuck Six Flags and everybody who like it here,” but then I remembered what Sinatra once supposedly told Quincy Jones, “Q, live each day like it’s your last and one day you’ll be right,” and figured I didn’t want to be right this week).
His status updates include things like noting that it is extremely hot and he’d like to go to the beach, or that he left his phone in the Valley and it’s now too hot to go to the Valley, or asking genially for invitations to a pool. He thinks maybe he needs a job besides rapping, but then again, the more money one has, the more problems. He’s going to the casino again, and he’d like to stay away but, you know, he kind of needs the dough (ominous music). He smokes pot in the morning and has coffee, just like every morning. But then, pages down, he laments that his little brother is in prison (four people “like” it). He lets everyone know he’s single and accepting applications, “LOL.” Fifty percent of the time, his updates are sort of like my updates. Fifty percent of the time, his updates are the opposite of my updates. But if I met this dude outside a Fatburger or something, I’d probably have a lot to shoot the shit with him about: he also really enjoys coffee, he listens to kind of similar tunes, and I too have been disappointed by a trip to Magic Mountain.
Social networking is a great equalizer, and something that could as easily be used by the defense as the prosecution in a trial against someone who becomes instantly defined by one tremendously bad decision (each tremendously bad decision, presumably, having its own trial). A backlog of a year’s worth, or more, of day to day remarks doesn’t necessarily paint a picture of a “ruthless killer” or serial rapist, but a dude who’s always fussing about the temperature and cares about his family and would love a new transmission in his car because it’s such a fucking pain to live in LA without a working car.
Get Norman Mailer on the horn right away (but it’s too late!)! Where is David Simon! It’s not the fact that criminals are people that’s remarkable, it’s the compulsive way a person shares information even when they’re the type of person who probably shouldn’t. It’s the desire to find a pool party, a desire so strong that you weigh it against being stormed by the police and taken into custody, and the pool party wins. It’s whatever happened at Magic Mountain, which I guess I supposed to be the least gangster place on earth, within a few days of a serious crime. It’s very easy to read between the lines and get a page of status inter-updates telling you why what happened happened. He says he wants to stop gambling, especially right when he wakes up in the morning (DUN DUNNNNN), and he invites you to hit him up on AIM because, I presume, he’s feeling kind of lonely since his car broke down. Maybe he wants a Dr. Melfi, maybe Facebook is his Dr. Melfi. You don’t generally think of criminals as people whose need to connect is so strong, probably because if you’re in a gang you’re in the most volatile yet tight kind of community, the only one you can rely on not to judge your contribution to society and the members of which understand just where you’re coming from.
But there it is: his days look a little like your days, and his thoughts look a little bit like your thoughts, typed out on a computer that has a Farmville cache and a non-working right arrow key. And it really makes you wonder how your Facebook would look, and more interestingly how you would be, if things were just a little different.
I don’t think they have Facebook in prison.
I enjoyed every part of this.
Semi-related, as someone who once lived in North Hollywood, North North Hollywood, Saticoy & Laurel Canyon - North Hollywood, I always wondered what it was like for gang members that lived in the Valley. I wonder what the reputation of gang members from the Valley is to other gang members in LA? If you are badass, does in matter where you are? Or do gang members from Compton think gang members from the Valley are lame because they are from the Valley?](http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/photos/uncategorized/2008/05/30/geekgangsign.jpg)
Last night, at a zillion o’clock, I spent a bit of time exploring areas of the internet I had previously missed. Among those areas: nudist colony reviews and FAQs, recipes for sauces and purées, and, finally, the Facebook community of gang members and murder suspects. I lighted on that last flower for a really long time. Myspace, years ago, provided me the same capability — a view into the lives of people who were now in a room with a detective saying for the seven thousandth time that their Monday night consisted of watching Family Guy, and then pounding their fists in frustration saying “I don’t remember which episode!”
Gang life in Los Angeles is totally fascinating to me. It’s very difficult to get a comprehensive view of all of the gang territory that’s decipherable by the average curious person. There are maps, sure, and message boards that require registration (too scary to join?), but for obvious reasons gangs seem to avoid winding up on websites in a helpful way to people who are just wondering what’s going on there. And I am one of those people: gangs are such a complicated social faction, and they often form out of necessity. I’m not in any position to judge what anybody does. I take no stance on any of it, because all I can be is intrigued by what it would be like to be the person whose Facebook profile I gawked at all night, who is suspected of a serious crime, and who was disappointed by his trip to Magic Mountain (I initially screen-grabbed his status, where he first invites his friends to meet him at Magic Mountain, then updates from the park to say that he was “just now realizin I hated here [sic]! Fuck Six Flags and everybody who like it here,” but then I remembered what Sinatra once supposedly told Quincy Jones, “Q, live each day like it’s your last and one day you’ll be right,” and figured I didn’t want to be right this week).
His status updates include things like noting that it is extremely hot and he’d like to go to the beach, or that he left his phone in the Valley and it’s now too hot to go to the Valley, or asking genially for invitations to a pool. He thinks maybe he needs a job besides rapping, but then again, the more money one has, the more problems. He’s going to the casino again, and he’d like to stay away but, you know, he kind of needs the dough (ominous music). He smokes pot in the morning and has coffee, just like every morning. But then, pages down, he laments that his little brother is in prison (four people “like” it). He lets everyone know he’s single and accepting applications, “LOL.” Fifty percent of the time, his updates are sort of like my updates. Fifty percent of the time, his updates are the opposite of my updates. But if I met this dude outside a Fatburger or something, I’d probably have a lot to shoot the shit with him about: he also really enjoys coffee, he listens to kind of similar tunes, and I too have been disappointed by a trip to Magic Mountain.
Social networking is a great equalizer, and something that could as easily be used by the defense as the prosecution in a trial against someone who becomes instantly defined by one tremendously bad decision (each tremendously bad decision, presumably, having its own trial). A backlog of a year’s worth, or more, of day to day remarks doesn’t necessarily paint a picture of a “ruthless killer” or serial rapist, but a dude who’s always fussing about the temperature and cares about his family and would love a new transmission in his car because it’s such a fucking pain to live in LA without a working car.
Get Norman Mailer on the horn right away (but it’s too late!)! Where is David Simon! It’s not the fact that criminals are people that’s remarkable, it’s the compulsive way a person shares information even when they’re the type of person who probably shouldn’t. It’s the desire to find a pool party, a desire so strong that you weigh it against being stormed by the police and taken into custody, and the pool party wins. It’s whatever happened at Magic Mountain, which I guess I supposed to be the least gangster place on earth, within a few days of a serious crime. It’s very easy to read between the lines and get a page of status inter-updates telling you why what happened happened. He says he wants to stop gambling, especially right when he wakes up in the morning (DUN DUNNNNN), and he invites you to hit him up on AIM because, I presume, he’s feeling kind of lonely since his car broke down. Maybe he wants a Dr. Melfi, maybe Facebook is his Dr. Melfi. You don’t generally think of criminals as people whose need to connect is so strong, probably because if you’re in a gang you’re in the most volatile yet tight kind of community, the only one you can rely on not to judge your contribution to society and the members of which understand just where you’re coming from.
But there it is: his days look a little like your days, and his thoughts look a little bit like your thoughts, typed out on a computer that has a Farmville cache and a non-working right arrow key. And it really makes you wonder how your Facebook would look, and more interestingly how you would be, if things were just a little different.
I don’t think they have Facebook in prison.
I enjoyed every part of this.
Semi-related, as someone who once lived in North Hollywood, North North Hollywood, Saticoy & Laurel Canyon - North Hollywood, I always wondered what it was like for gang members that lived in the Valley. I wonder what the reputation of gang members from the Valley is to other gang members in LA? If you are badass, does in matter where you are? Or do gang members from Compton think gang members from the Valley are lame because they are from the Valley?
