Permissions

Facebook allows a user to set all kinds of different levels of privacy for every part of the profile in order to ensure a sense of safety and degree of restraint (as false as it may be--but I'm not actually interested in debating that here). That's something that makes people so much more open on the Internet; it's like lacking the inhibitions that are similarly dispelled with alcohol, but being able to set parameters that say, "Creepy Joe Shmoe can't see my phone number and photos, but BFF Lindsey Mindsey can," and to have that be so. (Again, let's ignore the fact that entering your phone number anywhere online means that it's out there for CyberStalker Joe Hacker to find.)

Real life is decidedly less simple. There's a variably fine wall that separates hospitality from "come hither," and sometimes, depending on the guest-cum-invader, the stakes are pretty high if one missteps. College is such a strange time and place; the combination of living, working, and playing with your classmates makes for a volatile foundation, especially when additives like alcohol and manipulative (if well-meaning) friends come into play. Setting boundaries requires one to strike some balance between definition and delicacy; too harsh, and you lose or hurt friends; too delicate, and some people just don't get the hint. You end up stiffly spooning with a well-meaning young lad and counting the hours until he leaves.

People are such an easy commodity right now; I've heard many stories about the terrifyingly stagnant pool that is the social scene post-college (one defined by the boundaries of the office and the apartment building), but sometimes I think that the ease by which college folks can meet and dump each other makes us take each other for granted.

Since when did an invitation to dinner translate to an invitation to my room? My door needs privacy settings. Maybe I should be more detailed in my facebook profile. "About me: Prone to hospitality. Eager to cook for numbers and lend couch space to temporarily homeless friends. Disclaimer: helping me make dinner and revealing feelings while drunk does not grant permission to enter my bedroom after I excuse myself for bed. Uncomfortable with confrontation, so just... don't go there."