Oh Myyy! (20 page)
I don’t know why anyone falls for George Fakei at all. Who on earth believes that I am giving out free Apple products? I haven’t even bought an iPhone 5 yet (and am reluctant to, until they fix their maps).
Fans who see and recognize the impostor tend to do one of a few things. The more helpful ones will immediately block and report the post or comment to Facebook, sparing the rest of the fan base the need to even see it. Community vigilance, I’ve found, is the best solution. With hundreds of thousands of fans on the lookout, it is rare that any one pesky spammer will last for long. Once reported, the spam appears in the comment stream as a set of ellipses. But alas, even if he is banned from my page, George Fakei apparently simply creates another user profile with the same name and image, presumably with a different email, and returns the next day or even within hours on the next wall post to annoy the base and ensnare the unwitting.
Other fans will post a note on my wall or a comment in the stream alerting me to the scammer, on the assumption that I wasn’t aware of him. The notes usually go something like this: “George, in case you didn’t know, there is an impostor offering free iPhones who is using your name and image.” This isn’t very helpful, but it is well intentioned. Some fans will even post a link to the offending page, though this often results in other fans clicking on it and becoming victims. A few fans even have railed at me for “tricking” them into giving out personal information, not understanding that the spammer and I have no connection. I really don’t know what to do about such folks except to sigh and explain the concept of the spammer to them.
Lastly, several fans a day will comment that I need to “change my password” because I “have been hacked.” This is, of course, not what has happened. All that the impostor has done is created a fake account using my likeness and something close to my name. But the world is so filled with security breaches and spammed emails that the first conclusion is often that a hacker has breached my security protocols. If that had really happened, I imagine a much worse result, such as pornography strewn on my wall.
Believe you me, I have done everything I can to be rid of the pest, including enlisting the assistance of Facebook Engineering to ensure that at least my own name cannot be misused by an impostor. While Facebook agreed to prevent anyone from registering the name George Takei as a fan page, that doesn’t stop this particular impostor from creating all variations of my name. Facebook even went so far as to limit his ability to post the same comment multiple times — at least to slow his spam down in the comments on my posts. But lately he gets around this by adding some gibberish at the end of each post to fool their filters. Like a pesky rodent that figures its way past every obstacle, it looks like George Fakei is here to stay.
Apart from the impostor, another common question I receive is this: “Is this the real George Takei or just a fan page?” I understand the impulse for fans to know whether they are getting the real goods or not, but I really don’t know how to reassure people more than I already have. After all, if I simply write back saying, “Yes, it really is me,” how is the person on the other end to know that it isn’t still some impostor?
When I first started on Twitter, there was a battle brewing over whether it was really me. Apparently someone had registered my name in the past and impersonated me for some time, causing some fans to become excited and then drop off in disappointment after learning of the ruse. The only way I could think of to verify my own identity was to link to my Twitter page from my website at georgetakei.com. That was proof enough for some people, but others wanted what was called a “verified account” from Twitter. These accounts were reviewed by Twitter and confirmed as authentic, and I had to jump through several hoops to get a “verified badge” placed on my Twitter page.
On Facebook I often see people comment under my posts poo-pooing the notion that the page is really mine. “Idiots, don’t you know that this isn’t the real George Takei?! Get a clue!” Those comments always amuse me, because their authors have no more basis for their skepticism than other fans have for their belief.
But now I have a confession. What I realized after a few months on Facebook, once I had over 300,000 fans and lots of comments and posts to sift through, was that I needed to enlist some help. I keep a fairly busy schedule, and am in studio or on set a great deal. It isn’t always possible for me to update my page regularly, and darned near impossible to get through all of the comments. I had to shut off messaging early on, as my inbox was always embarrassingly full, and I didn’t want fans to think I would just let their messages pile up and go unanswered.
Thank goodness for the help I got. First was Brad, who dutifully goes through all the fan mail, sifting through posts and sending me information or forwarding funny images to me. Without him, it would be hard to keep up with all of the information and communication that running my Facebook page requires. Second, I owe a debt to social media management tools such as Hootsuite (which I used for some time), which enabled me to pre-set a post to go out when I knew I would be busy or traveling. For example, if there were three images I wanted to share over the course of a day, I could pre-load them even the night before, and they would upload later for me. It was a lot like having an automatic sprinkler system. Later, I could go back and read the comments and laugh together with Brad over dessert. Now the Facebook Pages app has this functionality, making life easier for us all.
But even with Brad and handy social media applications, it still wasn’t enough as the fan base grew and grew. And so, I caved and hired an intern. And then another. For the sake of their privacy I won’t name their names, but they are terrific.
I have come to rely heavily on the folks who run the
Allegiance
website, which also hosts my blog. The production team over there is always willing to help me out with a quick video, with editing, and with setting up special fan applications. A good example is my fan contests. Facebook rules don’t permit me to host actual contests and offer actual prizes to fans, even if I’m just giving away autographed photos. So I’ve turned to my friends at
Allegiance
, who manage an extensive web site and have the resources to create and manage databases of fans for me. I am truly indebted to them for their help.
So yes, other than when George Fakei shows up, it really is me and it really is my page. And as it continues to grow, I’m sure I’m going to one day have to hire more people to help me manage it and handle all the fan input. I hope that doesn’t change the fun and informal nature of my fan interactions.
Nothing is so disappointing as making something you love doing daily into some kind of corporate structure. If that ever happens, I’ll probably hang up my Facebook smock and spend my remaining time more in the real world.
It’s on the Net, It Must Be True
In the play
8
by Dustin Lance Black, I play Dr. William Tan, a staunchly conservative defense witness for the backers of traditional marriage. In my brief scene, I cite “the Internet” as my source for my “evidence” that same-sex marriage is harmful to families and children. This always gets a laugh, because we all know, or should know, that the Internet isn’t a place where reliable information is to be found.
Or is it? Many people now turn to Wikipedia as the most dependable source of information, yet that site is dependent on crowdsourcing of facts (with a host of checks, of course). Any one with a mischievous bent can alter text and facts on Wikipedia, so at any given time you can’t have complete assurance that you’re reading the truth.
Then again, it’s about as well as we’re going to do. It’s been demonstrated time and again that “group intelligence” is more likely to be accurate than single postulations or guesses. A famous experiment conducted by finance professor Jack Treynor at the University of Southern California had students guess how many jellybeans were in a jar. The group’s average was 871, when in fact there were 850. Only one person out of 56 in the class had a closer guess (don’t just take my word for it, look it up on the Internet). A similar phenomenon occurred when townsfolk tried to guess the weight of a cow at a state fair, according to anecdotal accounts. Many of the guesses were very, very far off the mark. But the average of the guesses (with a large enough sample) was closer to the true weight than any single guess. Which reminds of me a recent joke:
We’re also seeing major news outlets go entirely online, including the recent announcement by
Newsweek
that it would cease its print publication. As more media organizations inevitably follow suit, we will face a day, not long from now, when all of our information comes from digital sources, meaning that rumors and untruths can spread even more quickly than before.
Ironically, then, we live in a world where, because of our connectivity, a falsehood can be spread far and wide in a matter of seconds, even while our ability to maintain collective intelligence is without parallel throughout all of human history. Governments, churches, and educational institutes, once the keepers of order and social enlightenment, are now scrambling to remain relevant as our collective consciousness and connectivity grows.
Watchdogs of the Internet, to no one’s surprise, have also sprung up in droves. I call these folks “Doubters.” They have come to play, at least in their own minds, a crucial role in verifying facts and debunking fiction. They are also some of the most annoying people around. Like Grammar Nazis are to the purity of the English language online, the Doubters are there at the ready to curb the excesses of the Internet, stopping rumors in their tracks and raining on our collective meme parades.
On occasion I’ve posted unlikely but hilarious images: a manta ray photo-bombing snorkelers; a picture of a Starbucks van, door open over half the logo, so that it simply reads “Sucks”; or a photo of the UK swimming champion Tom Daley, in a Speedo, with sponsor “British Gas” splashed across his rear-end.
Oh myyy.
These were all pictures sent to me by fans. I didn’t take them myself, nor do I claim that the pictures are “real.” I have no basis to make that claim, and, after all, I am posting it on the Internet. But no matter what the circumstance, several Doubters will invariably immediately comment with the words “Photoshop” or, more succinctly, “Shopped.” Now, they also don’t usually have a basis for this claim, such as a link to the actual picture or a helpful dissection of the photo. They merely want to wreck it for everybody else, to be the Debbie Downers of the Web. These are the same people, I imagine, who fail to give spoiler alerts in movie reviews, try to ruin magic tricks at birthday parties, or tell six year olds that there really isn’t a Santa Claus. Unable to appreciate the true humor or wonder of a picture, they’d rather crush our dreams with a condescending “told you so” than laugh along with the rest of us.
None of the examples I gave above — the ray, the van, the ass — were actually faked in any way. But it didn’t stop the Doubters from calling it like they thought they saw it. What I’ve never really understood is what difference it makes if an image in a joke is real or not, especially on the Net. Either way, it’s funny — the only distinction is whether the unlikely moment actually occurred, or was part of someone’s fertile imagination. Do these negative charged souls not marvel at special effects in movies, or do they turn to their hapless movie companions and mutter “special effects” or “totally fake”?
And what do people who call “Photoshop,” even if correct, actually get out of it? Do they feel informative? Useful? Validated? They are in fact none of these. Annoying perhaps, condescending most certainly. On occasion a fan will link over to snopes.org, a site that has somehow become the definitive spot for debunking claims, urban legends, and Internet rumors. But Snopes itself is run by a retired couple out of California (according to Wikipedia) and as far as I know, nobody stops to ask whether that site has been vetted properly. It is ironic to me that someone can dismiss something on the Internet by referring to something else on the Internet.
