Fakebook: A True Story. Based on Actual Lies
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
This hilarious, irreverent, and profoundly honest memoir explores our cultural obsession with social media and dares to ask: who is the real you, and what is the story you tell others?
At age 26 Dave Cicirelli found himself at a crossroads. While his friends on Facebook appeared to have lives of nonstop accomplishments, his early adulthood felt disappointingly routine. So one October morning, Dave announced on Facebook that he was dropping everything and heading west. Many thought him brave―or crazy.
No one guessed he was lying. "Fake Dave" set off on a wild adventure, toilet papering an Amish horse and buggy, freight hopping with a farmer's daughter, and being kidnapped by a religious cult. But the online prank quickly became a social experiment. People began connecting over his journey, and some were inspired to change their own lives. But as Fake Dave's popularity grew, the real Dave became increasingly isolated, struggling with the implications of his secret.
Clever, funny, and surprisingly candid, Fakebook is a true memoir of our digital age. It explores what the old ideas of reputation and relationships mean in our new world of constant connection and ultimately asks: How do you draw the line between your virtual self and who you really are? And can you discover yourself on a journey that never took place?
call me Houdini, because I’m an artist who just escaped. Escape artist. Get it? See, I’m already getting my creative juices back. 21 hours ago via mobile · Like Ralph Cicirelli You may think you’re an escape artist but you’re really a BS artist. In 1972, when I was your age, I just got out of the Army, was married and was looking for a job to put some distance between me and poverty. If I was an “escape artist” you wouldn’t have had the opportunities you had. Time is fleeting and
went. We were betting on the baby daddy results. It was maybe the most fun I ever had.” “This is what they’re talking about!” “It was so much fun! Why wouldn’t I want to—” “But it’s not normal, Dave. He didn’t see you at the Knicks game; he saw you on the Maury show. And you do that sort of stuff all the time—Elliott said he thought you were still living with those French women in Chinatown.” “I guess it’s been a while since I talked to him.” “Dave, listen. Senior year, did
cheek. “Is he giving you trouble, Mom? Normally I don’t pick favorites, but on Thanksgiving, I love you more than Dad.” My mom scooped out a couple of meatballs, and making good on her Fakebook promise, she served them to her son who had come home. “What a momma’s boy,” Ralph said as he grabbed a handful of blueberries from the refrigerator. The closing door offered a glimpse of the Thanksgiving feast to come. “That’s breakfast food!” she yelled out. “He’s only acting out for the
Interestingly, the din of opinion did benefit one relationship—Fake Dave and I had made it through our rough patch, and we were getting along better than ever. I became sympathetic to his misfortunes and found him more relatable with every passing moment. In the spirit of my own initially dismissive attitude toward quiet suburban life, he’d been quick to abandon the tangible for the abstract “something else.” For the first time he was seeing the value of what he’d given up, just as I was
“I’ll do what I can.” As it turns out, there is no screening process for a grand jury, and I couldn’t do a thing. A dollar bag of cashews and a Gatorade are no kind of lunch. Especially if they’re eaten at the same subway station where you bought them. Still, that was all I had time for during the fifteen-minute ride to the courthouse on Centre Street, and the combo would soon become routine. I arrived with just enough time to run a hard drive full of tomorrow’s deadlines through the