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Death On Facebook Now Common As 'Dead Profiles' Create Vast Virtual Cemetery. Sometime in mid- July, Anthony Dowdell put on his favorite plaid shirt, drove his Dodge pickup to the parking lot of a Sam's Club in Linden, N. J., leaned back in the driver's seat, and shot himself.

Nobody knows exactly when the 3. Dare Dellcan," took his life. Nobody knows why the normally cheery creative director and design company owner did it. And for the first couple of days, few people besides the police officers who found his body on July 1. The day after the discovery, a message appeared on Dowdell's Facebook wall."I am a friend of Anthony's. I wish I could call you all to inform you personally and this is probably a crappy way to find this out but our dear friend Anthony aka Ant aka Dare Dellcan has passed away. It is confirmed. I live around the corner and I have spoken with authorities this evening … I am only sharing this because if I was Anthony's friend, I would want to know too.

And I know that Anthony had friends all over the place."Dowdell had 6. They were in New Jersey, where he lived, New York City, where he was raised, and spread from Los Angeles to Miami. A few were in Brazil and Italy.

As with most people on Facebook, they were former girlfriends and dates- turned- friends, high school and college classmates, co- workers. Many hadn't seen him in years. Most didn't know each other. The message on Facebook, linked to a newspaper article about an unnamed man.

Dowdell's death. Dowdell wasn't close to his mother and stepfather, and "we knew from his family situation that there would not be any sort of memorial," says Jessa Moore, a 3. Jersey City, N. J. Facebook became our memorial. We could leave messages for him and each other." Moore has been posting memories of Dowdell on his page for four months. Friends upload photos of him and his dog, Bacon, and if they are at a restaurant or bar he would like, they "tag" his name so his Facebook profile shows that he, too, was there. For some, it's been a painful experience to see constant reminders of Dowdell online, as if he were still living. Others have wondered if they're being respectful of his privacy.

But for Moore, it's been cathartic. For a month, I was there on his page every day. It just sort of kept us all connected," she says. It used be that news of death spread through phone calls, and before that, letters and house calls. The departed were publicly remembered via memorials on street corners, newspaper obituaries and flowers at grave sites. To some degree, this is still the case.

But increasingly, the announcements and subsequent mourning occur on social media. Facebook, with 1 billion detailed, self- submitted user profiles, was created to connect the living. But it has become the world's largest site of memorials for the dead.

Dowdell - - "Dare Dellcan" on Facebook - - died in July. Since the beginning of the Web, it's been plausible that pieces of information about people with Web sites and email accounts would be left accessible after they died. But the virtual cemetery is fairly new. One of the oldest.

VMG/" target="_hplink"> online memorials is the U. K.- based Virtual Memorial Garden, which began in 1. A simple, alphabetized collection of tens of thousands of paragraph- long, user- submitted memories of the dead, it's still growing. Since social media first gained mass appeal a decade ago with Friendster (2.

My. Space (2. 00. But the skyrocketing growth of Facebook has created a new terrain for death on the Internet. VIRTUAL MEMORIALSDowdell is just one of an estimated 3. Facebook have outlived them. By the end of this year, 3 million Facebook users' pages will have become memorial sites for their owners, according to calculations by Nate Lustig, the founder of Entrustet, an online company that helps people access and delete online accounts after someone dies.

Lustig arrived at the number by culling data on the total number of Facebook users, their ages and geographic distribution, and international death rates. There are clear rules for how next of kin can inherit or delete accounts on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and the countless other online manifestations of ourselves that have proliferated. Usually, family members have to submit an obituary, news article or death certificate to verify the user is dead. But unless there's a request, the rules on death are rarely enforced on social networks. Facebook allows only the living user of a registered account to have access to it - - families can't get full access to profiles unless there's documented instruction from the deceased.

In a rare case in June, a Wisconsin couple obtained a. Facebook to give them access to the personal messages in their 2.

It's easy to track who joins a social network, but it's hard to keep up with who dies. Some accounts exist in perpetuity. Others are shut down by friends and family who have access to passwords or prove their relationship to the dead, or by social media companies because of inactivity. Facebook is largely hands- off with dead users unless there are specific requests from families. One unique site, My. Death. Space. com, tracks social media profiles of the dead and maintains an extensive message board and Facebook page, where the morbidly curious can discuss the passings. The site, which has archives of 1.

Looking at the My. Space and Facebook profiles of the deceased that haven't been altered by family members is like looking at a snapshot of a person's life the moment before they passed away," says Michael Patterson, the 3.

San Francisco resident who founded the site seven years ago. You can see what the person was into, what music they enjoyed and so many interesting things that were important before their passing."Other services, such as Lustig's Entrustet, have formed to assist the living in planning for their digital legacies. One called My Wonderful Life not only offers digital estate planning, but schedules posthumous emails to be delivered to friends, coworkers and loved ones. The Web is profoundly changing the life of someone’s memory after their death."There aren't really any norms around death and social media yet. People are kind of making it up as they go along," says Jed Brubaker, a leading scholar in the relatively new field of digital identity and a doctoral candidate in informatics at the University of California- Irvine. But what's known is that this Facebook generation will have more experiences with death than any generation before it.

Generation Why? by Zadie Smith. The Social Networka film directed by David Fincher, with a screenplay by Aaron Sorkinby Jaron Lanier. Knopf, 2. 09 pp., $2. Merrick Morton/Columbia Pictures. Jesse Eisenberg as Mark Zuckerberg, the founder of Facebook, and Rooney Mara as his girlfriend Erica in The Social Network. How long is a generation these days?

I must be in Mark Zuckerberg’s generation—there are only nine years between us—but somehow it doesn’t feel that way. This despite the fact that I can say (like everyone else on Harvard’s campus in the fall of 2. I was there” at Facebook’s inception, and remember Facemash and the fuss it caused; also that tiny, exquisite movie star trailed by fan- boys through the snow wherever she went, and the awful snow itself, turning your toes gray, destroying your spirit, bringing a bloodless end to a squirrel on my block: frozen, inanimate, perfect—like the Blaschka glass flowers. Doubtless years from now I will misremember my closeness to Zuckerberg, in the same spirit that everyone in ’6. Liverpool met John Lennon.

At the time, though, I felt distant from Zuckerberg and all the kids at Harvard. I still feel distant from them now, ever more so, as I increasingly opt out (by choice, by default) of the things they have embraced. We have different ideas about things. Specifically we have different ideas about what a person is, or should be. I often worry that my idea of personhood is nostalgic, irrational, inaccurate. Perhaps Generation Facebook have built their virtual mansions in good faith, in order to house the People 2.

I feel uncomfortable within them it is because I am stuck at Person 1. Then again, the more time I spend with the tail end of Generation Facebook (in the shape of my students) the more convinced I become that some of the software currently shaping their generation is unworthy of them.

They are more interesting than it is. They deserve better. In The Social Network Generation Facebook gets a movie almost worthy of them, and this fact, being so unexpected, makes the film feel more delightful than it probably, objectively, is. From the opening scene it’s clear that this is a movie about 2.

Aaron Sorkin and David Fincher, forty- nine and forty- eight respectively). It’s a talkie, for goodness’ sake, with as many words per minute as His Girl Friday. A boy, Mark, and his girl, Erica, sit at a little table in a Harvard bar, zinging each other, in that relentless Sorkin style made famous by The West Wing (though at no point does either party say “Walk with me”—for this we should be grateful).

But something is not right with this young man: his eye contact is patchy; he doesn’t seem to understand common turns of phrase or ambiguities of language; he is literal to the point of offense, pedantic to the point of aggression. Final clubs,” says Mark, correcting Erica, as they discuss those exclusive Harvard entities, “Not Finals clubs.”) He doesn’t understand what’s happening as she tries to break up with him. Wait, wait, this is real?”) Nor does he understand why. He doesn’t get that what he may consider a statement of fact might yet have, for this other person, some personal, painful import: ERICA: I have to go study.

MARK: You don’t have to study. ERICA: How do you know I don’t have to study?! MARK: Because you go to B. U.! Simply put, he is a computer nerd, a social “autistic”: a type as recognizable to Fincher’s audience as the cynical newshound was to Howard Hawks’s. To create this Zuckerberg, Sorkin barely need brush his pen against the page.

We came to the cinema expecting to meet this guy and it’s a pleasure to watch Sorkin color in what we had already confidently sketched in our minds. For sometimes the culture surmises an individual personality, collectively. Or thinks it does. Don’t we all know why nerds do what they do? To get money, which leads to popularity, which leads to girls. Sorkin, confident of his foundation myth, spins an exhilarating tale of double rejection—spurned by Erica and the Porcellian, the Finaliest of the Final Clubs, Zuckerberg begins his spite- fueled rise to the top.

Cue a lot of betrayal. A lot of scenes of lawyers’ offices and miserable, character- damning depositions. Your best friend is suing you!”) Sorkin has swapped the military types of A Few Good Men for a different kind of all- male community in a different uniform: GAP hoodies, North Face sweats. At my screening, blocks from NYU, the audience thrilled with intimate identification. But if the hipsters and nerds are hoping for Fincher’s usual pyrotechnics they will be disappointed: in a lawyer’s office there’s not a lot for Fincher to do. He has to content himself with excellent and rapid cutting between Harvard and the later court cases, and after that, the discreet pleasures of another, less- remarked- upon Fincher skill: great casting. It’ll be a long time before a cinema geek comes along to push Jesse Eisenberg, the actor who plays Zuckerberg, off the top of our nerd typologies.

The passive- aggressive, flat- line voice. The shifty boredom when anyone, other than himself, is speaking. The barely suppressed smirk. Eisenberg even chooses the correct nerd walk: not the sideways corridor shuffle (the Don’t Hit Me!), but the puffed chest vertical march (the I’m not 5'8", I’m 5'9"!). With rucksack, naturally. An extended four- minute shot has him doing exactly this all the way through the Harvard campus, before he lands finally where he belongs, the only place he’s truly comfortable, in front of his laptop, with his blog: Erica Albright’s a bitch.

You think that’s because her family changed their name from Albrecht or do you think it’s because all B. U. girls are bitches? Oh, yeah. We know this guy. Overprogrammed, furious, lonely.

Around him Fincher arranges a convincing bunch of 1. If it’s a three- act movie it’s because Zuckerberg screws over more people than a two- act movie can comfortably hold: the Winklevoss twins and Divya Navendra (from whom Zuckerberg allegedly stole the Facebook concept), and then his best friend, Eduardo Saverin (the CFO he edged out of the company), and finally Sean Parker, the boy king of Napster, the music- sharing program, although he, to be fair, pretty much screws himself. It’s in Eduardo—in the actor Andrew Garfield’s animate, beautiful face—that all these betrayals seem to converge, and become personal, painful.