You know how I feel about you, right? You’re my bud. My gumba. If you were to invite me to your wedding, family reunion or Parcheesi/key party, I probably wouldn’t go, but I respect you enough to send along a credible-sounding excuse. Probably something about embarrassing foot odor. That one is solid.

We’re pals, you and I. Chums.

I just don’t want to connect with you on LinkedIn.

You know all about LinkedIn, right? It’s the Other Social Network, the mature and responsible one. LinkedIn wears a tie and slacks instead of camo shorts and flip-flops, like that trashy Facebook. LinkedIn doesn’t go around taking up-close shots of its chestal region in front of the bathroom mirror, like that sleazy Instagram. LinkedIn never goes all duck face or posts photos of its newest piercing.

LinkedIn is a respectable fellow, one who will offer up solid investing advice or take your keys if you’ve had too much to drink. It doesn’t condone cussing or gambling or lewd behavior. LinkedIn has a portfolio, wears a tie, drives a Prius and votes in every major election.

LinkedIn really has its crap together.

It’s dull, in other words; a stiff, a square, a bore. LinkedIn wants to take you to the opera when all you want to do is stuff your face at Sam’s Pizza and then drink all night at the Goose. LinkedIn knows what’s best for you, which means — come on, let’s be honest here — it’s no fun at all.

It’s a real conundrum, isn’t it? As boring as it is, few people can get by without creating a LinkedIn account. All it takes is that one stupid friend to say, “You don’t have an El Eye account? Dude, everybody’s got to have an El Eye account,” and BAM! You’re in, receiving invites from your old college professors and feeling like you’ve got to put on a clean shirt just to sit at your computer.

Once you’re in, they’ve got you and here come the daily notices you don’t remember signing up for. What’s this? Your boss wants to connect with you on LinkedIn? Well, isn’t that odd. He never showed any interest in friending you on Facebook or Pinterest, but there he is, peering out from your computer screen and waiting for a response. What are you going to do, tell him to shove off?

LinkedIn is all about professional networks: By connecting with your boss (whom you’ve met all of twice in the real world) you also connect by proxy to his attorney, his golf instructor, his shareholders, his financial advisers. What are you going to do in that crowd, Sonny? Impress them by making funny noises with your armpit?

That might play on Facebook (try it today!) but in the clean, quiet halls of LinkedIn, tomfoolery will draw frowns and tsk-tsks. Brag about how you threw up in a trash can on Lisbon Street, or post dramatic audio of the foul-mouthed argument you had with a Burger King clerk and you will absolutely nuke any chance you had for career advancement.

LinkedIn is a stone-cold bummer, man. It’s a place where colleagues, past and present, will endorse you for certain attributes. People you dimly remember from grade school are suddenly before you, not liking a photo of your hilarious memes on Facebook, but endorsing your skills as a “web photographer.” Which is so highbrow, it takes the fun out of photographing your cat with various household items balanced on it.

In my LinkedIn profile, I see that I’ve been endorsed for editing, social media, blogging, public relations, newspaper design, AP style and about 30 other things that I actually suck at. I suppose that when one of my 43 bosses stumbles into my LinkedIn profile, he or she will stroke his or her chin and think: “This Mike LaCamp fellow looks like a real go-getter. Why, he’s even wearing a shirt in his profile photo. I shall promote him at once, unless I forget. Which I probably will. Whoops! Forgot already!”

There are no endorsements for pole-dancing or long-range spitting, which means the whole system has no practical use in the real world, in my view.

Or maybe it means that although I’ve reached the advanced age of (age not disclosed by LinkedIn user), I still haven’t grown all the way up. Who wants to explore the tree of professional networks with the aim of career advancement when he could be taking the “What’s My Girl Name” quiz on Facebook?

LinkedIn is the pristine copy of “War and Peace” you leave on your coffee table while the tattered “Fifty Shades of Grey” paperback — the book you’re REALLY reading — resides in your nightstand drawer.

LinkedIn is the mature and responsible social network, which means I never spend any time there, although I’ve been meaning to. Really, I have. And this leaves me in a quandary over what to do about these connection requests from eight of my current bosses. I suppose I should worry that they’ll read this column and discover my true nature, but I’m not sweating it much. I’m pretty sure my bosses don’t read my column.

If they did, surely they would have endorsed me for it.

Mark LaFlamme is a Sun Journal staff writer. His bosses are pretty sure that’s true. Email more endorsements to mlaflamme@sunjournal.com.

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