I am in part using this blog as therapy. It seems like I have developed a habit with Facebook. Each person who uses social media has their own social media vice, I imagine. Some of that is due to demographics, maybe patterns of behavior developed over years. I truly enjoyed the connection Facebook once brought. But now it's as if the party has gotten out of hand, the neighbors showed up, bringing their guns to wave around and hoot, people pissing in the potted plants. But I miss some people when I can't see them. And I'm certainly always interested in meeting new people. That's the Facebook party I showed up for.
So, this little room here, this blog, represents a corner where the cool kids can come. Rather than some narcissistic drive to hear myself, and capture the attention of others to see only me, I'm hoping some of you will share also. I don't care what. I enjoy the randomness of a good conversation. But I also like the notion that there is an ever so slight effort involved. Facebook, Twitter, et al, they're designed to ease you into over sharing, into plopping out opinions, ideas, the self entertainment sphere. I actually don't have an issue with that concept. What I do take issue with is the obvious strategy of the pusher-man to guide us and trap us into the ding ding bells and react emojis on a one way street to advertisers.
Social media has its obvious issues. Rather than spending half an hour on a deep dive into any given thought or situation, it feeds "users" into the stream of momentary bits. Outrage, anger, cuteness, doggies, kitties, smileys, bubbles, you name it. Social media turns most communication into those tiny elements, one way or another. Of course I'm not telling anyone anything new. But what are some possible solutions? Again, I don't really have an issue with the monster being the monster. It is the thing it always was. I have always thought dragons serve a purpose. As self actualized human beings, so do we.
Blogger offers the ability for many authors on this blog. If I am not mistaken, we can add up to 100 authors. As an author, in this context, that is just a more engaged user. The blog is open, can be viewed by anyone, so we're still at the party, in other words. Anyone, from Bangladesh to Birmingham, can take a look, comment, and even request author permission. I doubt many will. But to the cool kids who want to sit in this corner with me and fire up the proverbial J, put on the cool music, and talk philosophy until the sun comes up, here we are. Welcome.
As for me, I'm currently sitting in my "old man chair." This, as Joe from Smokerise would say, is my "whittling chair." I'm watching the snow come down outside, dropping a few more inches onto the 2 or 3 feet of snow already covering the ground. Connecticut weather is interesting for a boy from Alabama, whose main experience with snow was always about how disappointing it was, never enough, never staying long. My experiences were always the mystical connections of "Do you remember 1993," or "That time we went to so and so and saw snow, on vacation." Now I have to plan when to push the driveway so the cars can get out. And I have to admit, though I once had a unilateral desire for more snow, I look forward to the melting. I like the fact that I have traveled far enough north to experience seasons that aren't just punctuated summers.
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| Snow on the frozen creek under the Arch Bridge |
I have a hangnail
ReplyDeleteSome people might consider that a trivial matter, but not me. I know all that gnawing, picking, and stinging pain can be a terrible burden. Hang in there!
DeleteI think I used the wrong term. It’s not that bad. It just gets caught on my sock.
ReplyDeleteA toe hangnail? That makes gnawing it so much harder.
DeleteI gnawed my head. I nod my head.
DeleteIn a village by the sea, there resided an ageless sailor. He had seen the world more than most, suffered, lived, loved, lusted and laughed. He was full from his travels, full of memories, of hurt, of joy, to near overflowing. One day, when sitting gnawing on his toe hangnail, he spied a ship on the horizon. He recognized the sails. He knew her flags. Feeling a powerful stir within, he gnawed his toe tag harder and faster. He spat the little niblet onto the ground, and peered closely at it. How was it that he could nibble and nibble, gnaw and gnaw, yet still there was a hanger. He pulled his toe in close, eyeballing it full micro. Yep! There it was! Clear as day! That little hangy-doodle was even bigger now, as if all that gnashing and gnawing did naught but grow the naut's toe twig. It got real big.
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ReplyDeleteEvery time he pulls on his tightly fitted astro-sock, it snags just a little on his toe. What is the protocol for removing a hangnail in space? After all, everything, and I do mean everything is reused. If the food gave you enough ooomph to produce good ones, even farts would be captured for fuel. As it is though, the tube-o-mush servings simply present as a substance, out the ass, exactly the same as the substance coming in. Again, everything, and I mean everything, is reused. So, what about that hangnail wiggling off his toe? He worries, sitting alone in his cabin, as he pulls his toe to his teeth, what if he accidentally swallows a piece? And space does weird things to your feet. That hangnail, sharp and hard, has become something of an obsession. He feels it constantly, rubbing a hole in his astro-sock, probably threatening to poke out of his space boot. What will happen when it finally rubs a hole out the end of his boot? Will the vacuum of space pull him out, toe by toe, piece by piece, right out of his suit like he does to a his tube-o-mush? He ponders... and gnaws, with an audible pause... wiggles his other toes in a friendly wave to himself. Hopefully today will be the day he finally gnaws that sucker right off.
ReplyDelete😂🤣
ReplyDeleteI like this because it mentions poop
ReplyDelete