Our last blog post was number 110. One Hundred Ten! Has anybody read all 110? If so, that person is a glutton for punishment or – a remote possibility – an unbelievably true fan. I know for a fact that Becky, who started this whole thing (you may blame her if you choose), has not read all 110 posts.Whenever you see a blog post the title of which includes “random thoughts,” do you wonder if the author actually did not have a coherent story to pass on? Is the phrase “random thoughts” code for “nothing really has jelled in my brain but I'll write something anyway"?
Then again maybe the author is trying to give the reader a break from the underlying theme – a respite or vacation or sabbatical of sorts. Occasionally, much like the poor schmo in the Southwest Airlines ad, our brains need to get away.
Every day, when we just allow our powers of observation to work, we hear and see something that tickles our fancy, that sticks in our craw, or that we would like to share with others. These are snippets from our lives. The person in the next car, in the parking lot, or on the phone in line ahead of us at Starbucks, Peets, or the grocery store can provide a moment of levity, angst, or irony. The news gives us our daily dose of hypocrisy or moronic dogma.
These events are random. And, generally, few are worthy of a many words.
Social network sites like Facebook and Twitter certainly should come in handy for these random happenings. In the beginning, that may have been one of the main uses for social networking. We maintained contact with others and shared.
But, as each of us added “friends” (I do not know what the analog is on Twitter because I do not “tweet”), keeping track of what was tickling others’ fancies or sticking in their craws became overwhelming. You knew that, if you were overwhelmed, your “friends” were too.
We all had some “friends” who needed to report their lives in excruciating detail. “I’m sitting at Starbucks having a double mocha with two shots of chocolate, a shot of vanilla, a shot of peppermint, and whipped cream while . . . .” Or “I’m on my way to the grocery store to buy . . . .” Usually, they had the good sense to spare us their bathroom tales.
Other “friends” published thoughts that seemed really personal. They were affectionate: “Oh, Honey Bear, thank you for the wonderful time last night especially the . . . .” They were angry: “I am not going fall in love again with any trailer trash that I pick up in a bar.” Or personal with total disregard for the English language as it was taught to my generation: “Luv U. Miss U.” Making private, personal thoughts public, social networking was not much different from the ubiquitous mobile telephone.
Other “friends” were involved in games in which they were looking for giant turnips, diamonds, animals, animal feed, Mafia hitmen, and whatever. My Facebook page was inundated with such stuff until I learned that a mute button of sorts was available. “Do you want to block all [fill in the game name] posts?”
Sorting through the chaff of useless information in search of some thought- or laughter-provoking kernel often requires Herculean efforts. Obviously, at some point, based upon the number of “friends,” a person either spends hours chained to a computer “socializing” or becomes a sender only. True communication is lost in the name of “social networking.”
The “Reverend” Dusty Watson – best surf drummer on Earth – recently lamented the new scope of “socializing” as created by social networking. “Social Networking isn't 'social' at all. I sit in my house. You sit in your house. You write me a message. I answer when I feel like it. Or not at all. Actual fact social networking promotes lurking and isolation which is truly ANTI-social. I am turning off my computer now and I am going to go talk to someone.”
When was the last time that you turned off your “smart” phone, iPad, computer, or television and just had a conversation with some friends? The Saturday “stitch and bitch” sessions with the Wiki Weekend Warriors are exactly that. Maybe this post was not as random and disconnected as it started out to be.