The Washington Post has asked the masters of human fear (writers specializing in horror and suspense) to name their favorite tales of terror.
I’m not someone who goes out of her way to read horror or the like. And I definitely don’t ever watch the stuff. (My sister once had The Haunting, adapted from Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House [a pick by one of the writers], on TV late one night. It scared the liver out of me, but made me too afraid to leave the living room and go through the dark house alone to get to my bedroom, so I had to stay until it was over because she wouldn’t go up with me. The toad.)
Okay, I did go to see Alien. But it was on a date and the guy I was with, a writer/producer manqué (this being Hollywood), had been up the night before working on a script and drinking Bordeaux. As the suspense mounted (and Ridley Scott definitely knows his onions on that count), I realized 1)why I don’t like scary movies (I get really wrapped up in the illusion, become one of the characters and they’re too dumb to come in out of the rain, much less stay away from monsters; so I know they're going to get me killed); and 2)that alien was going to jump off the screen straight at me and this fool was too hungover to provide any assistance.
I told him that later and his response was, "You're right."
However, I digress.
With the above disclaimer, let me just say that the scariest story I’ve ever read was “The Beast with Five Fingers”, by W.F. Harvey (never saw the flick). That sucker kept me awake for a week after I finished it. I don’t think I’ve ever read a horror story since.
So, this being Samhain/All Hallows—what’s your pick for the story that scared the daylights out of you?
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Net flu
Lest you be one of those scoffing at the idea that the H1N1 (swine) flu pandemic is a crock of codswallop, consider this news: the Government Accountability Office (GAO) has issued a report warning that people home sick hitting the electrons could overload our information highway and create the mother of all data traffic jams.
Think 72-car pile-up on I-5 along the Grapevine on the day before Thanksgiving.
According to the GAO, it’s people “sick, working from home” who will log on to the Internet, clogging the networks and bringing things to a halt.
(They don’t seem to factor in the folks who’ll play online poker, watch episodes of Project Runway on Hulu or visit porn sites. My sense is that there’d be a whole lot more of this type of activity than teleconferencing or swapping spreadsheets.)
So what, you say? Well, it seems that overwhelmed networks deny service to things like financial markets, public services and Homeland Security.
Evidently some securities markets have contingency plans in place, but not all. And Homeland Security doesn’t appear to have thought of that scenario, much less devised a plan to deal with it.
Just consider what that’ll do to your access to www.swinefluisahoaxbythetrilateralcommission.com
Think 72-car pile-up on I-5 along the Grapevine on the day before Thanksgiving.
According to the GAO, it’s people “sick, working from home” who will log on to the Internet, clogging the networks and bringing things to a halt.
(They don’t seem to factor in the folks who’ll play online poker, watch episodes of Project Runway on Hulu or visit porn sites. My sense is that there’d be a whole lot more of this type of activity than teleconferencing or swapping spreadsheets.)
So what, you say? Well, it seems that overwhelmed networks deny service to things like financial markets, public services and Homeland Security.
Evidently some securities markets have contingency plans in place, but not all. And Homeland Security doesn’t appear to have thought of that scenario, much less devised a plan to deal with it.
Just consider what that’ll do to your access to www.swinefluisahoaxbythetrilateralcommission.com
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Hang 'em high
The walls are closing in on war criminals this week, even if they’re still acting as though they’re the victims and not the perps.
Germany’s last court of appeals has tossed out the pathetic plea of John Demjanjuk that the case should be dropped because of health reasons. Oh, and the 89-year-old really never hurt anyone at Sobibór or Majdanek back in the good old days of Nazi rule. He was actually a victim, don’t you know?
Demjanjuk, who was stripped of his US citizenship and deported to Germany for prosecution earlier this year, will start the trial next month in Munich.
Meanwhile, at the Hague, Radovan Karadzic, the Bosnian Serb architect of genocide of Bosnian Muslims and Croats, has been boycotting his own war crimes trial for the past couple of days. However, presiding judge O-gon Kwon called Karadzic’s bluff Tuesday and ruled that the prosecution can continue with or without the mass-murderer in the dock.
The 64-year-old Karadzic, acting on his own behalf, says he needs WAAY more time to build his defense.
Yeah, because he's guilty, guilty, guilty.
Let me do some gloating that two examples of the worst humanity can vomit up on this earth are being brought to justice—no matter what the time lag between their crimes and their trials. Too many of their ilk have cheated retribution by either dying of old age in their beds, or (like Karadzic’s role model, Slobodan Milosevic) dying of old age in prison awaiting trial. (and Karadzic's trial is expected to last through 2012; that's with an abbreviated case.)
I don’t care how old they are or in what state of health—their crimes should be prosecuted and punished.
Germany’s last court of appeals has tossed out the pathetic plea of John Demjanjuk that the case should be dropped because of health reasons. Oh, and the 89-year-old really never hurt anyone at Sobibór or Majdanek back in the good old days of Nazi rule. He was actually a victim, don’t you know?
Demjanjuk, who was stripped of his US citizenship and deported to Germany for prosecution earlier this year, will start the trial next month in Munich.
Meanwhile, at the Hague, Radovan Karadzic, the Bosnian Serb architect of genocide of Bosnian Muslims and Croats, has been boycotting his own war crimes trial for the past couple of days. However, presiding judge O-gon Kwon called Karadzic’s bluff Tuesday and ruled that the prosecution can continue with or without the mass-murderer in the dock.
The 64-year-old Karadzic, acting on his own behalf, says he needs WAAY more time to build his defense.
Yeah, because he's guilty, guilty, guilty.
Let me do some gloating that two examples of the worst humanity can vomit up on this earth are being brought to justice—no matter what the time lag between their crimes and their trials. Too many of their ilk have cheated retribution by either dying of old age in their beds, or (like Karadzic’s role model, Slobodan Milosevic) dying of old age in prison awaiting trial. (and Karadzic's trial is expected to last through 2012; that's with an abbreviated case.)
I don’t care how old they are or in what state of health—their crimes should be prosecuted and punished.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Enemies of the people
Interesting report from the NY Times about government snooping on British subjects.
Evidently it’s not enough to have CCTV cameras on every street corner tracking the movements of people out & about. Local governments have the right to run “directed surveillance missions” on their citizens—including tailing, tapping phones & going through all sorts of records—for what I can only characterize as the most trivial rumors of infractions.
(& like the US Patriot Act provisions, they can do it without that pesky impediment of jumping through any sort of legal hoops. Like obtaining a warrant.)
& what sorts of high crimes are they investigating, you ask? Why—such felonious pursuits as failing to recycle, putting trash out too early & letting your dogs bark too loud. Apparently all that’s needed to set the wheels a-spinning is some accusation of wrongdoing. & the data collected on the miscreants doesn’t go away even when they’re not found guilty. It goes into some central repository.
Am I the only fan of the tradition of Anglo-American law creeped out by this?
You have to wonder about the use of public resources for this sort of thing. At the very least, I’d like to hear about surveillance on persons suspected of something more than failing to pick up poop after their dogs. Like bombing the London Tube or torturing & murdering young Yorkshire women over the course of several years.
The story doesn’t say what these activities cost the local governments, or what services they have to cut back on in order to mount them. Whatever it is, it can’t possibly deliver value in terms of a safer society that outweighs the financial & civic confidence in elected leaders.
Evidently it’s not enough to have CCTV cameras on every street corner tracking the movements of people out & about. Local governments have the right to run “directed surveillance missions” on their citizens—including tailing, tapping phones & going through all sorts of records—for what I can only characterize as the most trivial rumors of infractions.
(& like the US Patriot Act provisions, they can do it without that pesky impediment of jumping through any sort of legal hoops. Like obtaining a warrant.)
& what sorts of high crimes are they investigating, you ask? Why—such felonious pursuits as failing to recycle, putting trash out too early & letting your dogs bark too loud. Apparently all that’s needed to set the wheels a-spinning is some accusation of wrongdoing. & the data collected on the miscreants doesn’t go away even when they’re not found guilty. It goes into some central repository.
Am I the only fan of the tradition of Anglo-American law creeped out by this?
You have to wonder about the use of public resources for this sort of thing. At the very least, I’d like to hear about surveillance on persons suspected of something more than failing to pick up poop after their dogs. Like bombing the London Tube or torturing & murdering young Yorkshire women over the course of several years.
The story doesn’t say what these activities cost the local governments, or what services they have to cut back on in order to mount them. Whatever it is, it can’t possibly deliver value in terms of a safer society that outweighs the financial & civic confidence in elected leaders.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sweating spirituality
There’s something about the story of three deaths in a faux-Indian sweat lodge ceremony earlier this month in Sedona that grabs me.
It’s a pity about the three people who lost their lives, of course. But what strikes me is this whole phenomenon of adults so in search of…something that they pay money (in large sums) to any fast-talking self-proclaimed spiritual leader who'll put them through an ordeal that, if mandated by some government, say, or an employer, would spark class-action lawsuits.
I guess what surprises me is that there aren’t more deaths resulting from this sort of thing.
In the “spiritual warrior” experience led by James Arthur Ray, “nationally known New Age guru”, 50 people paid $9,695 for the privilege of spending 36 hours without food or water in the Arizona desert on a vision quest and then three hours in the sweat lodge. (For those unfamiliar with the term “sweat lodge”, think unregulated, smoke-filled sauna.)
I don’t know why this wasn’t seen as a recipe for disaster. Fifty people in a space 24 feet wide and 4.5 feet high. Twenty-one people ended up in local hospitals, with three eventually dying. Despite several participants showing signs of serious trouble, Ray, it seems, blocked the exit.
Yavapai County sheriff investigating the incident as a homicide, but so far no one’s been charged.
Ray, whose company made $9.4M last year from speeches, seminars, retreats, books and videos, says he’s cooperating. It’s gotta bite, after all, if you lose paying customers in such close proximity to your “empowering” events.
Now, here’s my issue. What is it with people who scoff at organized religion as institutional superstition but fall slack-jawed in awe at any caftan-wearing self-proclaimed guru with bad teeth and a worse haircut who promises them spiritual enlightenment if they’ll only [insert ceremony here].
I have a friend who falls into that category. About eight years ago she tried to get me to go on a trip to Sedona run by someone who was supposed to be au fait with all types of spiritual practices. I never told her but the prospect of spending ten days in a mini-van/Comfort Inn with 11 middle-aged white women oohing and ahing about Hopi ceremonies and then engaging in replicas of same just gave me the willies. Their mission, and I am not making this up, was to focus cosmic energy on righting 400 years of wrongs done to the Native Americans.
They were conducted around by some local middle-aged white woman who was supposed to be connected to the local tribes, although there were apparently a couple of instances where the women had to stand at quite a distance because the Hopis weren’t wild about interlopers, no matter how sterling their intent.
When she returned, totally enthused about the experience, my friend showed me her photos of the events. There was one of the women seated in a circle on the ground. It was some sort of prayer circle, meant to concentrate their spiritual powers. She said that the picture was taken just before the heavens opened up and poured rain down on them.
“But that’s okay—it was a cleansing rain.”
Apparently the thought that the gods might be pissed off at the effrontery of 12 middle-aged white women from Virginia thinking that they could erase 400 years of policies in ten days at the Comfort Inn and were expressing their displeasure with the downpour never occurred to them.
So many of these spiritual guides make a very, very good living out of their vision quests and seminars and retreats. Maybe not $9.4M, but comfortable. (And I’m not saying that some don’t indeed have some spiritual gifts that they do share with their followers—maybe without even charging.) But when a New Age guru accepts MasterCard or Discover, how is that different from Jim and Tammi Faye?
BTW, for that vision quest, Ray sent his paying guests out into the October desert for 36 hours with only a sleeping bag. Although he offered to sell them Peruvian ponchos for $250.
I rest my case.
However this investigation turns out, I’d like to think that at least one charlatan has been revealed. But even if he is, his acolytes are sure to stick by him.
Or move on to the next one.
It’s a pity about the three people who lost their lives, of course. But what strikes me is this whole phenomenon of adults so in search of…something that they pay money (in large sums) to any fast-talking self-proclaimed spiritual leader who'll put them through an ordeal that, if mandated by some government, say, or an employer, would spark class-action lawsuits.
I guess what surprises me is that there aren’t more deaths resulting from this sort of thing.
In the “spiritual warrior” experience led by James Arthur Ray, “nationally known New Age guru”, 50 people paid $9,695 for the privilege of spending 36 hours without food or water in the Arizona desert on a vision quest and then three hours in the sweat lodge. (For those unfamiliar with the term “sweat lodge”, think unregulated, smoke-filled sauna.)
I don’t know why this wasn’t seen as a recipe for disaster. Fifty people in a space 24 feet wide and 4.5 feet high. Twenty-one people ended up in local hospitals, with three eventually dying. Despite several participants showing signs of serious trouble, Ray, it seems, blocked the exit.
Yavapai County sheriff investigating the incident as a homicide, but so far no one’s been charged.
Ray, whose company made $9.4M last year from speeches, seminars, retreats, books and videos, says he’s cooperating. It’s gotta bite, after all, if you lose paying customers in such close proximity to your “empowering” events.
Now, here’s my issue. What is it with people who scoff at organized religion as institutional superstition but fall slack-jawed in awe at any caftan-wearing self-proclaimed guru with bad teeth and a worse haircut who promises them spiritual enlightenment if they’ll only [insert ceremony here].
I have a friend who falls into that category. About eight years ago she tried to get me to go on a trip to Sedona run by someone who was supposed to be au fait with all types of spiritual practices. I never told her but the prospect of spending ten days in a mini-van/Comfort Inn with 11 middle-aged white women oohing and ahing about Hopi ceremonies and then engaging in replicas of same just gave me the willies. Their mission, and I am not making this up, was to focus cosmic energy on righting 400 years of wrongs done to the Native Americans.
They were conducted around by some local middle-aged white woman who was supposed to be connected to the local tribes, although there were apparently a couple of instances where the women had to stand at quite a distance because the Hopis weren’t wild about interlopers, no matter how sterling their intent.
When she returned, totally enthused about the experience, my friend showed me her photos of the events. There was one of the women seated in a circle on the ground. It was some sort of prayer circle, meant to concentrate their spiritual powers. She said that the picture was taken just before the heavens opened up and poured rain down on them.
“But that’s okay—it was a cleansing rain.”
Apparently the thought that the gods might be pissed off at the effrontery of 12 middle-aged white women from Virginia thinking that they could erase 400 years of policies in ten days at the Comfort Inn and were expressing their displeasure with the downpour never occurred to them.
So many of these spiritual guides make a very, very good living out of their vision quests and seminars and retreats. Maybe not $9.4M, but comfortable. (And I’m not saying that some don’t indeed have some spiritual gifts that they do share with their followers—maybe without even charging.) But when a New Age guru accepts MasterCard or Discover, how is that different from Jim and Tammi Faye?
BTW, for that vision quest, Ray sent his paying guests out into the October desert for 36 hours with only a sleeping bag. Although he offered to sell them Peruvian ponchos for $250.
I rest my case.
However this investigation turns out, I’d like to think that at least one charlatan has been revealed. But even if he is, his acolytes are sure to stick by him.
Or move on to the next one.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
The Program, chapter II
By way of update, I’ve graduated from Phase I of the 20/20 Lifestyles program; going into my fourth week in Phase II.
That means I work out with Penelope only twice a week and check in with my nutritionist every fortnight.
I’m still at the gym six mornings a week because, surprisingly, it feels good. And I started layering in some intervals on the treadmill. You have to understand that I never thought I’d walk a 12:30 mile again when I started with Penelope in July. But now my “rest” speed on the intervals is 12:45. While my “work” speed isn’t going to win any races, it’s still a matter of amazement that I can actually move in some form approximating a jog.
Even for two-minute intervals.
On the food side, I’ve actually had a couple of glasses of wine over the past three weeks—whoo-hoo! But for the rest, I’m still on the weight-loss (as opposed to maintenance) track. I’m about 70% of goal, and feeling pretty good.
Well, except that the intervals have buggered my knees. Or exacerbated the existing condition. My physical therapist diagnosed uneven muscles around the knees, so I’m laying off the intervals, doing some killer stretches(evidently intended to even out the muscles) and buying the most expensive pair of running shoes I’ve ever owned.
(I spent 30 minutes at Super Jock ‘n Jill, trying on shoes, sprinting up the hill next to the shop & then reporting back to Morgan, the sales clerk, on the level of pain shooting through my knees. I’m satisfied that however these manufacturers architect their wares, the designs really do make a difference.)
Well, it was either shell out for the runners or give up the intervals. And after working out six days a week for four months, I’ve got the bug, and I just can’t be satisfied with the elliptical contraption.
So: 15 weeks after start, feeling demonstrably better, getting into my skinny clothes and looking forward to pounding the pavements around town.
That means I work out with Penelope only twice a week and check in with my nutritionist every fortnight.
I’m still at the gym six mornings a week because, surprisingly, it feels good. And I started layering in some intervals on the treadmill. You have to understand that I never thought I’d walk a 12:30 mile again when I started with Penelope in July. But now my “rest” speed on the intervals is 12:45. While my “work” speed isn’t going to win any races, it’s still a matter of amazement that I can actually move in some form approximating a jog.
Even for two-minute intervals.
On the food side, I’ve actually had a couple of glasses of wine over the past three weeks—whoo-hoo! But for the rest, I’m still on the weight-loss (as opposed to maintenance) track. I’m about 70% of goal, and feeling pretty good.
Well, except that the intervals have buggered my knees. Or exacerbated the existing condition. My physical therapist diagnosed uneven muscles around the knees, so I’m laying off the intervals, doing some killer stretches(evidently intended to even out the muscles) and buying the most expensive pair of running shoes I’ve ever owned.
(I spent 30 minutes at Super Jock ‘n Jill, trying on shoes, sprinting up the hill next to the shop & then reporting back to Morgan, the sales clerk, on the level of pain shooting through my knees. I’m satisfied that however these manufacturers architect their wares, the designs really do make a difference.)
Well, it was either shell out for the runners or give up the intervals. And after working out six days a week for four months, I’ve got the bug, and I just can’t be satisfied with the elliptical contraption.
So: 15 weeks after start, feeling demonstrably better, getting into my skinny clothes and looking forward to pounding the pavements around town.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Pie in the sky
Ah, one of the comedic rocks of my childhood has passed: Soupy Sales is dead at age 83.
I never liked Our Gang, the Three Stooges or any of those staples of non-network children’s programming. In fact, let me stress that there’s nothing at all about the Three Stooges that I have ever found funny.
But Soupy was like Rocky & Bullwinkle. I didn’t understand everything that was going on in his shows, but it still struck me as hilarious.
(It broke my heart to discover recently that the Dudley Do-Right Emporium, next to the Jay Ward Studios off the Sunset Strip, had closed. I wonder if that makes my Super Chicken tee shirt more valuable? & if you have a bottle of Evening in South Pasadena cologne, it’ll probably put your kids through professional school.)
I imagine the Afterlife is finding itself covered in pie cream about now.
I never liked Our Gang, the Three Stooges or any of those staples of non-network children’s programming. In fact, let me stress that there’s nothing at all about the Three Stooges that I have ever found funny.
But Soupy was like Rocky & Bullwinkle. I didn’t understand everything that was going on in his shows, but it still struck me as hilarious.
(It broke my heart to discover recently that the Dudley Do-Right Emporium, next to the Jay Ward Studios off the Sunset Strip, had closed. I wonder if that makes my Super Chicken tee shirt more valuable? & if you have a bottle of Evening in South Pasadena cologne, it’ll probably put your kids through professional school.)
I imagine the Afterlife is finding itself covered in pie cream about now.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Greek to me
It’s been a rough few weeks for Bas Bleu—the strain of refraining from committing justifiable homicide several times over has laid me low.
But this story from NPR finally broke through my black fog: the Greeks have opened a museum of antiquities dedicated to the Acropolis.
With a great, huge gaping space for the marble friezes chiseled from the Parthenon 200 years ago by a Brit and sold to the British Museum. The BM has steadfastly refused ever since to repatriate the marbles, the reasons reinvented every time one is kneecapped by the Greeks.
I suppose the underlying cause for the intransigence is that imperial legacy that the Brits just can’t shake off. “We stole them righteously when we were the Big Boy on the Global Block; we’re keeping them because we can.”
Well, maybe. But I love the Greek approach—rather like one of my journalism professors, who was always threatening to publish an issue of the paper with a gaping hole of white space and marking it “this space courtesy of Reporter X, who missed deadlines”.
That’s one museum I’ve got on my must-do list. Almost makes me lose the thoughts of mayhem.
But this story from NPR finally broke through my black fog: the Greeks have opened a museum of antiquities dedicated to the Acropolis.
With a great, huge gaping space for the marble friezes chiseled from the Parthenon 200 years ago by a Brit and sold to the British Museum. The BM has steadfastly refused ever since to repatriate the marbles, the reasons reinvented every time one is kneecapped by the Greeks.
I suppose the underlying cause for the intransigence is that imperial legacy that the Brits just can’t shake off. “We stole them righteously when we were the Big Boy on the Global Block; we’re keeping them because we can.”
Well, maybe. But I love the Greek approach—rather like one of my journalism professors, who was always threatening to publish an issue of the paper with a gaping hole of white space and marking it “this space courtesy of Reporter X, who missed deadlines”.
That’s one museum I’ve got on my must-do list. Almost makes me lose the thoughts of mayhem.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Teaching your grammar to suck eggs
Still on the theme of the dumbification of American letters (or possibly the illiteratization of written communication), this post about five grammar mistakes “that make you look like a chimp” crossed my email.
Really—I don’t know why you’d stop at five. What about the people who don’t know the difference between a transitive and intransitive verb (and therefore misuse lay/lie in ignorant bliss)?
Or subject/object pronouns—“he gave the tickets to Mark and I”—with particular attention to who/whom. “Give the tickets to whomever can go.”
Number/amount: “the amount of people who got tickets was limited to whomever paid a bribe”. Or, one of my faves: TNT’s “more movie, less commercials.”
Subject/predicate agreement: “anyone can get tickets if they pay a bribe.”
Indiscriminate splattering of their/they’re/there, or its/it’s.
The list goes on—feel free to add your own bêtes noires.
And don’t even get me started on punctuation.
This is what comes of people thinking that anyone can be a writer, without training or talent. They wouldn’t think that anyone could be a cardiothoracic surgeon (at least one they’d let cut into their chest), or even that anyone could play the clarinet, without training or talent. But writing? “Hell, Ah kin rite—jes’ watch me on this here net-thang!”
Really—I don’t know why you’d stop at five. What about the people who don’t know the difference between a transitive and intransitive verb (and therefore misuse lay/lie in ignorant bliss)?
Or subject/object pronouns—“he gave the tickets to Mark and I”—with particular attention to who/whom. “Give the tickets to whomever can go.”
Number/amount: “the amount of people who got tickets was limited to whomever paid a bribe”. Or, one of my faves: TNT’s “more movie, less commercials.”
Subject/predicate agreement: “anyone can get tickets if they pay a bribe.”
Indiscriminate splattering of their/they’re/there, or its/it’s.
The list goes on—feel free to add your own bêtes noires.
And don’t even get me started on punctuation.
This is what comes of people thinking that anyone can be a writer, without training or talent. They wouldn’t think that anyone could be a cardiothoracic surgeon (at least one they’d let cut into their chest), or even that anyone could play the clarinet, without training or talent. But writing? “Hell, Ah kin rite—jes’ watch me on this here net-thang!”
Monday, September 28, 2009
In your Facebook
I can’t be the first person to have noted that the social networking phenomenon has resulted in the complete trivialization of communication.
I mean, it’s one thing when any buffoon with an Internet connection and the ability to type can spew authoritatively the kind of crack-brained opinions that you used to encounter only on talk radio. Only now with misspellings and a complete absence of understanding of punctuation.
But Facebook has elevated the annoyance of minutiae to Himalayan heights.
It seems that the combination of a guaranteed audience (your “friends”) and the access afforded by the BlackBerry and iPhone (examples of “smart phones”, although they actually seem to bring out the moron in their users) has resulted in the kind of “update” that just boggles my mind.
I’m talking the, “At the pizza parlor”, followed by, “Hard to choose—pepperoni or sausage?” followed by, “Went half-and-half” (with a photo), followed by, “Couldn’t finish it” (with another photo), and finally, “What to have for dessert?”
Or the, “Packing the car for Florida”, “Getting in the car and heading out”, “Just getting to I-95”, ad nauseam for 758 miles. (Special attention to South of the Border.)
So far I haven’t encountered the trips to the loo, but I have no doubt whatsoever they’re on the horizon.
I’ve had to hide two friends’ posts for precisely this reason. (And, interestingly, one of them was a complete Luddite until she got her BlackBerry not long ago.)
Honest to God—can’t people just sign up for Twitter and splash their tiny little updates amongst the crowd that can’t pay attention for longer than 140 characters?
I mean, it’s one thing when any buffoon with an Internet connection and the ability to type can spew authoritatively the kind of crack-brained opinions that you used to encounter only on talk radio. Only now with misspellings and a complete absence of understanding of punctuation.
But Facebook has elevated the annoyance of minutiae to Himalayan heights.
It seems that the combination of a guaranteed audience (your “friends”) and the access afforded by the BlackBerry and iPhone (examples of “smart phones”, although they actually seem to bring out the moron in their users) has resulted in the kind of “update” that just boggles my mind.
I’m talking the, “At the pizza parlor”, followed by, “Hard to choose—pepperoni or sausage?” followed by, “Went half-and-half” (with a photo), followed by, “Couldn’t finish it” (with another photo), and finally, “What to have for dessert?”
Or the, “Packing the car for Florida”, “Getting in the car and heading out”, “Just getting to I-95”, ad nauseam for 758 miles. (Special attention to South of the Border.)
So far I haven’t encountered the trips to the loo, but I have no doubt whatsoever they’re on the horizon.
I’ve had to hide two friends’ posts for precisely this reason. (And, interestingly, one of them was a complete Luddite until she got her BlackBerry not long ago.)
Honest to God—can’t people just sign up for Twitter and splash their tiny little updates amongst the crowd that can’t pay attention for longer than 140 characters?
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