On missing the boat
I often wonder, in my infinitely connected lifestyle, if I'm missing the boat. This ranges from thoughts on programming languages to social networking to assorted musical tastes. It's not particularly in my nature to seek fashion - perhaps that's why I'm so fashionable? - but just the same I can't help wondering which trends are here to stay and which are soon-to-die fads.
Memes, for instance. I don't participate in them as a rule. I hate them - awful, disgusting creatures - but nonetheless they persist despite my quiet abhorrence. I like to believe, as indeed the whole of man is want, that the world thinks as I do. But in the end I instead find myself convinced repeatedly of my misjudgment.
Twitter gets me riled up for some reason. The concept of having our lives dictated by 140 characters a moment isn't honestly that difficult to conceive. It has a certain grace, like a haiku, if one thinks even momentarily about their postings. Unfortunately that's rarely the case. From the inane, tireless comments of Shaq to the habitually typoed and txtspken rambles of countless members of congress, this seems just another jab at the prior eloquence of the English language in favor of ill-gotten celebrity.
Thus I don't participate in these things. But it feels as if some of these folks get an undue amount of attention based upon their participation. I question if that fleeting fifteen minutes isn't worth the hazard of jumping on a short-lived bandwagon, but instead I perpetually reassure myself that in the end some amount of rationality will come of all this and I'll be left holding in my hands a creation all the greater because I didn't focus on something so trivial.
That said, I'm not sure how many commissions I've invested in this month, nor am I sure how many hours I've spent playing games or typefucking. So what the hell does that leave me?
Memes, for instance. I don't participate in them as a rule. I hate them - awful, disgusting creatures - but nonetheless they persist despite my quiet abhorrence. I like to believe, as indeed the whole of man is want, that the world thinks as I do. But in the end I instead find myself convinced repeatedly of my misjudgment.
Twitter gets me riled up for some reason. The concept of having our lives dictated by 140 characters a moment isn't honestly that difficult to conceive. It has a certain grace, like a haiku, if one thinks even momentarily about their postings. Unfortunately that's rarely the case. From the inane, tireless comments of Shaq to the habitually typoed and txtspken rambles of countless members of congress, this seems just another jab at the prior eloquence of the English language in favor of ill-gotten celebrity.
Thus I don't participate in these things. But it feels as if some of these folks get an undue amount of attention based upon their participation. I question if that fleeting fifteen minutes isn't worth the hazard of jumping on a short-lived bandwagon, but instead I perpetually reassure myself that in the end some amount of rationality will come of all this and I'll be left holding in my hands a creation all the greater because I didn't focus on something so trivial.
That said, I'm not sure how many commissions I've invested in this month, nor am I sure how many hours I've spent playing games or typefucking. So what the hell does that leave me?