At the tender age of two she curiously shoved cardboard up her nose just to see what would happen. Thus began a life-long fascination with the world around her.
The following is the result of residual cardboard still lodged in her brain cavity. Please peruse.
You know what I hate about the world, but now also myself?
(3:22 am is a good time for a harangue such as this one. Don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s not.)
I hate the fact that nobody writes anymore. At least not for general audiences. And that’s most probably because nobody reads anymore.
This is due to a decision, that I think must’ve been made about 6 months before text messaging came out. The mobile phone companies probably held some sort of industry-wide convention in a midwestern highway Holiday Inn conference room where they all decided nothing longer than 160 characters was worth reading. And then twitter came out and said Amen Brother! And now we’re all fucked.
Especially us writer folk. Don’t get me wrong. I love brevity. Really I do. I hope to one day be so concise that my sentences don’t even need articles.
Actually, I think all of us who call ourselves writers are in agreement that we’re perfectly comfortable being known as crazy fucks. But to be known as a crazy superfluous fuck, that’s a dark place from which there is no returning.
Nonetheless, I hate myself for putting out one of those blogs that looks like every other blog on this vast internet of ours. The sharing of the videos and the pictures and the one-line quips. The re-posting and the uploading and the attaching — but not one single piece of original written content. For months at least.
I used to be someone who wrote blog entries in paragraphs.
And maybe it’s true that no one reads paragraphs anymore. But just because the rest of the world is proud of their declared illiteracy doesn’t mean the choices should be: limit yourself to 160 characters or figure out how to craft the next great American cat video.
k, I’m done. Goodnight sweet interwebs.
