The Critical Mass

Speaking in non-sequitur synapse

“You should be Twittering,” Liz recently suggested. Boy howdy, Liz, I just joined Facebook three weeks ago, put up a web site two weeks ago and started cleaning out the garage last week. What am I supposed to do next, get a cell phone?

I want to slow things down. Instead, I keep pouring accelerants onto the blaze. Facebook was a mistake, Facebook was a mistake. “I feel like I’m driving 80 mph the wrong way on the Thruway already, screaming like a man on fire,” I told her. Every time I get on the damn thing, I feel like I’m violating some protocol that everyone but me knows. What’s a poke? “Don’t Friend everyone,” someone tells me. Too late, I’ve been Friending everyone. I don’t want to hurt any feelings. You know the feeling.

A handful of outside advisors — friends, high-powered attorneys, B-level celebrities — are helping me understand the blogosphere. “Get your personality in there,” one advised me. Personality? Isn’t everyone faking it on Facebook?

I’m being watched, I know it. What is this “Facebook Team” that keeps sending me encouraging messages? Benevolent overlords of social interfacing, certainly alien in origin? By alien, I mean Hubble takes the family snapshots.

This Facebook, this Internet, it’s changed my brain. I now think like a graffiti artist. Write quickly, get away. Non-sequitur synapse. Set the bar for public discourse so low, even my dog can set her elbows on it. I practiced for it by reading the news crawls at the bottom of the cable-news shows. Make weird connections. What was that one I read last summer? Oh yeah:


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