You probably didn’t notice, but just in case you did-
(or, in the extremely likely chance this blog GOES VIRAL AND PEOPLE I WILL NEVER MEET SPEND SOMEWHERE IN THE BALLPARK OF 1 MINUTE SKIMMING ITS CONTENTS WHILE WAITING IN LINE AT A TARGET OUTSIDE BIRMINGHAM. YES, IMMORTALITY IS REAL.)
-I stopped blogging for 2 months.
No, not because I didn’t have anything to say (this is, sadly, an incurable sickness from which I will never recover), but precisely because I did. However, this time, I decided not to say them to you, the internet, in hopes of inciting a groundswell of social-media-based-ego-support for my perfectly edited 600 word entry on exactly:
(COUGH-I’m looking directly at you Relevant Magazine, and no, I won’t pretend not to even when you notice me-COUGH)
Meanwhile, in less cynical news: there is an actual trash heap the size of Texas floating in the Pacific Ocean (and no, you may not “mess” with it.)
and, if you’ve been paying attention for any length of time, you might also have noticed another rather heaping pile of what we’re quite liberally referring to as “articles,” cluttering the ether of our collective psyches.
These days I feel pretty comfortable referring to the internet as less: “global super-highway of human connectivity” and more: “duck-dynasty-huffpo-side-boob-top-ten-list-of-which-state-you’re-most-likely-to-fill-out-a-quiz-about-which-Harry-Potter-character-your-mom-is” delivery system.
Reminding me, ominously, of Oppenheimer’s famous words after finally nailing down a workable recipe for the atom bomb:
“I am become death, destroyer of worlds.”
So it’s little wonder that a few weeks ago-after ruining yet another perfectly excellent evening of television with my wife and my pug by staring incessantly at Facebook photos-that I (read: “my family”), decided it was time for me to take a step back from the web.
Honestly, the aftermath has been unbearable:
I CAN’T TELL YOU HOW MUCH I MISS SCROLLING PAST STATUS UPDATES FROM PEOPLE I HAVEN’T SPOKEN TO SINCE THE CLINTON ADMINISTRATION, IN ORDER TO FIND THAT ONE ARTICLE OR PICTURE REMINDING ME MY LIFE WILL NEVER MEASURE UP TO THAT SEPIA TONED SUNSET YOU AND YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER ENJOYED ON THE LIDO DECK 2 WEEKS AGO. #BLESSED
NOT TO MENTION, WHERE ELSE DO YOU EXPECT ME TO EFFICIENTLY MAKE SNAP JUDGMENTS ABOUT THE POLITICAL LEANINGS, RELIGIOUS BELIEFS, DIAPER PREFERENCES, HOPES, WEEKEND PLANS, AND DREAMS OF MY ENEMIES?
IT’S NOT LIKE I’M IN HIGH SCHOOL ANYMORE.
Or, more eloquently:
“YOU CAN’T SIT WITH US!”
Nope, sorry, all of that was a joke (sarcasm can be tough on here):
not seeing “white girl Wednesdays” or “Transformation Tuesdays” or “Throwback Thursdays” or “Selfie Sundays” or people standing in half-hearted internet profile picture solidarity with inarticulate reality stars/politicians/pastors/creation-scientists/actual-scientists/movements/corporations/etc., has maybe been the greatest victory of my life.
Which, and this could most definitely be my newfound euphoria talking here, got me thinking:
What if the internet is about life, rather than life being about the internet…
…nah, who am I kidding?
Now that I see it written out like that I realize just how stupid I sound.
Ryan Seacrest was right: life can only be lived a #hashtag at a time.
Facebook is about the journey, not the destination, I know that now.
So, if you would be ever-so-kind as to publicly “like” this blog, repost it on Facebook 5 times, and then follow me on Twitter I would greatly appreciate it.
How else do you expect me to ever become something of which my mother can be proud without a book deal and an unwatchable A&E reality series based solely on my ability to get you to like my list of: “4 things Christians should read on their phones to pass the time whilst waiting for a table at Chili’s” ?
See you on the internet*!
(*Read: “never in real life”)