Being out in the real world affords me new opportunities to observe the world around me. I confess, it’s really not that interesting. Even though I ride the new and improved “E” Line of Metro to work every morning, it’s still filled with all the wackos that earned it the nickname the Crazy Bus over the years.
No, this is not a judgment. We’re all crazy in some respect. I mean, hey, I dress up in a pirate costume and act like a big kid sometimes. I have some odd insecurities and fears and on more than one occasion, I actually did think I was crazy. Thank god for modern day drugs.
Over the last two years I have come to realize something. Yes, riding on the bus has demonstrated the validity of this realization, but the wonders of Facebook and Twitter have also done this.
Simple fact. We’re not really all that interesting.
Before you come to your own defense, let me explain. In the old days (remember when we only had five channels on television and there was only an hour of news, a half hour of local and a half hour of national), reporters would meet with their editors and have knock down, drag out fights about what we should know. I sat in some of these meetings as a budding journalism major – these were real donnybrooks.
A reporter would pitch his story and the editor would say, “No, that’s freaking crap, no one cares about that.” This would go on for an hour or two until the day’s news was set.
Now we have stations dedicated to news 24 hours a day. It’s not that we have more news, at least news we need to know about. It probably still fits into an hour, just as it always has. Instead, these stations give us news that’s really not news at all, and supplement this “news” with “breaking news” that isn’t “breaking” or “news.” In many cases, it’s a local fender bender that no one outside of those who were in it needs to know about.
Rather than reject this glut of useless information, we have joined in the fray, using social media to share our own unfiltered lives with one another, lives that are for the most part pretty mundane and pedestrian.
Yes, I post on Facebook. I don’t Tweet. I find the minutia of my daily life isn’t really worth the time it takes to type it in and hash tag the #hell of it.
I realize my life, for the most part, is pretty average. I actually like it that way. There was a time when all #hell was breaking loose and I could have easily crashed Twitter with all my banal, mindless and utterly unimportant Tweets.
If I were like some on Facebook, I would post that “I had an English muffin with strawberry jam on it for breakfast.” People post this level of normal on their sites as if they just discovered a cure for cancer (if a jammed English muffin ends up curing cancer, I apologize).
Sadly, Facebook and Twitter have given our meaningless lives more meaning than they should. I see people walking downtown, almost getting hit by cars as they are totally oblivious to to the world around them, texting, Tweeting and posting their lives away in the narcissistic belief that all their “friends” actually care about the everyday, mundane things that are going on as they go about their business of living.
Don’t misunderstand. I do love the highlights of everyone’s life. Like tuning into Walter Cronkite every night, I really enjoy the highlight reel Facebook gives me, allowing to catch up on what’s going on in my friends’ lives. There are some pretty amazing things too, from new additions to the family and broken bones to broken hearts, new jobs, new homes and new travels.
I even like to see photos of a fantastic meal you may have enjoyed, or a pretty drink. Certainly a pretty view that you’re looking out on will get my attention. A prized fish you just caught? Not so much, but that’s only because the great outdoors are not my thing. If you just shot an animal, I will probably pick the “I don’t want to see this” option. Good for you, but I don’t want it on my Facebook page.
Yes, I edit my Facebook page. I know that only I see all the posts from my friends. But it’s my wall so I “Cronkite” it regularly. It’s the editor in me. I can’t help it.
I hope you do the same. When I post my umpteenth pun on my relationships with carpenters, artists and such and you’ve reached your limit, I would expect you to have it not show on your wall any longer. Or my famous photos of lit drinks, or even me being lit from time to time.
I give you my permission. Edit away. 98.5% of my life is not worth keeping in your own life. It’s pretty pedestrian. I get up, I bathe, I shave, I tinkle, I get dressed, I eat, I go to work, I work, I come home, I eat, I watch some TV or sing, I go to bed. There, that’s it in the nutshell. I will never have to post about any of these things again, though tinkling can have its moments.
None of us live for the 98.5% part of life. But the 1.5%, it makes it all worthwhile. To whatever floats your boat in that little sliver that makes life worth living, I salute you. I will gladly share mine as I hope you’ll share yours with me.
But if all you do is sleep, eat, go to work, pay your bills and sleep again, I will keep the pinky of my saluting hand ever at the ready, just in case there’s TMI gets to be TMTH (Too Much To Handle) or JNPTTP (Just No Point To This Post).
In the Emerald City, about to stand up, walk out of the room, walk back in and post it all on Facebook with a hashtag.
– Robb