Screaming Planet

Where old bloggers come to die.

This Year We Make Contact

Posted on | January 15, 2010 | No Comments

[flickr]photo:4276216682[/flickr]

When the dust settled after the New Year and Christmas frenzy, one of the things I noted is that there were a total of three greeting cards in my work email and two on my private account. Rewind to last year – all active inboxes are overflowing with kitchy sparkles and humorous photoshop collages. For a moment I was stumped – am I that much of a cranky hermit that a single-handful of people cared enough to spam me? But Facebook dispersed this notion, with hordes of the sparkly and the humorous arriving in the form of applications, wall posts and private messages. That’s when I realized.

I’m all alone here. Look! Tumbleweeds!

E-mail? Why, that’s a business communication/document exchange tool. Even my mom transitioned to IM and I myself am guilty of switching all my link-sharing activities, pokes and peeks, even writing godsdamn book reviews (that should rightly belong here) to the Twacebook ecosystem. Yes indeedy, it is convenient. But then, I do not want to give up this spot. Not just yet. It feels cozy having my own private domain, with my own private WordPress, with my own private FTP space, and my own private three and a half readers.

So, the Internet shifted. It is not just private communications and holiday greetings. Despite them being announced as the second coming of Jebus and the end-all cure-all for democratizing media production, apparently, at least 95% of all blogs are abandoned, and those that remain are mostly, let’s be honest, not blogs, but news sites.

I may clock in at under one post per month, but this place still does not qualify to be abandoned, so yay me! I’m one step above the hordes of angsty teens writing lengthy journal entries on what they had for lunch and how much they hate their parents and getting bored of it after a month. What an accomplishment! They all moved on to Twittering about the rage, while leaving bloggery to us old farts. The subtitle of this place feels vindicated.

Now I just have to hang in there until blogging stops being merely passé and becomes vintage.

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    Written in minutes and fact-checked in seconds via Google. May contain unsafe levels of self-righteousness. Past cleverness is no guarantee of future results.
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